I go into the dermatologist for a funny rash that went away almost as soon as I had made the appointment. The doc looked at the remnants and pronounced it eczema (or some other equally toothless thing whose name I don’t remember). Then I directed her attention to the strange bastard hybrid of a blood blister and a mole on my left shoulder. So, she chopped it out, just to be safe. I’ll know in about a week whether it was a slow-growth basal cell carcinoma or some benign vascular cherry spot or harmless aberration. Still, I can’t do any heavy lifting for 2 weeks, and it kind of burns/itches now that the anæsthetic has worn off.
I was fine during the injection. Didn’t hurt at all. I was fine while she was cutting the damn thing out, despite being able to hear it. But then, for some reason, during the stitching process, I started to get lightheaded. So there I am, half-naked, with 3 females (2 nurses, 1 doctor) standing around, and I have to drink a juice box and eat a Multi-Grain bar and be babied. No wonder I stopped being so deathly pale after I ate: I must have been blushing like a fiend.
Anyway, the procedure wasn’t bad. I’ve had a mole cut out in a similar fashion. I’ve had my tongue cut (I was tongue-tied, when the frenulum under the tongue is attached all the way to the tip), by a colorectal surgeon, no less. I had my wisdom teeth removed. I had one of my big toe nails removed (six injections to the big toe: ouch!). Damn body.
That is my day. Entertaining, no?