I went to get a mole checked out today. I wasn’t super concerned that it might be a sign of some kind of skin cancer since I’ve had it for as long as I can remember, but it has long been an inconvenience at best since it sits right between my nose and my lip. It gets in the way of shaving, of blowing my nose, of wiping my nose, and it can interfere with sneezes if I don’t have them absolutely locked down. It tends to bleed easily, if I scrape or pinch it hard enough and it frequently itches in a way that encourages me to scrape or pinch it. If I shave too thoroughly and indelicately around it, it will bleed the next time I brush against it with anything rougher than my hands. That said, I’ve been living with it for as long as I can remember, so it hasn’t been an issue for much of my life. Only occasionally, less than once a year, will I accidentally cause it to bleed or otherwise hurt myself by absentmindedly interacting with it. It has been easy to ignore as I’ve dealt with more pressing issues because I had the tools and skills required to cope with it in an effective and safe manner.

As much as I’m used to avoiding it or dealing with the relatively minor issues that come up with it once in a blue moon, I can never not see it. It sits plainly on my face, as attention-catching to myself as any particularly rough acne is, so it is impossible to miss any time I look in the mirror or see a picture of my face. It features prominently in my smile, no matter what position the rest of my face sits in. It feels like a giant flag I can’t ignore but that, as far as I can tell, no one else seems to mind. No one I’ve ever dated or kissed has ever remarked about it. The only other person who ever said something to me about it was an elderly dental hygienist, who just inquired about it when I met her for the first time since she was giving my entire mouth a thorough review anyway and figure she’d ask just to be sure it was something I’d been monitoring. Even photographers who have taken other liberties to smooth out photos and remove things they see as blemishes have never touched it in any way I’ve ever noticed. It feels pretty clear to me that no one cares or even thinks about it much.

The thing is, I can see it. Even right now, as I’m typing, I can see it. It sits in a spot just beneath the edge of my nose, barely visible as my eyes and brain do their best to pretend I can’t see my nose as I type this sentence. Sure, I don’t look at it much and I can’t see it very well without curling my lip up or otherwise moving it into view, but I can catch glimpses of it. I can feel its weight on my face. I can feel the dull texture of it as I ignore the way it itches right now so I don’t accidentally make myself bleed. I don’t need to look in a mirror or at a picture to see it. The only way I can ignore it is by not looking down. I must ignore it until it fades to the back of my consciousness, like times when you remember you’re breathing and an automatic process temporarily requires your input until you can get your mind off it long enough for the automatic process to kick in again. It sits in my vision like my tongue sits in my mouth, always there but mostly ignored until I do something that draws my attention to it and then, suddenly, it is all I can feel.

So I saw a doctor about it. He’s convinced I should have it removed. Not because it is cancerous (it officially isn’t) and not just because it is annoying, but because it is in a high-traffic area of my face and is only ever going to bleed more than it used to. I was willing to pay for it out of pocket, if I had to–a present to myself to finally deal with a constant source of stress and discomfort I’ve literally never mentioned to anyone before because it felt so trite and pointless to bring up (plus, if I mentioned it to someone, maybe then they’d see the flaw I feel as much as I see it)–but a kind doctor is willing to argue to my insurance (metaphorically, since I doubt he’d make the call) that I need it removed instead. A kind doctor who, in our brief and hurried exchange, did more to put me at ease than any other medical professional I’ve ever met (even making sure to check about my preferred pronouns even though he could have found that information on my chart after he logged in) and who not only listened to what I was saying, but helped dig past my initial unwillingness to offer information about myself. He knew what I was there for and not only gave me what I wanted, but is pushing to get it covered by insurance and found a couple other ways to help me.

Now, as I go through my day and reflect on this experience, on an appointment that took me years to book so I could finally address something I’ve felt was a problem for as long as I can remember, I find myself wishing I’d done something sooner. This is not a minor thing. This takes effort and energy every day to cope with. I spend a decent amount of time in a given week or month on dealing with it or doing my best to cope with the feelings it evokes in me. It only feels like a small thing at this point in my life because my sense of scale is off. I’ve dealt with things that are so much worse than this and this one thing is something I’ve long been able to manage, so why do anything about it when I’ve got much bigger fish to fry? Why spend the time and effort solving one small problem when I’ve got so many others I can’t address right now?

Well, turns out just having the appointment booked has lifted a weight from my shoulders. It hasn’t solved the problems plaguing my life. I’m not suddenly “better” because of this. I am relieved, though. I am less stressed. Knowing the end is nigh is reassuring. It might be difficult, since it will just be a local anesthetic and I’ll once again have to grit my teeth through the experience of feeling something cut away from my face and neck (I had some skin tags removed earlier this year and was confronted with one of my least favorite sensations. This will be more of the same), but the end result is worth it. I will not have to see it any more. I might have scars and nothing but expensive reconstructive surgery will make it look like there was nothing there, but I will no longer see it every time my eyes flick toward my keyboard. I will not see it staring back at my from every picture I ever take. I will no longer feel it weighing down my smile. It will be gone and I will be free.