Today I had to go to the girl doctor to get my second round of the Gardasil vaccination.

Two months ago, when I was there for my regular Girl Appointment, I pointed out a weird skin irregularity on my shoulder to my doctor.  It turned out that it wasn’t cancer.  I told you all about how I pointed to my shoulder and was like, “hey, weird spot, right?” And then the doctor was all, “Yeah I guess that could be cancer.”  And then a few weeks later someone from his office called me and said, “Hey, not cancer.  No worries!”

Before I left the first appointment my doctor asked me to remind him to have a look at my shoulder when I came in for my next shot.  I suppose he just wanted to see how the spot healed?  I don’t know.  He didn’t clarify what his intention was.  And because I’m totally just like those suckers in the TV commercials that don’t ask any questions when they’re doctor’s office, I didn’t bother to inquire.  I prefer to experience the comfort of blindly trusting my physician.

So that brings us back to today.  I got to the Doctor’s office and went straight to the exam room.  The office assistants informed me that the Doctor’s nurse was out for the day, so the Doctor Himself would be administering the shot.  (Then an office assistant from around the corner chimed in a “good luck!” but that’s neither here nor there. Turns out she was just kidding, the shot was surprisingly painless.  I then told The Doctor Himself that he was pretty good at giving shots.  You know, for a Doctor.)  So I peeled off my belt (I prefer shots in the hip [because it's a far superior location to get shots]), pulled off my work polo and hung out in the office in my camisole waiting for him to come in the room.  As soon as he stepped in the door I felt the pressing need to explain to him why I’d gotten half-undressed for a shot.  (I’m not sure why I felt this need.  I mean, dude’s used to girls ripping off their pants when he comes around.  Surely he’s wasn’t that flustered over the sight of me in a tank top.  Alas. There I was. Explaining.)

I pointed to my shoulder.  “Look,” I said, “here’s my spot.  It healed up really well.”
“What’d we do there?” He asked.
“You lopped off a chunk of my shoulder that looked weird.”
“What was it?” He continued to ask me questions that were making me feel nauseated.  On the inside I was all, “Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to know that one.”
I said, “Not Cancer?  That’s really all you guys told me when you called.”
He said, “Oh, right.  Let’s look and find out what it really was!”
Audible excitement registering in his voice.  Everyone loves a surprise, right?

He flipped open my chart, leafed through a couple pages of notes and then declared, “Oh, here it is.  It was a Neurofibroma.”

I was like, “Cool.”  I mean, I know some stuff about science.  Neuro=nerves.  I know that because McDreamy is a Neurosurgeon and he’s did that big spinal cord surgery on Grey’s last week.  And “fibroma” must mean something that has to do with ‘fiber’ right?  Like, I don’t know.  A bundle of fibers?  So he removed a bundle of nerve fibers from my shoulder?  That’s weird, right?

So I gave in.  I said, “What the crap is a neurofibroma?”
And as causally as one could possibly imagine, he told me.  “A Neurofibroma,” he explained, “is a little bundle of nerves and tissues that builds itself into a ball.  If you have one, no big deal.  If you have 6, you have neurofibrosis.  If you have a whole bunch, you have the same disease as The Elephant Man.”
My mouth must have been agape with shock and awe, because he went on to say, “Don’t worry, though I’m pretty sure you’re not going to get a whole bunch.  Pretty sure.”

So from now on, when someone asks me what happened to my shoulder, I’m going to tell them that I had a little piece of The Elephant Man removed.  Then I’ll assure them they don’t need to worry, cause we’re pretty sure he’s not going to come back.