I was running around the house last evening feeling like a kid. It all started a week ago when I had a procedure to remove an area of squamous cell carcinoma from my calf. When we were kids, we cut the legs off of our jeans at the end of the school year and we wore cutoffs every day, except Sunday mornings, all summer long. We didn’t bother with sunscreen. I'm not sure we even knew about sunscreen. And sunburn was just a part of my life. I was a redhead with pale skin and it burned. I learned a few techniques to keep from being in constant pain, but I was a big fan of Bactine. The result of all of that sun exposure is that I need to be very careful about sun these days, wearing floppy hats and sun shirts. I also get to visit a dermatologist every six months. Most of the visits are pretty mild, with just a few pre-cancerous lesions removed with liquid nitrogen. Periodically, however, there is a lesion that requires a sample be taken for biopsy. If the biopsy comes back having detected carcinoma, there is an office procedure to remove a bit of the surface tissue to make sure that all of the affected cells are removed. Another lab test of the removed skin shows that the doctor got all of the carcinoma cells and life returns to normal until the next visit to the dermatologist.

After a couple of days, the original dressing from the doctor’s office could be replaced with a large band aid, but I’m supposed to keep the area covered for another week. The large band aids I have for the job remind me of the ones I used to get when I was a kid when I skinned my knees.

Then, on Tuesday, I had a small piece of one of my toenails removed. After months of fighting ingrown toenails caused by a particularly curved nail, my doctor recommended the procedure. I came away from the office with a dressing that was so big and fat that I couldn’t get my foot into my regular shoes. I went to work on Wednesday wearing a pear of Crocs brand clogs. When I showered on Thursday, I switched to a band aid on that toe.

Then yesterday, we got our Covid booster vaccinations. While we were at it we also got our annual flu shots. The person who administered the vaccinations preferred to put one in each arm so that if there was a reaction, they’d know right away which vaccination was to blame. Viola! Two more bandaids. And these were bright red.

Even though the bandaids were covered by my clothing, I was laughing at myself. I think it has been a very long time since I have sported four bandaids at the same time. It was more common when I was a kid. I remember one time when I tripped as I took a running leap from a swing on the school playground and ended up skinning both knees and both elbows in one spectacular fall. I got four big bandaids in on trip home after my mother cleaned up my scrapes. It wasn’t the only time I sported four bandaids at the same time. I have a clear memory of a time when I had one bandaid on a thumb that got slammed in a car door, another on a finger that had an unfortunate encounter with a fish hook, and two more holding baking soda poultices against bee stings. I had four bandaids on my hands at the same time.

The feeling was short lived last night. I took the bandaids from the vaccinations off before I went to bed. I’ve never needed bandaids after a vaccination. I didn’t leak anything onto them. I’m pretty sure that they were unnecessary in the first place. And I’m pretty sure that the bandaid on my toe won’t be needed much longer. The one on my calf might need to be replaced daily for a week or so, but soon that will be gone too. I’ll go back to life without adhesive bandages. On the other hand, I keep my trauma kit well stocked just in case of an emergency and I’ve weathered this particular phase of my life with stock from that kit. I did buy a couple of boxes of bandaids to restock, so there are plenty should the need arise.

Momentarily, I could commiserate with our five year old granddaughter who tried to climb onto a load of pumpkins that had been loaded into a baby stroller to transport them across the farm. The entire load got off balance all over and she ended up with a bruise near her eye. The bruise will heal quickly and she seems to have forgotten about the pain. I think her tears were more from the surprise of everything going over than from pain.

I’m lucky that my skin heals quickly. I’ll soon have a hard scab where the doctor removed the skin. That will heal and there will be a small scar that will be visible for a while, but even that will fade in time. Skin is really amazing in its capacity to heal.

I do have a technique for dealing with bandaids that has been honed through years of experience. When the original biopsy was taken, after I removed the bandaid from that site for the first time, I carefully shaved my leg in the area around the place from which it came. I’ve kept that part of my leg shaved ever since. That way when I remove the bandaid, I don’t have to remove hair the hard way. I got a reminder of that pain last night when removing the bandaids from my shoulders. Unaccustomed as I am to shaving my legs, I make quick business of the process when I shave my face to trim around my beard. No pain. It’s a good way to go. I decided that the challenge of shaving my leg is that I am not looking in the mirror. I’ve learned to direct the razor by looking in the mirror when shaving my face.

I actually have a very meaningful and event-filled life. The trivia of counting my bandaids entertains me for only a short time. Maybe tomorrow I’ll come up with a journal entry that connects with something important in the world. In the meantime, it is fun to feel like a kid again.