Every year I go to my Dermatologist, and try to act cool while he checks me over for you know…DEATH…and every year I fail.  At being cool.  Not at cheating death.  Apparently I’m a whiz at cheating death.  BUT, I’m not cool.  In fact, I’ve never been cool, suck at it, should walk around wearing a tshirt that reads, “Decidedly Uncool”.  Which is redundant, because simply having the word “decidedly” on a tshirt BY DEFINITION would make me uncool.

To be fair, I am not a quiet, cool-esh person by nature.  Which is a kind way of saying I’ll talk your ear off on a good day.  Now imagine me on a bad day.  On a day when I am perched precariously on the edge of a doctor’s office table, gowned in nothing but white paper (Who invented the 2-part paper gown?  Because that guy should be forced to face us and EXPLAIN HIMSELF.). A day when a serious, extraordinarily educated man tells me if I’m going to die, or if I should just go ahead and run those errands I had planned and fuggedduaboutit.  No one actually thinks the melanoma is coming back.  No one gives it much of a thought.  Except for that little voice in the back of my head that remembers I’m mortal, and on this day, the White Paper Gown day, that little voice…

GOES FUCKING APE-SHIT AND CAN”T SHUT THE HELL UP.

You’d think cutting a few things off my body would at least slow that voice down.  Nope.  NOTHING STOPS THE RUNAWAY TRAIN THAT IS MY NERVOUS SYSTEM SUDDENLY ATTACHED TO MY MOUTH.  Some people get high blood pressure when they walk into the doctor’s office.  It’s called White Coat Syndrome, and is very real. There was a scary 8 weeks when it was thought the melanoma might have spread to my eyes.  I now vomit every time I enter the Optometry Office.  How pleasant for me.

In my imagination, it plays out with an Optician saying something innocuous like, “Have you seen our new Ralph Lauren frames?”, and I reply, “Oh my God.  I think I’m going to puke.” In walks the Sales Rep who asks, “Are your customers loving the new Lauren line?  They are so now.” Oh they’re now alright.  I just had someone puke on them…just NOW. She literally threw up on your glasses.  Better call Ralph and tell him to rethink this entire season.

Because what the hell?  Who gets White Coat Syndrome at the EYE DOCTOR?!  What kind of freak does that?!  Yep…decidedly uncool chic.

Now imagine me entering the office where the melanoma was discovered.  Luckily, they had a cancellation yesterday, and I only had to wait 1 day for the appointment.  Give me a month of dread and my hair will turn grey.  Just walking into the office makes me short of breath.  Yet even without AIR, I can talk a mile a minute.  As I hear myself, it sounds something like, “Blah-blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa How are your kids? blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Nice weather we’re having blaaaaaaaaaa.  If I keep talking and refuse to shut up you won’t have a single second to tell me I’m not going to live forever……blaaaaaaaaaaaa.  And then I hear:

Hey Lori.  You’re skin looks great.  I don’t see anything to be concerned about.  I don’t anticipate hearing any bad news regarding the things we removed today.  Have a great year.

OH, thank you.  That’s wonderful news.  Sounds great.  I’m sorry.  Did you say something?  Because I think my head just exploded.  Did my brain leak out of my ears?  Where am I?  OH MY GOD I’VE BEEN TALKING FOR TWENTY MINUTES STRAIGHT, HAVEN’T I?!

I call Greg, the Perpetually Unruffled One who rarely remembers it’s White Paper Gown day.  I call my Best Friend, whom has already sent 3 texts asking if I’m dead yet, which is why I pledge my eternal loyalty to her.  I return her call so we can make ourselves laugh until we cry, reminding me while we love our husbands, our girlfriends always know just what to say.

And then I return home, find I am emotionally bankrupt, and collapse on the floor with a bag of McDonald’s french fries and 3 cats on my head.

Hey Guys.  Good news.  I’m not dead yet.  Wear your sunscreen.