Oh. Ow.

I had my second laser treatment today. They were running late and while I was certainly less nervous, it was also more unpleasant in some sense because I knew which parts would hurt the most. When she did a spot on my chin, the hair is apparently of high enough density that it burns/stings quite a bit. I winced, eyes firmly closed and feet cramping from being curled defensively for so long (I tense my feet a lot - don't know that I've mentioned that before. I get foot cramps quite frequently and if I'm at all upset, my toes are likely curled under), and the tech asked if I'd like a break.

"I'd rather get it done, thank you." I replied. "Please go ahead."

"Men are the worst." She confided in a lovely attempt to distract me. "I always have to take breaks when treating them and they're supposed to be tougher! But they whine and complain the whole time - the gel is too cold, the laser hurts their skin, the light is too bright. It surprised me at first, but I find women tolerate the procedure much better."

I decided that since it is significantly more painful when the hair is dense (I barely feel it on most of the areas - just a tiny, hot pressure), men probably do have a rougher time of it. And if they're unused to the sensation of plucking or waxing, the pain could be unexpected. I really don't mind it - I could do it all over my body, I'm sure. The area that's treated in each blink of the laser is fairly large; I think it hurts less than waxing; The hair actually stays in - it just gets really hot under the skin. So, you know, ick and all that. But if it works, the discomfort will be easily forgotten.

I was slightly pink after the soothing lotion and ice packs, so I avoided the gaze of Cute Boy on Elevator when I made my way back to my car. I was rather hungry, so I battled miserable traffic and stopped at Panera for a cinnamon crunch bagel (split and toasted) with honey walnut cream cheese. I decided to get 2 by the time I made it to the counter, reasoning that I'd save one for later if my office was empty or would share if need be. After more "what the hell is wrong with you people?!" driving in the car, I arrived at my desk and greeted Ken.

"Would you like a bagel?" I asked because I enjoy Ken.

"Do you have extras?" He asked, looking up from his book a bit longer than he had when I first said hello. I nodded and took one out, placed it on a napkin, then handed him the bag with the other inside. He peered in the top and noted that it was a fancy bagel.

"A day with Panera bagels is a good day." I informed him and accepted his thanks for the morning treat.

I thought about how desperately I need a new Mac as I transferred files back and forth between my iMac and a PC notebook. Freaking software that only runs on Windows. I, however, cannot afford one and hesitate to ask Boss to shell out that much money for a laptop. So I'll live with the inconvenience. I was content, surrounded by papers and work and transferring files to make slow progress on a couple of different tasks.

The phone rang and soon after I hung up, I gathered paperwork and headed across campus to meet another patient for a study I'm doing. He called me "hon."

"Happy to have met you." He said as I left the room.

"Happy to have met both of you." I said to the couple. Then I realized I was not. I appreciate him helping - I told him that earlier. But I hate that he met me. I am horrified by the fact that he has cancer and can participate in my study that won't help him at all. I liked him. I want him to be well, and he isn't.

The first patient bothered me some, I thought as I walked back to my office, blinking back tears. I was nervous about logistics, knew I fumbled my little speech when I obtained consent, was worried about the technical details when the experiment was running. But as I look at her data, I'm sickened. I find I need breaks from that - the pain is too sharp and nauseating for me. Now I have an idea of what to expect and the emotional response is much stronger and more immediate upon meeting Patient 2.

I briefly worried I wouldn't recognize Patient 1 when we met the second time. My brain was so busy with details that I wasn't sure I remembered what she looked like. Patient 2's face is etched in my brain. I see it while I play Chuzzle. When I work on software problems. And my breath catches, stomach cramps and my brain whispers, "I don't know if I can do this."

Sometimes the second time is worse than the first. I'll let you know about the third when it happens.