Dermatology and Diary

The dermatologist turned out to be something of a non-event. I ventured deep into the labyrinthine hallways of the Royal Free Hospital, in search of Clinic 8, where a young woman photographed the suspicious rough patch on my lip. She got close-ups and even mashed the camera against the skin -- which, when it's your lip, is rather awkward -- to get photos of the first layer of cells. And then I was sent on my way. A doctor will review the photos and decide on a diagnosis or send me back for further tests or a biopsy if warranted. Apparently this is standard operating procedure for dermatological issues under the NHS.

I was somewhat disappointed that I never saw a doctor and didn't have the chance to ask about other rough spots or treatments for my keratoses. Apparently I need to make a separate appointment for every spot. And forget screening -- in the states it can take forever to get in to see a dermatologist, but as I recall once you do, they'll look you over from head to toe and make sure nothing funny is going on. There's none of that here.

Anway, that was that, and then I was out on the street with the rest of the day to kill. I went to a nearby Starbucks, where I sat out on the pavement beneath an awning and read. It was a gloomy morning, drizzly and damp, and people passed to and fro in front of my table, with South End Green across the street.

This area appears to be a sort of hub for bus service, as several buses pulled up while I was there, including one bound for Canada Water, in the southeastern part of the city. I can't quite imagine how that bus goes all the way down there but I'm tempted to take it one of these days to find out.

Anyway, from there I walked home and spent the afternoon reading on the couch with Bailey.

She got wildly excited about a squirrel in the avocado tree outside. I let her out the back door so she could bark at it from the patio.

I'm about halfway through Thomas Mallon's diaries. Reading this book is a peculiar experience because so far I've personally known two people he's mentioned! One was just an acquaintance I met through a professional group, but the other is a friend from New York who I actually went out with several times soon after I moved to the city. We're still friends on Facebook. I'll have to ask him how he feels about turning up in a published diary. Mallon calls him "old-fashioned" and said he's the kind of guy who, at a diner, would order pie and coffee. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. I would order pie and coffee myself.

Other interesting observations from Mallon:

On the Iran Contra hearings (July 7, 1987): "Interesting as today was, these hearings -- the whole scandal -- is missing something. What's really needed is someone like Martha Mitchell. A lot of laws may have been broken here, but there's too much dignity to the scandal: idealogical zealotry can't compete with venality, power madness, hysteria & sheer stupidity -- all of which made Watergate so exciting."

On meeting author David Leavitt at a party (April 24, 1987): "There are no bones in Leavitt's hand. It's like shaking a chicken patty."

On Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko (May 11, 1987): "A reading I did not go to. I decided to give the Rod McKuen of Occupied Kabul a miss. I saw him about 15 years ago at the Felt Forum, when I was a starry-eyed détentist." (I interviewed Yevtushenko for my college newspaper, apparently while he was on the same speaking tour -- my article came out just weeks before Mallon wrote this. I wish I'd thought to call him "the Rod McKuen of Occupied Kabul.")

On politicians and their retrograde responses to the AIDS crisis (June 2, 1987): "Cuomo wants to put in jail people who pass the virus on to others; Koch wants to test all tourists coming into the city."

And on being nervous about a romantic partner taking an HIV test (Sept. 27, 1987): "There's no way it could have passed between him and me, in either direction, unless everything they say is completely wrong." (This resonated with me because I often endured these exact same thoughts in the era of HIV and AIDS -- replaying every careful encounter in my mind, mindful of the fact that the doctors were still figuring out exactly what passed on the virus and what didn't. It was a terrifying time to be a gay man.)