Bionic Woman

Today I went to my dermatologist, Dr. P, because last time I was there he said he would laser this small red scar off my cheek for free. (Secret: I have always wanted to do something about that small red scar on my cheek.) I figured it would be superficial and vain, though, to spend hundreds of dollars on something like a tiny red dot when other girls are walking around with their arms chewed off by sharks and they're not complaining. I feared this would be the first step on my way to Botox injections and breast implants and running a sweat shop completely on the backs of small children.

But see, free is a totally different thing. Now, instead of being shallow, I get to be thrifty.

First Dr. P gave me this pair of goggles to wear that reminded me of the ones they give you in tanning beds. Only I made the mistake of mentioning this and then had to quickly backpedal, seeing as how I was in a dermatologist’s office. “I mean, I don’t go anymore. It was a long time ago, and I barely even remember it. Really!” And it’s true. You don’t get skin this freakishly pale by frequenting tanning booths. I haven’t been since high school, and that was because the Prom was coming up and we Alaska girls didn’t want to blend in with the snow in the pictures. Don’t judge me.

Dr. P started up this huge machine in the corner, put this laser pen/welding torch against my skin, and said, “Now, this is going to hurt like the dickens.” Tell me, have you ever had a doctor say such a thing to you? Usually they’re all, “Now, you may feel some pressure for a moment” or “Now, you may feel a slight pinch.” This is how you know that some part of you is about to be flattened or ripped off or run through with a jousting lance. So, here’s a professional understater using the words “like the dickens,” and he’s talking about my face. Then he acted surprised when every muscle in my body seized up and I braced myself for an impact of nuclear proportions. “Woah, it’s not going to hurt as much as that.”

I thought it would only take a second, since there was just the one scar, but Dr. P ended up zapping me about 15 times all over the place. I started to feel like a metal shop project--I bet he just liked the sparks. As he was going to town and I started having visions of blackened, charred meat, I reminded myself, “This is free. He is making you beautiful for free. And if he finds other microscopic flaws that he wants to fix for free, you will let him.”

Then he tells me that I may end up with very distinctive round bruises on my face, but that makeup should be able to cover them. Great. People will see me and think that I fell on the wrong end of a crutch or pogo stick and narrowly avoided putting out an eye.

I’m pretty sure that all that laser exposure has given me super powers. So if Mr. Fantastic wants to come over later and compare skills, I’ll be ready for him.