8th July 2009

It was suppose to be a routine visit. I had developed a small pimple on my forehead. It didn’t want to move, so I had it checked out. It was nothing, said the doctor. Spider something, he called it. While there, I thought I’d get my moles checked out too, something I’ve been doing for several years just before going on holiday. But for the past couple of years we’d not been away on holiday, so I’d not had them checked out. I have a dark mole on my back, which always looks to me like an oil digger had poked me in the ribs. Another just slightly above that one, raised and rounded, and more pink than black. There are a few smaller moles on my arms too, but the most prominent are the two on my back. I have pictures of the dark mole taken in 2006. I placed a ten pence piece next to it, took a couple of pictures on my digital camera, and then archived them. This was all in addition to the regular check ups. Because the doctor was behind me, I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I heard him say it was just over 6mm in size, which must have rung a few bells with him. When he returned to face me, he had in his hand a small ruler. He checked out the rest of me and then sat me down. Has asked how long I had had the oil smudge mole. In truth, I couldn’t remember. But I knew it was a long time. He wanted to refer me to see a dermatologist at the local hospital. He said it was probably nothing, but he wanted a second opinion. He typed a few comments on his computer, updated my records, and then asked me which hospital I would prefer to visit. I told him Calderdale. He then printed out a phone number, which he wanted me to ring as soon as I got home to make an appointment. He also told me I would need a password when making the appointment. My own personal password would be, Albatross City.