Death of a Nose

Bill and I had just returned from a whirlwind morning of errand running, which included a grocery store stop, picking up prescriptions at two different pharmacies, plus a visit to a dermatologist to take a look at a small patch on my nose.  It looked exactly the same as another non-malignant cancer I’d had on different spot on my nose several years ago.  As we walked into the house with our grocery bags, Mom asked, “How’d the autopsy go?”

“Autopsy?” I asked.

“On your nose,” she replied.  “You said you had to go to the doctor and you’d probably get an autopsy.”

“Mom, autopsies are performed on dead people.  I’m having a biopsy done.”

“Six of one, seven of another,” she proclaimed.  “So… how’d it go?”

“I don’t know.  He stuck a needle in my nose a few times to numb it, which, by the way, hurt a lot, took a slice off and it’ll take a week to 10 days to get the results back.”

“And if it’s cancer?” she asked.

“Then they’ll remove it,” I answered.

“Your nose?” she exclaimed, sounding moderately concerned.

“I suppose if I’d let it go long enough, yes.  That’s why I got it checked now, while it’s tiny, so they don’t have to cut off my nose.”

“Well that’s good, then.  Not having a nose would probably be bad.”

“I imagine so,” I sighed.  “And it probably wouldn’t be too great to look at.”

“Plus you wouldn’t be able to smell anything, like if there was a fire or a gas leak,” she added.

“Mom, our house is all electric.”

“You never know.  It could be someone else’s gas,” she replied.

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