BASAL CELL AND MOHS (And George Clooney's nose)
Posted: Thursday, August 20, 2009
by John Brazell
I was born a "fair haired boy" but managed to get through my youth with none of the ballyhooed benefits. Rather I got sensitive skin, sunburn and a blush that was more accurate than a polygraph test. "Yep look at him blush, he's guilty" which, all in all, made for easy parenting
Now in my dotage my blush has turned to random bumps, splotches, and basal-cells. For whippersnappers, a "basal cell" is a type of skin cancer, not a carry-around phone with a Johnny Cash ring tone.
The popular approach requires digging out the cancer cells with an Exacto knife the size of a tire tool, though in my case it could have been larger. Things blurred when I crossed my eyes to see my nose. There was a pungency of burning flesh which means somebody also had a blow torch. I didn't look. Fortunately, after the Novocain penetrated my nasal passages, tonsils and settled into my toes I didn't feel a thing. If my nose ran, or anything ran, well, so it goes.
The procedure is known as Mohs surgery, which I had assumed was an acronym for something technical, like, "More Oomph Helps Surgery." Turns out it's named after the man who developed it, Doc Mohs.
The thing that sets it apart from standard slice it and dice it surgery is that only a section of tissue is removed then lab tested immediately to see if it's clear of cancer cells. Digging continues if they're still there. Lab work requires thirty minutes at which time you're sent back out into the waiting area. In my case it was with a bandage the size of a diaper on my nose.
To their collective credit, no one in the crowded waiting room fainted nor beat a hasty retreat. One person sneezed, then another, both looking at me, thankful they still had something to honk. Yielding to the power of suggestion, I suddenly felt the urge to sneeze but stifled it. A lady sitting close by said "Oh you poor thing, that must hurt."
To which I replied, "Yes, I'd hate to lose my diaper in front of everyone. Neither do I want to take my nose home in my hands." There were nervous laughs, but like watching a train wreck, no one left.
Shortly thereafter I left to see the second Doctor, a plastic surgeon, waiting to" knit one, pearl two" and "pretty- up" the gap left by the dermatologist, hence completing the fifteen-mile medical relay.
I approached the hospital check-in attendant still sporting the large bandage hanging onto my damaged proboscis. Feeling a need to explain I told her I was mugged in the parking lot and needed medical attention. Grinning, she said, "Yeah sure, now what is your name and what really happened?" Obviously I had blushed.
"Okay, here's the truth. Doc needs to fix my nose and with just a little more effort he could make it pretty like, say, George Clooney's nose. Put that on the form"
"Right" (laughing) "Take a seat."
It was a slow day in the pre-op area as five or six friendly and efficient nurses were in and out of my curtained, non-acoustical, dressing-down room, eager to relieve me of my clothes, punch needles in my arm, ask very personal questions and listen to my very personal answers. With help I slipped on the lovely rear-ventilated housedress and listened to the anesthesiologist. "This will be like your colonoscopy -- you'll go to sleep for about an hour..."
"But Doc, no garden hose this time, right? Then why is this gown open in back?"
My eager team, including the plastic surgeon, congregated at the foot of my roll-away bed -- like zoo visitors watching a monkey -- and asked if I had any more questions.
"Yes, have you all washed your hands?"
As we began the slow roll toward cold storage, I said one last time, "Don't forget the George Clooney nose."
SB, my lover and friend, sympathetic to the core and trailing behind, responded, "If you can't give him George's eyes, lips and ears, you know, the full package, then forget it."
" Et tu, Brute " I mumbled as I slowly relaxed, "Bet there's a garden hose in there too."
That was a few days ago and I've just looked in the mirror again. I've seen fewer stitches on an appendectomy. Not a chance this is George Clooney's nose George Foreman's maybe.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)I feel for you John. My husband is a fair-haired boy and has had similar procedures. Oh, and by the way, George Clooney's nose is overrated, yours is probably just fine the way it is. :) Wonderful article. So much easier going through life with a sense of humour, and you've got a great one!Hi Brianna, you're so kind. As a lad a hundred years ago, Mama tried to keep a cap on my noggin. It wouldn't stay when I climbed trees, jumped in the creek, etc. But thank goodness for new medical procedures and committed medical professionals, still the best in the world. Keep your delightful sense of humor and warm personality, it is a gift.John
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