Holy moley

I don't like the word "mole." It's gross. So, in this post, moles will be referred to as "The Things." I'm more comfortable this way. You are, too. Trust me.

I've always had The Things on my back. A few really big ones. Cindy Crawford had one on her face and it was considered beautiful, so I didn't think much of them. Enter my new doctor, on a mission against The Things because she had a patient who died of skin cancer in his twenties. I'm very easily paranoid, so I let her talk me into coming back to have The Things removed. She assured me it would be "no big deal."

Liar!

It was much more of a production than I realized it would be. It started out just fine -- me on my belly, closing my eyes, lulled to sleep by...being on my belly, closing my eyes. Then came the shots! I find it ironic that the stuff that makes the procedure painless is painful. Lidocaine hurts! She encouraged me to just focus on the People magazine in front of me. I tried, I did. But I was turned to the page about Marie Osmond's son's suicide. This did not make me feel calmer. So I flipped a few pages...to the Sea World tragedy. I was really close to asking her for a Highlights magazine, so I could reminisce about the joys of youth, when I didn't have to worry about The Things.

My doctor is one of those doctors who likes to over-inform her patients. She had to show me the tool she uses to "punch out" The Things. I would have preferred not to see this gadget. It's basically like this pen cap with sharpened edges that she presses about a half inch (!) into the skin, then extracts along with The Thing in question. Thanks to the Lidocaine, I didn't feel any of this madness, but then she had to go and show me The Thing. She said, "Isn't it cool?" and I said, "Um, do you want vomit on your floor?"

There were two more after that. Complete with cauterizing and stitches and bleeding and bandages. I can't shower for 24 hours and Larry is supposed to apply ointment. I hate the word "ointment" almost as much as I hate the word "mole." I feel betrayed. I feel misled. I summed this up by texting Larry with a simple, cryptic message: "Boo:("

Before I left, she gave me instructions for cleaning and whatnot, and said to return in 10 days to have the stitches removed. Then she mentioned that I should be careful with moving too much. Anorexia has been sort of chilling out these days, but this not moving command brought it to full attention.

"I can't exercise?" I said.

"No, starting with taking the elevator instead of the stairs when you leave today."

"For how long?"

"Until you get the stitches out. Walking should be okay, but no stretching."

10 days without really moving? Granted, I only do yoga and walking and some weights, but I consider this little exercise routine important to my health and happiness. It helps with some anxiety, keeps anorexia pretty quiet. And, I enjoy it, especially since I've eased up on how structured I am with it (or have I?). I skip days here and there, I avoid the "have to" about it (I thought). But, 10 days? That's hard for me to swallow. Literally. I have a lump in my throat.

Have you been forced to be sedentary before? Was it hard for you?

Please know that I realize I sound ridiculous. It's just 10 days, etc, etc. I never said I wasn't a little nuts.

***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's 80-something degrees in Southern California today. Beautiful day!

2. Strangely, the time change isn't affecting me too much. I woke up before the alarm today.

3. I'm really happy lately!

4. Lauren, a psychology student, asked me to do a guest post about my experience with anorexia. You can read it here.

5. The Things are gone.