vituperation

I first noticed it Saturday morning during an intimate moment in the bathroom. Immediately alarmed by my find, I called Robyn in and had her examine it with a flashlight. She peered, tilting her head this way and that as I exposed the problem as best I could, and decided she couldn’t tell one way or the other.

“I just can’t see it well enough,” she said.

I shifted a little. “What about now?”

She squinted and wrinkled her nose a little. “I can’t tell,” she said. “There’s just too much hair there.”

I debated shaving it, but decided not to.

The rest of the weekend, I spent time wondering what the hell it was. Especially during my Sunday hike, where I had several hours of empty-minded time to consider it as I trudged down through the sinks, up over the end of the southern plateau and past O’Shaughnessy Point, to the depths of McKay Hollow and back up to the picnic area. Time to touch it, to worry at it with my finger when no one was around to see.

Time to think about just what it might be.

Monday, I spent some time Googling, and found little to ease my mind.

I did, however, find plenty to give me concern.

Tuesday afternoon on the way home from work, I broke one of my prime directives and made a phone call while driving.

“Hi,” I said when someone answered. “I need to make an appointment to see Dr. Judy.”

“What do you need to see Dr. Judy for?”

“I think I have a…nasal polyp.”

Though the woman on the other end of the line couldn’t see me, I still turned bright red.

“What symptoms are you having that make you suspect a nasal polyp?”

I glanced at myself in the mirror, then back to the road.

“There’s something growing in my nose,” I said.

“Oh.”

“And I just want her to look at it and tell me I don’t have the nose cancer. I’d hate it if my nose rotted off one day all because I thought it was a polyp and didn’t go to the doctor.”

She got my information and made me an appointment for late yesterday afternoon. I spent Tuesday evening watching TV, working the dookie puzzles, and going to look at my tumor from time to time in the mirror.

“What’s the problem, Fred?” Dr. Judy asked after she pulled out her rolling stool and got settled on it.

“You’re probably going to think I’m a hypochondriac, but–”

“That’s because you are a hypochondriac,” she said.

No respect at the doctor’s office, I tell you.

“–I found something in my nose that I think is a polyp. I want you to check and tell me it’s not cancer.”

“What were you doing looking up your nose?”

“I wasn’t. I was cleaning it and thought I’d found a particularly ornery booger. When I couldn’t, um, pick it out, I looked to see what it was and found this…this…tentacle-like thing growing up there.”

Briefly, I considered a career change to the Japanese porn industry.

“I see,” Dr. Judy said, not looking like she saw at all. She got an otoscope from the cabinet and walked the stool over to where I sat. “Tilt your head back.”

She poked the otoscope up my nose and peered in. She stared and stared, just looking, for what seemed like an eternity.

“You were supposed to say it isn’t cancer by now,” I said, then shut up because with an otoscope shoved up my nose I discovered I sounded more like Kermit the Frog than ever.

“I don’t see anything,” she said. “It’s a perfect [long scientific Latin-sounding string of words].”

“Really? You can’t see it? How can you miss it?” I was stunned. This thing was like a finger sticking out of the side of my nose, perhaps the first appendage of an undifferentiated twin just now forming, ready to grow out of my nose, feeding off me and ultimately killing me when it was big enough.

“I don’t see anything,” she said.

“Nothing?” I asked, meaning how could you possibly miss it?

“Just a healthy nasal cavity.”

“Right here,” I said, pointing. “Near the front.”

She looked again.

“Oh, that. I was looking too far back.”

She peered at the protuberance in my proboscis from several angles.

“Once again, you should’ve said it isn’t cancer by now,” I said, when a suitable amount of time had passed.

“It doesn’t look cancerous,” she said. “It’s the same color as the tissue around it. But it looks like there’s a scab on it.”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous with the nose-picking when I thought it was a booger,” I admitted.

“I don’t think it’s a polyp either. Let me go get you some pictures of nasal polyps–” She stood.

“I’ve already Googled them,” I said. “I know it didn’t quite look like one, but what else could it be?”

“I think it’s just an irritation.”

“Wouldn’t an irritation be more like a bump, instead of a little finger?”

“Not necessarily. Try putting some hydrocortisone cream on it twice a day and see if it helps. If it doesn’t, or if it keeps growing, call me and I’ll set you up with a good plastic surgeon to get it taken out.”

“Really, a plastic surgeon? I would’ve thought an ear, nose and throat doctor would do that kind of operation.”

“If your nose is falling off, would you rather a plastic surgeon fix it, or an ENT?”

“Good point.”

I went home, used a q-tip to put hydrocortisone on my nose finger, and it completely vanished overnight.

I can only deduce that cortisone cures tentacular cancer.