I finally got to my dermatologist’s appointment and it turns out that my dermatologist has spent considerable time in Adelaide visiting one of his friends who was working at the Institute for Something Highly Scientific on North Terrace.
‘It’s a pretty city, but it’s boring, isn’t it?’
I forgive him his blunt assessment, because he’s German. That’s how we do things in Abu Dhabi. With cultural labels. ‘He’s German. She’s French. Sorry, it’s how I am. I’m Australian.’ It’s disconcerting at first, all this labelling, especially if you’ve spent years immersed in diversity and inclusion and cultural awareness training, but you get used to it. It’s disconcerting how easily you get used to it.
He says he’ll do a full body check of all my moles. But then, with a laugh, he says, ‘I bet you’re prudish, aren’t you? Why are Australians so prudish?’ Which makes me laugh, because I am a little prudish. And because, at the pool or beach, I have often wondered where Germans learn to be so devil-may-care about their bodies. Surely their climate promotes inhibition where Australia’s does not? I mean surely we wander around much more often much less dressed than they.
Except these days of course. In the wake of the slip slop slap and the hole in the ozone layer and no hat no play and so on. I never feel more Australian than when I’m at the pool almost entirely covered and the Europeans loll about in bikinis.
Which is not unrelated to the reason I am visiting the dermatologist and it turns out that the spot first spotted by youngest is, more likely than not, a basal cell carcinoma which is kind of unjust because I was, thanks to my red-haired once-burned father, wearing sunblock even while everyone else was still roasting themselves in coconut oil. Nonetheless I’m not surprised to discover it. A fair-skinned child of the Australian seventies, even one who did find sunbathing boring, is a likely skin growth candidate.
From what I’ve read on the internet the doctor tells me this pearly wee growth is harmless once removed. He will just give me a local anaesthetic, pop it out, ten minutes and, (bonus!) he promised not to make me ugly. Of course, I’d rather have a hole in my face than a malignant growth, but I’m vain enough that, given the spot’s position on the bridge of my nose, I was, ever-so-slightly concerned about how things would look.
Reading this, you might think it sounds like an inappropriate thing for him to have said. That he won’t make me ugly. But said in a German accent I found it kind and reassuring. You learn to speak a different kind of English living in a city like this.
Well good luck with the non-uglification and safe removal of the small thing.
Oh golly. Good luck with that. Weird spots are weird.
I actually do the labelling thing here, especially with Europeans (especially Dutch, there was a shop here staffed by Dutch men that had a reputation for the worst ever customer service, but I liked going there, once I figured them out).
Unfortunately, this is what happens to us Australia-raised children when we reach a certain age, ie mid 40s. Skin cancers. So far mine have been on thigh and back but I do have a funny scaliness on bridge of nose which I’m taking to my dermatologist next week. Woman derm, so I don’t feel too bad standing in my underwear while she scrutinises my body. Good luck with removal.
Best of luck with the small pearly thing’s removal. Most relieved to hear you will still be gorgeous for Christmas etc.
Seeing parents get their cancers burnt off and dug out every year is enough to keep me out of the sun and lilylicious. And they only stopped commenting on how white I am a couple of years ago!
Best of luck, dear Tracy. Like you, I had a strawberry blonde father, an English Rose mother and a tendency to burn the second I started thinking about putting my bathers on. Luckily, Mum realised this and, again like you, I was often the kid who swam with a t-shirt on, heaps of Coppertone and a big slick of zinc cream on the schnozz. I haven’t thanked her often enough.
Dad, on the other hand, underwent UV burning from a dermatologist on North Terrace in the mid 1950s to help with his acne. Factor in several decades of cricket and he has standing three-monthly appointment to get his entire body examined. Half of his eyebrows are gone these days!
You won’t be ugly – it’ll be a beauty spot to replace the ‘spot’ that isn’t so beautiful.
LOVE these observations of ex-pat living, and relate so much to them. You are identified by your birth nationality and categorized as such. You’re all outsiders, so the stereotypes are handed around freely.
Good luck with all health matters, though.