A couple of months ago, Dooce wrote about discovering she had skin cancer. What caught my interest about that particular blog entry is that she described the cancerous bump as looking like a scar. Hmm, I thought when I read that, then pulled up my pant leg to look at the little bump I'd noticed recently on my left knee. I hadn't worried about it, just wondered what it was. It wasn't even as big as a match head, but it didn't look like a mole or a wart or a pimple. What it looked like most was a little upraised lump of pearly-pink scar tissue.
Dooce had apparently had hers for quite some time, so I resolved just to keep an eye on the thing for now. Still, when I went to the doctor for my checkup a few weeks ago, I asked her to recommend a good dermatologist. One of these days, I thought, I'll go check out that little bump and the itchy red rash I know will appear on my right ankle when the weather starts getting cold again. I don't have health insurance; barring emergencies, I go to the doctor when I've accumulated enough complaints to get my money's worth.
So, anyway, I was sitting in the recliner two nights ago, wearing a pair of shorts. Winston, my daughter's Yorkie, was snuggled into my lap. His head was resting near my left knee, but he was wide awake, watching the other dogs and licking me every now and then. As I watched TV and stroked him absent-mindedly, I suddenly felt an intense stinging pain in my knee, and Winston began licking furiously right on the spot that hurt.
I immediately moved Winston and took a closer look. Where the suspicious little lump had been, there was only a tiny round wound, bleeding ever so slightly. I looked at the wound, then at Winston, then I looked at the wound again, then back at Winston. He was sitting right next to me, quietly but conspicuously licking his lips.
What the hell? Did he just all of a sudden take a notion that something edible was stuck to my leg and help himself to a little snack?
I'm still watching that spot on my knee. There seems to be a slightly raised rim around the little scab, so he apparently didn't get all of whatever it was. If it comes back, I'll go to the dermatologist as planned, but I certainly don't want to go now and describe to the doctor how it "used to look."
I'm also keeping a closer eye on Winston. Do you blame me?