The Longest Twelve Days

“Dr. Holt’s office.”

“Yeah, this is Matthew Barnson, I’d to book an appointment with Dr. Darren this morning, please?”

“Sure. What will we be seeing you about?”

“Uh, I have a sore throat I haven’t been able to kick for about a week, and a bump on the back of my hand that’s gotten bigger since the last time he saw it.”

Booked. Ten-Fifteen AM. Killed some time yakking with my neighbor — also named Matt — about model airplanes and video games before heading in. Took my son, Josh, with me, since my wife Christy was out. Enjoyed the brief drive in my bright-red Honda Insight. I still get a thrill driving that tiny, fuel-economic little car.

Arrived. Signed in. Took a seat as directed. Picked up People magazine, and skimmed through the “sightings” section where they have pictures of celebrities caught in various weird positions, makeup, or clothing. Thought I couldn’t imagine anything more boring than following around a celebrity with a camera. Finally got called in.

Got weighed. Repeated to nurse what I’d said on the phone. Spun Josh around on the little round chair until he was so dizzy he couldn’t stand straight. In response to his demands, sat down with him and did the same thing until neither of us could stand. Regained balance. Took Josh to the restroom.

Darren showed up.

“It says here I’m seeing you about a persistent sore throat and a bump on your hand. Let’s take care of the throat first. The culture shows it’s not strep, so we have a choice: prescribe a general-use antibiotic to combat the mild bacterial infection you have, or wait it out a few more days to see if it gets better on its own.”

“You’ve been my doctor for eight years, Darren; you know me well enough to know that if there’s a choice…”

“…you prefer to avoid medication. I know. So let’s just wait on that one. If it were one of certain types of strep, I’d put you on an aggressive treatment, but I’m comfortable with you waiting it out. Now let’s see your hand.”

I held it out.

“What’s the history on this? I don’t see it in your files.”

“It’s not on my file because I had you glance at it in January when I brought in my son. At the time, you said it looked like scarring from an old injury.”

“OK, that explains it. Hmm, well, it looks like one of two things, but we’d have to take a biopsy to be sure. That’s where we slice off a small sample of the tissue and send it to a lab. Is that what you want to do?”

“Yeah. I think so. It’s gone from the size of a pinprick to the size of a nickel in three months.”

“Wait, you pricked yourself with a pin, and that’s how it started?”

“No, no, I woke up one morning and I had this tiny bright red spot that got bigger pretty quickly.”

“OK, I’m going to go get the biopsy kit. Lay down on the table here, and I’ll be right back.”

Darren returned, stuck me with a needle to numb the back of my hand, went back out for a few minutes, then returned to take a core sample. I watched while he cut out a quarter-sized chunk of skin from the back of my hand. I thought it was cool; Josh ignored it and was playing with the lid to the trash can. You know, it’s one of those step-on types where it raises and lowers by foot-pressure. It’ll keep a child entertained for minutes, particularly if it makes a loud, repeated “clang” with each closing like this did.

“All done.”

“Dang, that’s a lot of skin. I had no idea how thick it was.”

“Yeah.”

He stitched and bandaged the gaping hole in my hand.

“I need to see you in ten days to figure out what it is, and to remove the stitches.”

“Uhh, and what are the two choices for what it might be?”

“Granuloma Annularae is my first choice. That’s a skin condition which, although not really treatable, is harmless.”

“And the second?”

“Basal Cell Carcinoma. I think you know that’s a type of cancer, which would be unusual for someone your age. We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

“See you in ten days, then.”

Well, I couldn’t do ten days, due to vacation schedules, so it has to be twelve. This is gonna be a long twelve days.