When you don't speak the "common tongue" the Mohs doctor is used to speaking to normal people, with normal reactions, normal fears, and normal thought processes, I felt a little like a stranger in a strange land. Or a Taylor from Taylorland, different tribe, different tongue.
She kept telling me "not to worry," I'm not worried.
"Not to fear," I'm not afraid.
"She will make the scarring as minimal as possible," I don't care.
"She will make me pretty," I'm not vain.
"It won't kill you," obviously, obviously, obviously, it's 25 years old.
She kept telling me it isn't the killing kind, everything will be fine, no need to worry, no need to fear, no need for anxiety, she has been doing this for years, she is skilled and it is a common procedure.
I know this!
I mean she kept telling me and never heard my responses. She was so serious giving me pat answers to most folks common fears, I guess, in this language that I don't speak very well. The office gal, the doctor, nor the assistant had a sense of humor, or at least not my sense of humor. The humor Ian always tells every one "She thinks she is being funny." I guess they don't speak my language either.
I found it exhausting.
They were all nice enough doing their job to the best of their ability, but can't a body laugh at themselves, the situation, the disease just a little. I didn't poke fun at them. Like I would be interested in plastic surgery to preserve my good looks?
I've lost my patience and interest. I don't think like other people, I don't act like other people, I don't fear like other people. I can't listen, I don't care, it's immaterial, not interesting, out of my realm, petty, silly.
I take full responsibility for this and blame no one. I'm the one who is different and don't need or want the "common tongue" explanations and platitudes. Telling me not to worry about a 25 year old situation seemed, well, silly, especially with a sense of urgency. Well, she guessed it could wait till after my trips, it would probably be okay and for me not to worry it isn't the killing kind of skin cancer. Yikes!
Looking at it from a customer service point of view, it is poor customer service to not listen to the customer -- me. Jane, I would bet my three sons you didn't do this. I'll bet you heard the customer and responded appropriately. Yep, my money would be on you.
Outside of my skin I'm not 100 % sure of anything, and I'm sometimes not sure inside my skin. The body and brain has ways of tricking us into believing one thing when the truth lies elsewhere. There is so much false logic, half truths, might be trues, sometimes true, maybe true, almost true, and hope it's true that I claim to know nothing as 100% true. The most I will admit to is; it seems true for now. And that's the truth.
Escapism vs isolationism and points in between. Withdrawal works for me, becoming more engaged works for others. There is no truth.
I drove to my doctor appointment before 7am and shared the road with all the hard working folks out there. There were utility trucks, maintenance trucks, delivery trucks, service trucks all off to work somewhere. It was fun and comforting somehow to see their vehicles rumbling to life, rumbling down the road, rumbling up and down hills heading out to the job at hand. Visually many races and nationalities, America at work.
Come to think of it, many Americans at work, doctors, truck drivers, jewelry buyers, mechanics, administrators, but not this customer service agent. I went home and took a nap. I was exhausted being a stranger in a strange land.
"To succeed you need the courage to fail."
How can I apply that to this day.
How can I apply that to this day.
Good luck Jean on your doctor appointment.
It is squamous skin cancer not basal or melanoma.
Two side bars: More stranger in a strange land.
Two side bars: More stranger in a strange land.
It seems the medical profession is taught that humor is fear in disguise -- with the Taylor's that just isn't so.
And here are the press releases concerning the sale of Onlineshoes.com.
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