I Wish I Didn't See You

I’ve been working on a series entitled “I See You”* about people I’ve seen whose lives are generally unnoticed or dismissed. This piece is about someone I wish I hadn’t seen.

I went to the skin doctor the other day, to check a weird blemish on my face. It’s a fancy schmancy kind of office, with leather chairs in the waiting room. They obviously do a lot of cosmetic persuasion, but they take my insurance and I can always get an appointment, so there I went.

The doctor came in with a mask on - I’m immune compromised so this is important to me - but the nurse didn’t. So I asked if she could please put on a mask. She and the doctor exchanged a look, but she went out and came back wearing one.

Meanwhile, the doctor said, “How are you?”

I thought I’d save her from what I usually answer as I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. So I said, “Fine. How are you?”

“Fine,” she said.

“As the world is falling apart,” I added wryly. I mean, how can anybody be “fine” right now? With the brutal assaults on anything good anywhere and everywhere by the Bully and the Billionaire.

“My world isn’t falling apart!” she said jovially with a bounce in her step, her blue pants and shirt uniform seeming to bounce along with her.

Oh fuck, I thought. One of them.

I would have left right away except that my regular healthcare practice doesn’t have any openings for dermatology.

I showed her the spot on my face. “I can’t see it, but it’s so weird, every so often it starts bleeding.”

“I don’t see anything,” she said, looking through the microscopic attachment to her examination glasses.

“Why do you think it’s happening?” I asked.

“I can’t make it up if there’s nothing,” she said offhandedly, flapping her hand as if she was ready to kick me out the door.

“Wait,” I said, “can you also please check the rest of my face?” I’ve had a few skin cancers, so I wanted to make sure there weren’t any more.

She’d taken off her glasses but put them on again and started examining my skin. I pointed out a few areas to help her along with what I’d noticed, seeing as she cared so much.

She said a few incomprehensible words to describe what she was seeing. “These can come off with electrolysis, I get them all the time and take them off. But I have to charge you $250 to remove them. Insurance doesn’t cover it.”

“You’re lucky you get to take them off for free,” I said only half-jokingly.

“Oh, I do all kinds of stuff,” she said. “Tonight I’m going to Botox the heck off my face.”

Oh my god, I thought, get me the eff out of here.

This time she took off her mask to remove the microscopic attachment to her glasses. After she put the exam glasses back on, she didn’t also put her face mask back, and leaned her face close to mine to examine my forehead.

“Sorry, I said,” could you please put your mask back on?” Mine was still off as she was examining me.

“I had to take it off to remove my glasses,” she said with a huff. But she put it back on. Then she looked down at me. “Put your mask on,” she said curtly. “If I have mine on, you should have yours on.”

My silent effin’ god multiplied.

She touched my forehead, “I’ll have to burn these off so they don’t turn into cancer.”

She aimed the burner high at my forehead and shot the cold spray aggressively, a bit longer than I thought necessary, and then at another little spot near my eyebrow.

Then it was out of there she went, with the nurse scurrying behind her.

Never again. A Trumper for sure, Botox and all.

When I got home, I called my healthcare practice again, only to find out they were still not taking patients. The assistant told me they have a waiting list of 700.

What I should have said was, put me down as 701. Instead, I’ll be looking for someone in San Francisco, 60 miles from where I live, hoping for someone who cares.

*The collection “I See You” includes I See You, Meltdown on the 67, When A Street Is A House and Delivery.