DF Doesn't stand for Dear Friend

Three weeks ago larvae began crawling under my skin. I am thrilled to report the nasty creatures seemed to have died. Since my legs still have slight trails I have been wondering if I should engage Ben in doing some derm surgery, not on my worm walking paths but on a dermatofibroma (DF) on my lower leg. As long as I'm still covering my legs in public, why not have an incision? The problem is that a DF is deep so the incision has to be quite large. I have been struggling to decide which is better: a round unsightly circle or a long thin unsightly scar.

While sitting in the suede armchair with my companion laptop I researched the best removal method and hit a blog. Wonderful things! A cute petite runner posted her whole experience of having a DF surgically removed from her shoulder. She even cited her dermatologist's care instructions after the surgery. And due to her healing process and visual aids I'm thinking maybe though my spot looks like a perpetual mosquito bite at least it is smaller than a dime. After all, surgery is surgery. I will have a bloody mess to clean up, pain in my leg, and possible infection and recurrence. Is it really worth it?

I have decided no. It may seem incredibly strange for me to be sharing such graphic content. But our spots and wrinkles and gray hairs and lost muscle tone make us approachable. I know I benefited from a complete stranger's blog tonight. So I figure others are struggling to age gracefully, to feel pretty despite stolen looks. Be encouraged that we each deal with our little devils (those things that are so trivial and small but manage to put us in a foul mood or usurp thankfulness for the abundant good things in our lives). Mine just happens to be a centimeter spot that has been frozen twice. I have resigned myself to the reality. C'est la vie.