So, my dermatologist appointment was today. I arrived early because the waiting room usually looks like the inside of Noah’s Ark. Today was no exception. There were probably fifteen people waiting, and the only chairs were by the giant LCD TV, which was – naturally – tuned to Rachael Ray, and then the menopausal skin sacks of The View. Grand.
Twenty minutes later, they called me back. The woman who met me was a med student; medium height, short blond hair, and a body you would literally start a world war over. She said something to me, but all I heard was, “Wyatt, I love you.”
Then she pulled out the scissors. This was going to be kinky… Or not. She had to cut my stitch. She did so, then told me my wound was healing nicely – which is girl talk for “I want you so badly” – the exited the room…
All of you know I’m a sarcastic jackass – it’s okay; I was born that way – but the reason I continue to be a sarcastic jackass has a lot to do with my environment. You see, I am surrounded by sarcastic jackasses in work, and we feed off each other like teenage girls at a One Direction concert. Case in point:
Two days after my biopsy, I walked into work with a bandage over the stitch. My sergeant was the first to see me and asked if I was covering a pimple. I stopped, looked at him, and in my most serious sarcastic voice said, “It’s stitches from my biopsy. Good to see you find the humor in my pending death.”
Not missing a beat, the sergeant replied, “Well, make sure your reports are all filed before you kick…”
Remember this? This was the “after” photo of my skin cancer surgery. A little pain, a lot of stitches – twelve to be exact – and a kickass scar. The surgery took place in November, 2009.
I may be going back.
On Thursday, I had my annual skin cancer screening. Everything looked okay, and my psoriasis seemed to be under control. My dermatologist is awesome, and he always tells me to look for abnormal bumps, etc. when I get out of the shower. I noticed a small bump near my nose, just under my left eye. I pointed it out, he looked at it, and said, “We’re gonna do a biopsy. It looks like your cancer is back.”
The doc took the biopsy, stitched me up, and I’ll find out if it’s cancerous on Thursday. I wasn’t going to waste your time on a post about nothing, but Realwest asked in the comments yesterday. I don’t like keeping you guys in the dark.
If it’s cancerous, I’ll have another surgery – my third since 2009. If not… not.
So yesterday I’m walking during the kids’ lacrosse practice. I was doing laps around the high school fields, but the rain turned them into a swampy mush. I was almost finished when I stepped into a mud puddle…
Then it happened.
I must’ve landed wrong, because my ankle twisted, and when I put my weight on it, I felt something. Something bad. I collapsed into the ground, and while I didn’t scream, I certainly wanted to. I sat there for a few minutes then drug myself up. I hobbled the quarter mile to my car and collapsed inside.
When the kids were done practice, I drove them home, dropped them off, told Mrs. Earp what happened, and drive straight to the hospital.
The ankle is broken, and I’m now sporting a shiny new cast. There’s a pic of my ankle below the fold. No worries if you’re squeamish; the cast is mostly visible..
Philly has seen three inches of rain this weekend, and it has wreaked havoc on the family’s plans. First, Erik’s track meet was cut short on Saturday morning, but not until after he tried his new event: the long jump. His friend bailed out of the event a half hour before they were set to go, so Erik volunteered. He never practiced the jump. Not once. He and three of his teammates walked over to the jump track, and received three minutes instruction from me beforehand. I did the long jump – briefly – in high school. I told Erik to run like he’s running the 100m: sprint. When he got to the line, I told him to leap with one foot and push up and out. The competitors were given three practice runs, then three official runs. The best jump is the one recorded.
Erik’s first jump was 8 feet, 5 inches. His second was 8 feet, 3 inches, and his last was 7 feet, 7 inches. Not bad for a first timer. Erik had the second-best jump for his school, and – I think – a top five overall. Afterward, he said he wants this to be his new event…
Well, it’s official; I’ve put pen to paper. Well, chubby fingers to keyboard. Book #2 – my first solo effort – is on the way. I’ve sketched out the first scene, and have ideas (and some names) for the characters. Granted, it’s not much, but I figured you guys would want to know. I’d like to be finished by the end of the year, barring any major distractions – I had a few, self-inflicted, today. If I’m done before then, even better.
Today is my annual police department Hell Week. For the next four days I will be stuck in a classroom, bored literally to death by police supervisors pretending to be teachers; for today begins annual MPO training. Thirty-two boring, boobless hours of CPR – hence the female eye candy above – first aid, legal updates, and a lecture on social media, where I thoroughly expect to be told the department frowns upon free speech.
No one, and I mean no one, schedules this training consecutively; mostly because 32 hours of sleep is more than enough for the average human. I, however, am a masochist, so I require my pain in one sitting.
For those not in the know, this is how my typical training day will play out:
1. Find a chair in the back of the room next to a wall – so only one idiot can sit next to me instead of two.
2. Check my e-mail through my phone.
3. Begin the epic battle of Earphage, where my eyelids battle the barbarian horde known as boredom.
4. Mmm. soft pretzels!
7. Fight off sleep from the heavy, beerless lunch.
8. Doodle on my handout booklet.
10. Literally knock people over running for the exit.
Repeat four times.
While at training, I won’t have access to teh innernetz, save for my phone. So don’t get a complex; it’s not you, it’s me.
UPDATE: The second class is an introduction to social media. “I hear the internet is on computers now!”. Shoot me.
So I spent the bulk of my morning shoveling the 8-10 inches of global warming which hit Philadelphia today. It was the wet, heavy snow that clogs snow-blowers and breaks the backs of 40+ year old bloggers. While I was working, my next-door neighbors were inside the house, most likely being stupid.
You see, our old neighbors were all kinds of awesome. The husband was a WWII vet and the wife was an absolute angel. The new couple is in their mid-20′s. He’s a pharmacist, she’s a teacher, and he lets his fat, lazy sister live with them. The fat, lazy sister also lets her boyfriend pretty much live with them, too, so the house has four “adults” in their mid-20′s. I place “adults” in quotes because they are nothing of the kind…
It’s been just a peach of a day. First, Kevin’s teacher called the house and said he fell asleep in class… and they couldn’t wake them up. Mrs. Earp rushed over there and took him to the hospital. Apparently, a virus hit him really hard and wiped him out. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to serious, but when you hear “Your son isn’t waking up,” it hits a nerve.
Mrs. Earp came home from the hospital around 4pm, and at 4:40 she got a call from her mom. Mrs. Earp’s father was rushed to the hospital with a minor stroke. It looks like he’ll be okay, but it scared everyone here. The last thing we need is to lose two fathers in six months’ time.
If you’re so inclined, a prayer or ten would be appreciated. In the meantime, we’re going to try to get our collective heart rates down.
THURSDAY UPDATE: Kevin is much better today, and my father-in-law is being released from this hospital this evening. Thanks for the thoughts and prayers.
Today is my lovely wife’s 42nd birthday.
Being a good husband, I got her no presents, because being married to me is gift enough. I also expect her to have dinner ready when I get home, because I work hard for a living. And finally, I expect I will have no home to return to after she reads this post.
Obviously, I did get her a gift – I think a pretty decent one – and we’ll go out to dinner tonight if she so desires, because between me and the kids, she really does put up with a lot. Being a stay-at-home mom with an adolescent husband is a thankless job, and it needs to be rewarded appropriately… with chocolate.
Today is also the Earp Family’s Three Birthdays in Six Days event – Erik is tomorrow and Kevin is on Valentine’s Day – so we’ll be up to our necks in cake.
Happy birthday, L! I love you.