Viewpoint: A Close Call
We didn’t even notice
the lump on the back of
the head until it was about
the size of a BB. It seemed
rock hard, almost centered
and covered by hair. We
pondered what it was. My
wife, much more health
cautious when it comes to
a family member, wanted
to get it checked right
away. I, as is my pattern,
dismissed it as “nothing”
and forgot about it.
Time passed, one year,
two years, and then three
years. The BB sized lump
grew and, because of its
location, began to interfere
with sound sleep. When
you rested on it, it hurt. It
grew, a lot. The combination
of the discomfort and
the size increase moved
the lump up the scale of
important things needing
attention. Finally, finally,
an appointment to see a
medical specialist was
made.
The doctor said 'it’s
probably nothing', but
wanted to make sure of
that diagnosis. After all,
there are a lot of lawyers
out there who like doctors
to be wrong.
The removal of the lump
was scheduled at 7:30 a.m.
on a weekday morning.
The scheduled office was a
mere few minutes from
the residence. However,
7:28 a.m. was not quite
soon enough to wake up
and go to the appointment.
Controlled panic,
you know the kind that
comes from being late, set
in.
Pull on jeans with holes,
a t-shirt, throw on shoes
and rush outside to the
car. H-m-m-m-m, almost
fall on ones posterior as
the sidewalks are slick, the
road is slick, the windshield
covered with ice.
Now it’s 7:29.
Scratch a small portal to
see through, pull into traffic,
have six near traffic
accidents and skid into the
doctor’s parking lot.
Arrive at the desk at 7:38.
The nurse at the desk
notes the time, notes the
holes in the jeans, notes
the lack of a coat, and
notes the hair standing
straight up in a cartoonlike
do that must have
brought at least an inward
smile.
The nurse says the procedure
can take place. The
anesethetic applied is
local. The doctor makes a
very small incision, later
closed with a pair of
stitches. For thirty minutes
she pushes, pulls, and
prods the garbanzo bean
sized sac freeing it from
surrounding tissue, making
sure to exercise
enough care to keep it
from exploding from the
pressure.
Finally, oil sac is untangled
from whatever other
things are in the back of
ones skull. It is still intact,
sparing the surrounding
area an oil bath. The aforementioned
stitches are
applied.
Curiosity is satisfied and
the oil sac is burst. The
three year accumulation
runs down the side of the
vessel it is exploded into.
No hair was shaved; no
band aid will be placed.
There is little evidence the
procedure took place at
all. The admitting nurse
asks when the patient
would like to return and
have the stitches removed.
"The earlier in the day the
better," comes the reply.
The nurse reviews the
morning’s arrival, glances
at the patient’s hairdo and
attire and smiles to herself.
The appointment is
made.
The patient drives out of
the parking lot on the icy
streets, this time very carefully
to make up for the
earlier ice driving exhibition.
All is well. The three
year old garbanzo bean
sized, under-the-skin,
anomaly is no more.