Doctor phobia

When I was in college, I was interested in learning to tattoo. I hung out at a shop in Boulder and was working with an artist from New York. One day we were sitting around the shop waiting for customers. He said he hoped someone would walk in because he was in the mood to tattoo. I told him that he could give me a new tat if we didn’t have customers. He dared me to wear a blindfold and let him pick out a tattoo. I tell this story to illustrate how completely fearless and idiotic I behaved at twenty.

Flash forward a few decades. The tattoo had faded to mostly a green color and since it is on my ankle, and really visible I have considered getting it recolored. So in August, I had some time to kill before a hair appointment; on a whim I walked into a shop and made an appointment.

Round two of this tattoo wasn’t at all like the first time. It wasn’t as much fun and it hurt more than I remembered. It also seemed like it took a long time to heal. It had weird bumps on it for a while and actually hurt for several weeks and just one spot never seemed to heal. I kept waiting for the skin to feel smooth and normal, but it just never has

I am not exactly sure when I noticed the area on the bottom of the tattoo swelling and growing. But when I’d shower, the water hitting my ankle would hurt, or getting in bed at night, the pressure of the sheets would get my attention. It isn’t horrible pain, just kind of uncomfortable. And then I noticed that the area was feeling hard and scabby and I was afraid to shave over it because I didn’t want to it to bleed.

It is getting bigger and looks like a tiny volcano with darkened lava at the crest. I haven’t been to the doctor yet, although I did teladoc on the phone. I just keep thinking about my mom.

My mother had a rare, atypical type of skin cancer that presented on her head and neck. She had a tumor excised from her calf that went almost to the bone, one from her neck and several from her scalp. She was in so much pain and had to have help washing her hair and putting the medicine on. The lesions on her head would come back. She called them trees. I went with her to her last appointment the spring before she was killed. The doctor gave her a shot in the head and then started up-rooting mom’s trees with a tiny scalpel thing. She held my hand and asked ME if I was okay. I am not going to lie; it was horrible. I hate doctor shit. She was so brave and strong.

And I keep thinking maybe it will just heal on its own. Maybe bag balm would help? Okay, so I know I need to get it actually looked at, but I would rather do almost anything than go to another doctor’s appointment. I kind wish doctors still did house calls or there was a drive through option…i could stick my leg out the car window or something. Maybe get some fries at the same time. I know I am being ridiculous, but at the same time, I am kinda terrified.