Diminishing Expectations

Today I went to the dermatologist. The doctor and her assistant were both ladies. Both young enough that they could’ve been former students. And, of course, they needed to look at and survey my bare skin… all of it. Sometimes it is good to have experience as a nudist. And they gave me a cloth to drape over me in the most personal places. Of course they had to look at all of my skin. Eczema, psoriasis, and shingles don’t respect your privacy.

I have been a writer long enough that I have no secrets left anyway. Even the fiction I write reveals more of me than I would be comfortable telling the word about just five years ago. For instance, the picture above, of me naked, is not really what I looked like. My parents never let me wear my hair that long. And by the time I was eleven, I struggled to take my clothes off even at bed and bath times… after being assaulted. And the Belmond tornado. And the death of my Grandpa Beyer, And President Kennedy being shot, and the Apollo 1 astronauts burning up in the command module capsule. All of which happened around the time I was between ages seven to ten.

But as my dermatology team was surveying the various bumps and blots and warts and whatnots all over my old carcass, they found a spot on my right temple that is definitely pre-cancerous, and may be actual cancer. In three weeks I may need a biopsy. But for today, I got freeze spray sprayed on the side of my head. Yes, they froze part of my head to kill the potential cancer cells. And that kinda hurts when they freeze a chunk of the old gourd you think with all the time.

Will I die from this? It’s possible. But we live in an age when technology has made survival more probable, especially when you already have that sweet Medicare money that the Republicans and Ted Cruz are so desperate to take away from me.

But you have to understand. I am in no hurry to be dead. But I don’t fear it either.

Mark Twain pointed out that he had been dead for billions of years before he was born and was never inconvenienced by it. Not even a little bit. And I am of the same opinion. Looking back at the time before I was born, all those past lives… being a crocodile with bad teeth… living in Patagonia with a seabird and an iguana… and that time in the Great Nebula… But I’ve already told you more of my secrets than you probably want to know. So, if you want to know the truth, the chess board is ready. And if the Grim Reaper wants to play me again, I’ve thought of a few gambits he’s probably not aware of. As long as the chicken refuses to give him hints on what moves to make.