Tricky, tricky body. Some people say that weird things start to happen to your body when you’re in your twenties, others say it’s your thirties. I am in-between, and I can tell you it’s now.
I have this theory that whenever one hole in my body closes up, another one opens. When I was eighteen this hole formed in the roof of my mouth. I went to an oral surgeon who thought it was an exploded salivary gland.
“What can you do for me?” I asked, after his diagnosis.
“Well. I don’t like the looks of it.” He had a beard, which he of course slapped a medical mask over. Is there nothing creepier than that? That’s like realizing your old auntie is wearing a swimsuit that becomes sheer when wet, and all the sudden you can see her No-No Place through it. Doctors should be required to be clean-shaven, it oughta be a law.
“I think we should cut it out, and biopsy it.”
“You mean you’re going to cut my hole out, and replace it with an even bigger one?”
“Ahhh,” he said, for I cracked his Zen riddle. There was nothing else to say after that, so he rubbed his mask over his beard, thoughtfully, and it made that hideous scratching sound that only a beard and a surgical mask can make.
Recently, the hole closed up. No more hole that I had to lie about and say it “didn’t hurt a bit” when the dentist would probe it with his little pick. No more shooting, tickly feeling that traveled up to my ear when I licked it. It took seven years to close up, and now I kind of miss it.
It got to be reassuring, the way your little toes are: don’t need ’em, but would miss ’em if they were gone.
But the pendulum swung the other way, as it is wont to do. Now I have a giant hole on my shoulder blade that won’t close up. It’s not cancer or anything. It’s the most giant zit ever.
Buried, three miles below SJ’s surface. Deeper than the Titanic. It lived as a slightly ouchy lump for months, waiting, waiting, for my mouth-hole to close up, I am convinced.
Now it is the Zit That Won’t Go Away. I squeeze it, it refills itself fast as a drink in a Chinese restaurant. I ignore it, it lurks, waiting. The victimized pore is now large enough to act as a rain gauge, should I choose to lie in the yard topless.
Me vs. My Body. Who will win? Where will the next hole appear?