As I walked into into the office, I had a vague idea of what to expect. It was the usual type of doctor's office- pale walls, a bland movie playing on the tv in the corner, and what once was a well-working water fountain in the opposite corner. The magazines on the short tables were from the early 1990s, and the patients were all drowsy-eyed from various diseases ranging from typhoid to the all-too-common waiting-room-irritation. I strode through the front doors and wound through the maze of ropes that organized the non-existent cue. The woman at the front desk was busy talking to another elderly woman and young man. The elderly one was dressed in what appeared to be nurse's clothing, yet acted like the boy's grandmother. Finally the couple were finished completing the post-doctor's visit routine, and the woman behind the counter paid me a quick glance, looked back at her paper work then did a double-take. I was used to this behavior, and thought nothing of it-- after all, that's what I was here for.
"C-can I h-help you?" The woman managed.
"yes, could you tell me where to go for my appointment?" I asked and handed over an appointment card. The woman, "Brenda" her name tag informed me, hesitantly took the piece of paper and gave a little sigh. I could tell that she didn't want to deal with me, and was hoping that I was someone else's problem.
"Yes, you sign in here. What's your name?"
"Marie Bravato"
"And, what time is your appointment? 2:20?"
"Yes ma'am."
"ok, grab one of those clip boards and sign it."
I went to take a clip board that was proffered. It looked like all I had to do was write my name, read, and sign. I stood there filling it out- it would be just a minute until I was finished. She looked a little nervous and slightly queasy.
"If you could, please, take a seat over there" she said, pointing to the group of chairs with the sickly-looking people waiting to be called. I shuffled over to the seats and sat in the nearest one, but far enough from the others so as to not catch whatever it was they had contracted. I quickly read over the standard precautions given by the doctors saying that they could post my social security, phone number, address, favorite color, and what skin diseases I had on the world wide web for all to see. All those who cared, that is, no one. I gladly signed my name, wrote down my height, weight, and hair color in case they would want to flaunt that information as well. I stood up when they called my name, and followed the elderly woman I had seen earlier who I mistook for the boy's grandmother. She seemed like a nice enough woman, until I walked into her office. Plastered all over the walls was a picture of every person she had seen die from surgeries like the one I would be undertaking this afternoon. Along with the picture was a piece of the person as a token of her work. I gulped and sat down in the suggested table. She sat down at the computer and as she asked how I was, turned to face me for the first time. I could see in her face that her previous patients were not my equal. She gazed in wonder at my features. She had been looking at me for a few moments when the doctor came in. He was just as I had imagined him. A wise-looking older man with a slight slump in his posture. His glasses dangled from his neck, and he had a bright face that showed lines from years of smiling. He greeted me with a cheery hello. I was a little surprised by his calm salutation, but smiled back and greeted him warmly. However, once his spectacles were in place to examine me better before the surgery began, his eyes widened. I could see in him the same fear that I had seen my whole life. He took a step back, then asked me to lie down on the bed. Once I was in place for the procedure, the doctor and nurse swiftly covered my face with heavy cloth, mumbling something about not wanting to have the light shining in my eyes. They covered my face completely leaving a small gap for me to breathe and in which they would be able to see enough for the operation. They seemed to become more relaxed once I was covered, and they became their normal selves. The nurse was very kind when I told her that I was a little queasy with needles and the idea of surgery. She comforted me and said she would hold my hand while they gave me the Novocaine injection. I was grateful for her kindness, and willingly took her small hand. Once the shot was numbing the surrounding tissue beside my eye, the doctor and nurse casually spoke of buying gas at Costco the previous day and grandchildren. I felt calm during the procedure, even with the pull of the blade on my skin, tugging, and the sound of scissors clipping away the deformity. When the clipping stopped, the doctor sighed, and assured me that he was almost done. I felt some more tugging at my skin, and wondered why he would be pulling at what he cut out. It took me a few minutes to realize that he was putting the stitches in. At this point, a small squeak came out and I grimaced at the knowledge of what was going on.
Finally the surgery was complete and I had five strips of flesh-colored bandages over the proof of the monster I had been. When the cloths came off, the doctor smiled brightly at me and told me that there would probably not be much of a scar, and that it had gone very well. I was scheduled for six days from that time to come back in and get the stitches removed and a check-up. The nurse and woman behind the counter seemed to look at me with a little less disgust and a little more pleasure as I left the office. I felt more like a human and less like a monster with the added weight removed from my face. Although it seemed like a small thing, the mole that made me feel hideous was finally gone.
