My boob hurts.
Too much too soon?
Let me back up.
Once upon a time there was a poor, white girl who grew up near the beach. One day when she was innocently rocking her Op bathing suit that faded from black to pink with silhouette palm trees, she forgot that it had been approximately 17 hours since she applied sunscreen. She got blisters, so her mom applied calamine lotion, but her shoulders were so hot that it cooked the lotion right into her skin, making it look like Barstow in August. She wanted to die, her mom felt bad, and the girl grew up getting cozy with dermatologists who now ask her every time she has to go in if she sustained many sunburns as a child. That’s when she formally introduces herself, “Hi. Most people call me Vern, but you can call me your Next Mortgage Payment if you prefer.”
I’ve had many rogue, cancerous moles removed from my body since that day, but none of the really scary variety. I’m getting pretty skilled at spotting them – a few months ago I saw something forming on my face that looked suspicious, but before making an appointment with the doctor I remembered an ointment that my mom told me about that was rumored to be highly effective and less invasive. I asked my mom for the name of it, searched for it on the internet, and promptly bought a small container of it for $25 online. A week later Cory called home from work, “Uh, honey? I’m just looking at our Visa statement. Did you buy something from…Ecuador?” Yes. Yes I did. It’s not FDA approved, it’s black, and you rub it on your skin to take the cancer away. I put it on my face and within 10 days my issue was gone and healing.
I was so thrilled with this new and easy discovery, that I knew just what to do when another mole appeared on my chest a few weeks later. I rubbed on the ointment, and the immediate burn signaled that I was already attacking the cancerous cells. Victory! Except 10 days later it was still huge, and burning, and gross. So I thought, “Let’s get this over with and apply a second coat.” Here’s how that turned out. Imagine, if you will, that Jack Bauer tried to cut your heart out with a sharp melon baller, then instead of sewing you up he just poured cayenne pepper and lemon juice into the open wound to cauterize it. And then he lit a match and threw it inside and held it shut with his bare hands, just for good measure.
I think it felt something like that. (to be continued…)