pimples

This afternoon, I was talking with my mom as I was doing my face.  The conversation led to what kind of doctor I was planning to become, and we both agreed that dermatologists were supposed to be the easiest.  It reminded me of a dermatologist I've known for almost five years.

I think I first went to see her to treat my acne.  She made me lay down on the bed and squeezed all my pimples.  I went there every month or so, and it really hurt for a while, but I still enjoyed visiting her; we talked quite a lot while she squeezed everything out - I would tell her about my college life, my boyfriend, my parents, and my future plans.  She always came up with warm supporting comments, and also told me about her own family.  She had just given birth to a baby girl who is now four years old.  Now I only go to see her twice or three times a year but when I do visit her, she tells me about her gracious vacations in Karuizawa (she has a cottage there to escape the hot summer) and about her son who is growing monstrously tall.

Anyway, as I was talking to my mom, I looked into the mirror and found a tiny pimple on my chin.  I tried to squeeze it, and suddenly wondered how many pimples Dr. N (the above dermatologist) squeezed every year, or throughout her whole career.  I imagined her savings growing with every new pimple on my face.  The more pimples I got, the larger her cottage became.  I mean, it's true that my pimples and many other pimples are literally feeding her family.  I wonder how many pimples are worth a cottage in Karuizawa.

It's kind of funny, but I guess it's only funny because it's pimples.  What if it were something more serious?  What if I decided to work at a hospice?  Would patients think that I'm benefiting with every dying person?  It's true in a way, but I hope it wouldn't cause bitter feelings.