Mr B and I spent a large portion of yesterday in the clutches of a Large, Highly-Regarded Medical Institution that, oddly enough, still maintains its medical records on thin sheets of dried wood pulp*. It was a fascinating glimpse back into the 20th century.
Anyway, next week they are excising an area about the size of a children's wading pool from the top of Mr. B's head in hopes of banishing any remnants of melanoma and obtaining the coveted clean margins.
Learning that the prognosis is good and getting the info on what is supposed to happen next week was nice. The Keystone Cops atmosphere of the clinic with people running around in circles looking for paperwork and tracking down doctors while we sat, and sat, and sat, was not nice.
During the extended waiting portion of the program we enjoyed reading the sex tips in the Cosmo mag they so thoughtfully provided. I learned that things have not changed much in that department over the last 30 years**. In fact, I think it was the exact same magazine I bought in 1978 with a different cover. And since fashions have pretty much cycled around, it may well have been the same cover.
But the highlight of the day was when the plastic surgeon told us that the best wound dressing is a maxi pad. Mr. B visibly blanched. It was awesome!
Did I mention that two days after the procedure, Mr. B and I are hopping on a cross-country red-eye flight for Lovely Daughter's graduation***? I only pray that they are generous with his pain meds and that he has enough to share....
* rant I swear, Mr. B filled out the information about medications and medical history at least three times and still had to recite the information to at least one of the residents. Insane. As much as I bitch about Navy medicine, they've got it all over the competition in this regard. /rant
** Another Cosmo article had 20- and 30-somethings describe the horror and trauma of walking in on their parents having s-e-x. It took me a moment to realize that those parents were probably our age. Then I realized that those young whippersnappers can only hope they're enjoying a vigorous sex life at that (read: my) age. (smirk!)
*** Even as we speak, he's shopping for tasteless ball caps to complete his ensemble for the occasion.