It was embarrassing to almost pass out as I left the oral surgeons office after having an impacted wisdom tooth yanked out of my jawbone, but it's another to loose it over a tiny innocent freckle.
My daughter and I went to the dermatologist today for a routine mole/skin cancer checkup. Okay, in all honesty, the first thing I said to the doctor was, "look at me, what can we do about my prematurely aging skin?" to which he replied, "quit drinking caffeine and stay out of the sun." I wasn't very happy with that answer and let him proceed with my skin check. He stopped at the one super cute freckle on my inner thigh and said...this one has to go. "Later?" I asked but he said right now...today. So, as I sat there in my heels, sweater and a paper cover (see above picture taken on my phone by my daughter who thought it was pretty funny and sent it to several of my friends during my trauma) I worked myself into a quiet fit of fear. That little freckle that I loved, that was a mark that gave me identity was being removed...with sharp tools. I was wondering if I could ask for it back to send it to someone but then I pictured it and it's wasn't pretty. Then I was getting shots and hearing scraping and by the time I could smell my skin being cauterized, I was having tunnel vision and had turned grey. IT WAS A TEENY TINY MOLE FOR HEAVEN SAKES. I am such a wuss. That kind of behaviour should not be seen by one's children and my daughter just watched me totally fall apart over a mole? DUH!
That little ego that I had put in my pocket has now been through the wash a couple of times and isn't very recognizable. So these days I wouldn't describe myself as little and fierce but tiny and tender...or diminutive and dorky? The meek shall inherit the earth? Maybe I'll have to make that my new mantra.