"There's more than one way to skin a cat," said the dermatologist.
No kidding, he really said that. Dr. Quillin, as in quills, plucked feathers, porcupines, sharp pointed instruments, dipped in ink and scratching on paper. Maybe he does tattoos on his day off. At least his name isn't Hyde, as in Jekyl.
This was toward the end of the appointment, after he perfunctorily apologized for making me wait all day, then went about the business of checking my epidermal surface from head to toe. Turn to the left, turn to the right, stand up, sit down, fight fight fight.
The Enderson side of the Golly family has a proclivity toward spots, and my Mom periodically reminds me to have them checked out. My last dermatological checkup was four years ago, so I was due. So far, so good, nothing malignant, just a minor annoyance on the neck or back that can either be ignored or removed with the right tools. Enter Dr. Quills.
Rather than scheduling another appointment, Dr. Quills obligingly went ahead and applied the tools of his trade to a few "irregular growths." That's the generic term, irregular growths, which includes spots, moles, lesions, and skin tags.
He can burn them off with a shiny stainless steel electrical pointer thingy, or he can freeze them off, with a cotton swab dipped in liquid nitrogen, a safe way of getting frostbitten. Either way, extreme heat or extreme cold will kill those pesky irregular cells. Or he can cut them off with a thin blade and send them to the lab for biopsy, and the report comes back saying it's benign.
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