Dr Irritant

I've been to see the dermatologist again. This is a yearly thing, you know, unless something on my skin requires surgery. Actually, I'm waiting to hear the results of the three biopsies he performed yesterday.

Two on my face, one on the base of my neck. You probably don't want to know that part. But I have to say that you don't want some guy named Brian to numb your nose. It requires a needle, you know. Brian is new. I don't know what happened to the other guy, the Asian.

Before the biopsies, Dr Irritant shot my face with the freezing stuff. Nitrogen, I guess. He said, "Do you want these brown spots gone?"

Duh.

So he said he would freeze them off "as a courtesy."

I assume that means no charge.

He is a nice guy, no matter what I call him. A very nice guy. I think (hope) he is also a good doctor.

Now. As to his demeanor. He hugged me again. I could live without it, but it's just the way he is. He said, again, that I have such a beautiful face and he hates to mess it up. (That, I am sure, he says to all women patients.)

But here's the news. He did not call me kid. That was VERY noticeable. Believe me.

This time he addressed me as lady. I hardly knew what to think.

And I wonder, is that some kind of graduation? I've moved to an upper level in his affections? Maybe. Or maybe he looked at my chart and saw my age.

His nurse did call me Hon.

My brother

Today is my brother's birthday, Anthony Wilford (or, as we know him, Bill). He is 76. I have thought of him all day, all of last week, actually. Don't know how to contact him--long story, don't ask.

But I love to see him, and that happens less and less. I don't watch daytime TV and so I miss those Liberty commercials where he talks about getting your diabetes testing materials delivered right to your door.

Once in a while I'll see that a movie he was in is on TV, and I own The Firm and Absence of Malice. So I could watch them again if I wanted to. I think those are the best, although China Syndrome and Cocoon (the first one) are also good. There are many others--The Thing, High Road to China, In and Out, Stone Boy, Electric Horseman, etc., etc., etc.

I have wondered if his TV show, "Our House" shows in syndication anywhere. I'd watch it. At least occasionally.

The Firm is hard to watch, actually, because he gets kicked to death by Tom Cruise at the end, but he's good in it.

This is the brother who took me to high school one day, let me off near a group of about 15 black students, shouted "Long live Governor Faubus," and drove off fast. Did he think what I might face? What those students might say or do to me? Obviously not.

They did say something as they approached me en masse. They were not pleased by what he had shouted, and they wore a threatening look--down to the last one of them. And I had to talk my way to peace and safety. Good thing I was known by some of them. Good thing I'm a good talker.

Anyway, that was more than fifty years ago (can I believe it? fifty years!), and I love my brother Bill. Today I wish him well and a happy birthday.

A Poem I wrote and still like

The Wall

Bobby holds your wrists tight

to keep you next to him, wrenching free

you run but know he'll catch you. You like it,

though you're afraid. Father stands

just inside the back screen door

rubbing his hand over his bald head,

watching for you, wondering

why you're so long coming home from school.

What will you tell him? It can't be smiling—

Bobby held my hands, his eyes are blue,

he likes me, Daddy. It can't be that.

There's some kind of shame in love at age eleven.

You tell it this way, never saying Bobby’s name.

A boy held me hard against a wall, Daddy,

he grabbed my arms, wouldn’t let me go.

It isn’t all a lie. You wish Bobby wouldn't

follow you home. You know Father will yell at him,

frighten him away. You can only hope

Bobby will come back and love you after that, love you

three more years and kiss you by the wall.