On the Surface

I sat in one of those tiny patient rooms at the doctor's office today, and sat, and sat, and sat. So I had all this free time on my hands to think, with no magazine or book in hand. You know how when you have too much time to think that you sort of overdo it, just a bit? I started imagining that the doctor comes in and questions why I wanted this cyst removed from my arm. Does it cause me physical discomfort? No. Does it bother me? Hell yeah. In a very vain sort of way. I hate it. It's ugly and embarrassing. And so I imagined the doctor was going to object to removing it, wherein my pleading would begin. Look Doc, I have plenty of other skin imperfections that I'm self-conscious about and can't change, so you will take my money and remove this cyst TODAY.

Turns out I didn't need to plead or argue, but was still given plenty of time to think about the superficial things that bother me about me. I used to be able to say that there was one part of my body that I thought was okay - my legs. I've always had these long, thin legs and probably always will. But over the past few years I've become quite the spotted freak with what I like to call freckles, but what my gynecologist sort of implied were age spots. OMG. That was hard to swallow. And the only thing I know to do to somewhat diminish them? Get really tan. Not a great alternative.

And then I have the worst stretch marks ever, and have for the past 19 years. I try to embrace the scars as proof of bringing my daughters into this world. But no matter how much I love the girls, it doesn't lessen the sting when I look in the mirror.

I'm also starting to see a little age in my face and neck. Now truly, I am trying to embrace my age. I've earned it, right? I don't mind a few little lines here and there, but that doesn't stop me from applying wrinkle creams and moisturizer every day.

I don't want to be this vain. I don't think it's been very healthy for my daughters to hear me complaining about my body over the years either. I hope they are very happy with themselves, inside and out.

Anyway, back to my doctor's appointment. I've been elated for three weeks knowing I was able to get in to this particular surgeon to have the cyst removed, and I seriously had to work hard to stop smiling during the whole two-hour appointment. All in the name of vanity. So maybe it was supposed to be a reality-check when the doctor told me it was a good thing I came in. The cyst looked "peculiar" he said and needed to come out. It's probably fine, and I'm not worried in the least, but wouldn't that just be a kick in the pants? :-)