Humans can be really funny in how they think. Really, you say? Maybe silly is another description. How many times have I thought that very thing in different situations of others. Guilty? Uh huh. We all are. I decided when I experienced that this morning with my own self (imagine--surely not me!), I would be a sport and confess.
I'll give some background from my week which will help you see the humor of the situation. Two or three months ago, I had my annual visit with my dermatologist to see if I had any skin problems anywhere. She tells me that as one ages, it's more important. Actually as one ages, they go to her and have their face examined at six months and all themselves examined at one year. Yes, I am in that "aged" group. It is what it is.
This visit, there was a questionable spot on my head. In my hair. On top of a birthmark I've had for 58+ years. She felt the need to biopsy and less than two days later, she called to tell me it was a basal cell cancer and would need Moh's surgery. I'll try to condense so you won't be bored here....got an appointment a month out for consult, took biopsied spot two months to heal, and had a surgery date for this past Monday. I anticipated it so it would be over and dreaded it because of the healing process in the heat of summer. At the consult, there was no way to predict how big or small the wound would be or how closure would be. They just tell you to bring a book and a sweater and plan to stay the day.
I did stay the day....was the last to leave the parking lot.
The initial size cut was a nickel size. I hoped it was enough and all. It wasn't. There were superficial cells that the surgeon had told me about that tended to grow out. They did. It took three times before all was clear. I was doing okay until bleeding began between cuts two and three. Then my nerves began to jump a bit. I was exceptionally happy when he said the third time was a charm. I kept in contact with The Husband and The Girl via texts. Yes, The Husband now has texting on his phone...he who doesn't really "live in that world"...but I'll give him credit....he could text back "OK" and "Imglad". Comforting to me as I had been told I would be fine alone and had argued that point with many family members and friends and won, so alone I was.
Closure was a challenge with the doctor, physician's assistant, and medical assistant and with all six of their hands pushing and pulling at my small head for some time. It took over an hour. By then my nerves were really racked and I felt as though I had a face lift. I got sutures and a small skin graft in an area that was not closing. After the sutures were done, I asked how many there were--since folks in my family would ask, I was certain. The number of sutures is important in my family. The PA said 35+. Now that may be normal for such a wound or it may not, but it sounded impressive to me so I thought I would tell you.
I have those sutures for two weeks instead of the one week as I was previously told. I also have physical restrictions for those two weeks that totally mess up the routine in my life. The Husband is strict and won't allow me to do anything that he deems "strenuous"--that is if he sees me doing it. And I readily admit that the pain in my head keeps me from doing many things as the pulling and tightening still hurts. I, the queen of high pain tolerance, was on the pain medicine for the first 24 hours or so as the pain was REALLY bad. I even got a couple of pajama days out of the event.
The Husband is a wonderful nurse, doing the dressing change, cleaning, and doctoring daily. His skills are good enough.
Nine more days of those skills. The pulling off of the bandage daily is a painful thing. We decided best to get started and then just give a yank. OUCH....The surgeon likes to preserve what hair he can and I have a lot of preserved hair. I explained to the surgeon in the beginning that I was not a vain person and do what he had to do to get it all. It's as I always told The Husband back when I was his front porch barber--no one really pays attention to how the back of your hair looks. This statement often came as a form of reassurance after "oops" slipped from my lips at various hair cutting times.
I did buy a couple of hats after the biopsy as I was told I would need to wear hats out in the sun the rest of my life. I don't mind. I am thrilled to be lily white forever. Sun worshiping and suntans are very over-rated. Wish I could make others understand that. I wear my hats these two weeks anytime I leave my house and go out in public as I figure the bandage is very bold and distracting. There's enough distractions in the world without my adding to them. Here's my hats:
The black one is my favorite, the tan was The Girl's leftover from high school, and the white was a Ross special. Good hat choices, I think.
So to the subject of my post. After four days of Aquafor (an upgrade vaseline type product) on my wound and washing my hair in cooler water, I have a grease pit for the right side of my hair. Ahhhh....there's more grease in that part of my hair than there is in the guys' hair in the movie, Grease. I understand the greasy part of the wound, but how did it ever get in the good part of my hair that is not bandaged? Geez.
The Husband tells me it doesn't matter but it still is so annoying to me. Is it a vanity thing? Could be a bit. I think more so, it's an uncomfortable mess that feels dirty. I hate that. I have consulted the internet yet again (yes, I know the internet is not gospel), but it says I can put cornstarch or baking soda on that greasy part, then wash it out and it will get rid of the grease. Maybe some of you, my faithful blog readers, know a solution. If you do, please share with me. The Husband reminded me how badly the white vinegar/water cleaning solution hurts my wound so something else might be very painful and not so good for it. I explained I was smarter than that--I was only putting it on the hair BELOW the bandage...the good hair that is greasy and sticks to my neck. I explained to him it was a "girl thing". Men just don't understand "girl things". But I do love my strict husband and the care he is taking of me and my wound. I cannot do the mirror thing at all with it so I am dependent on him for ten more days. He did offer a smile when I voiced my anticipation of the 21st and washing my hair with no stitches in it and no bandage.
A bit later I was thinking and realized that a little greasy hair is not going to change me. My life is not going to be empty if my hair stays greasy. I may have greasy hats and a greasy neck and a greasy pillow but in the grand scheme of life, it's not a big woo. The world won't stop turning because of it. I guess when I really get down to it, I'm not so overly vain after all. I could allow this mess in my head and hair to keep me home for two weeks but I will not miss life because of vanity. Life's too short as it is. And I had a basal cell cancer that is now all gone so I can rejoice and be glad. And I do and am.
And after all, who REALLY cares how an "aged" person looks anyways?
