One week ago I went into the doctor to get a mole checked out. Right above my left eyebrow. “Our priority is to save as much of your face as possible.”
Today I just got done getting some of my face peeled off with a blade. Then the wound was set a cracklin’ with a cauterization tool that I can still smell.
I have the beginnings of what will be a fantastic black eye, due to the yanking and poking of the stitches right over my left eye. I will also have a good scar.
You know what the worst part was? Not the numbing, the surgery, the worry, the waiting, or the stitches. Nothing was worse than the stupid chair they sat me in, which was surely designed for Tyrion Lannister.
“Is that better?” they would ask after adjusting the footrest or headrest.
“How about this?”
“It’s not going to get better unless the chair gets bigger. Please just chop me up so I can leave.”
But it’s behind me, unless it comes back. Turns out it was all benign. But my doctor was very good at phrasing it in ominous, vague terms, unless I was just overreacting and heard the wrong things.
Thanks to all of you who have listened to me worry and fret for a week leading up to this.
Off to see The Avengers and hide my hideous Pinhead face in the dark.