My mom had a tendency this morning to chime in with extra details when explaining my rash to the dermatologist. The dermatologist, who will be called “Derm”, was a sweet old white lady with poofy blonde-gray hair and nice sandles to go with her doctor attire.
Derm: So when did you start noticing these bumps?
Mom: So my son just came back from LA, he graduate from UCLA in June, and he work in lab at UCLA, engineering lab.
Derm: (turns to me) Oh, congratulations.
So then my mom proposes that I basically strip for Derm, and I insist on just taking my shirt off and rolling up my pants. Some time and conversation passes.
Derm: It looks like a really bad case of eczema or maybe a viral inflammation.
Me: Oh, so are they contagious?
Derm: No not at all.
Thank god, cuz I was scared to talk to people. So then they chopped off a piece of my skin for a biopsy, recommended a prescription in the mean time, and then my mom and Derm had a semi-related chat.
Mom: A long time ago, when Randy was little, we went to New York when his grandpa die. We all had delicious lobster at a restaurant, and Randy had bump all over. The doctor told him it was fungal infection and told him to take pill, but I didn’t want him to. I gave him herbal medicine and two day later he was fine.
Derm: Oh, no, you need science for this.
YO WHAT THE FUCK DERM? The hell is that supposed to mean? I mean the lady was very sweet, attentive, patient, but that just threw me off.