Not A Fungus Among Us

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I went to a follow-up appointment with my dermatologist this morning. It seems that the exotic rash on my torso—which the dermatologist suspected was some sort of fungal infection—remains a mystery. The skin samples the doctor chiseled out of me for biopsy at my last appointment turned out to be not fungal at all. I am sorely disappointed—not because I want my skin to have a fungus, but because I want to know what my rash IS. Knowing what it is will mean the doctor can give me the correct treatment, and the rash can be successfully eliminated from my pale-and-pasty white skin. I want it gone—now. So the doc carved out two deeper-than-last-time skin samples for biopsy, and wrote me a prescription for a set of x-rays. Apparently, my stubborn skin rash is a medical puzzle to be solved, and the dermatologist is determined to find the answers for us both. Instead of being annoyed by my pesky skin malady, I have decided to treat the whole affair like an adventure—during which I can amuse myself by learning a thing or two about skin and dermatological science. Perhaps I will eventually write a world-changing, epic poem about what I learn about aberrant skin patches. I could decide to be crabby and picked-on about the situation, but I am not a bigly believer in wallowing in miserablism. I hate that particular -ism. All that being miserable would get me is the confounding rash with a dollop of misery on top. Ain’t nobody needs any o’ that. And nobody wants to read about it either. 📖🤓

BTW As I was checking in at the front desk for my appointment, the receptionist complimented me on Bow Tie o’ the Day and my face mask and shirt. An assistant who was also behind the desk chimed in, “Are you a teacher? From the way you’re dressed, it looks like you’d be a fun teacher.” That was the first such comment I’ve ever heard about my “look.” Of course, I was a teacher for years back in the day. I guess it shows.