So… here’s the story of the day:
I went to the dermatologist this afternoon to have a mole removed, just a precaution, but they are still going to test it to make sure everything is okay. Now I’m left dangling on the no news is good news telephone line without really knowing how long I have to dread getting that phone call before I realize no phone call is coming… I guess that’s just the way these things go.
I understand that most of this is my fault, because I don’t ask pertinent questions ahead of time, like: “What should I expect as part of this procedure?” or, “So, I get you are going to remove the whole mole, but how much below it are you going to take as well?” or, “How long is this going to take?” or, really, any number of other questions that would have been good information to have ahead of time.
Don’t read on if you are squeamish at all.
I’m not joking.
You were warned.
If I had asked any of the questions above, then after the first bit when they were testing if the local anesthetic had taken effect and it hadn’t I could feel a cutting and pulling sensation that was, on a scale of 1 – 10, about a 7 in uncomfortableness I wouldn’t have assumed that was the end of the procedure. No, it haven’t even really begun yet.
What followed was about 35 minutes of me on my stomach while I felt various points of pressure and pulling sensations and had the wonderful experience of getting to smell something very reminiscent of burning flesh… oh, that’s right, that’s exactly what it was: me, on fire. Good times.
So, while I take full responsibility to not asking enough questions ahead of time, “Hey, are you going to take a blow torch to my back?” isn’t something I really would have ever thought I needed to ask. That might be something they might want to include in the brochure: Remove questionable blemishes before they can turn into something dangerous, improve the quality of your skin, and experience getting to smell yourself burn. I mean, if that doesn’t sell it for everyone, I don’t know what will.
After getting stitched up, I also got to see the chunk they took out of my back. Yes, “chunk.” I don’t even know what else to say about it. The piece was much larger than I could have fathomed they would be able to cut out of me and still be able to sew me back together…
The finishing touch of this particular adventure, as the nurse was cleaning me up and putting on some bandages to cover the wound, she said, “You didn’t bleed very much.”
Um… is that a compliment?