I am a Hole-y person

Posted on | September 28, 2010 | No Comments

Yesterday morning, after a full night of Googling horrific scenarios that started with “C” and ended with “-ancer,” I set out for my appointment with a Savannah plastic surgeon.

Sadly, despite my deep and abiding hatred of all things related to my nose, I was not there for a nose job. Instead, I was there to have the spot on my leg biopsied to appease my mother and satisfy Husband’s curiosity of what in the bejeezus would do that to my leg. First, I should say that I have nothing against plastic surgery and plan to fully utilize this particular surgeon’s expertise in the future after birthing any future babies to reduce the size of my chesticles. That being said, I have never been to a plastic surgeon.

There is something a little weird about walking in the door, too. It’s almost like walking into a therapist’s office when there’s a big flashing neon sign that says “ALL YE WHO ENTER BE SERIOUSLY EFFED UP.” When you walk into a plastic surgeon’s office, you sort of feel like everyone is looking at you and saying “Dear God, I hope she’s a ‘before.'” It’s unnerving.  Not to mention that there were like seven yard guys tending to the… well, obviously, the yard, who I had to maneuver through to get to the door. In my head, they were all taking bets behind my back as to what I was going to have done.

“Boob lift. Look at those saggies!”
“No way, man. Nose job all the way.”
“Twenty bucks says she’s lipo-ing that fat ass!”

When I made it through the front door and finally back to the room, I discovered that a)plastic surgeons are super nice and b) they have better gowns. In fact, I was handed a super plush robe to put on which was WAY better than those paper gowns the other guys use. Maybe they should take pointers from the plastic squad.  Although my surgeon was super nice and very attractive in an older man kind of way, he was definitely not Eric Dane, so that dream was shattered right up front. And then Dr. Not-Dane checked out my spot.

He didn’t think it was anything but he said he’d biopsy it anyway to be safe. I warned him that I’m not good with needles or anything squeamish and laid back on the table to focus my mind on something else. The needle hurt, y’all. I thought numbing stuff would, I don’t know, numb? It STUNG. Finally he tells me that’s the worst part and he’s just going to do some type of punch biopsy.

Only that’s not exactly the end of the story.

He did the punch biopsy which didn’t hurt at all. And then he says “Hmmm. It’s hollow inside. I’m just going to cut in and see what we have.”

Um. No thank you? Please don’t cut my leg, awesome, okay, thanks and bye?

Only no one actually asked my opinion. He started in.

“Oh. It looks like this is just a sebaceous cyst beneath the mole. I can remove it right now.”

Great right? Only I need to be mentally prepared for “removal procedures” as evidenced by my c-section. He’s doing all this pulling on the area and I’m having a ‘Nam-esque flashback to the operating room and I flipped. my. shitake.

“I THINK MAYBE I WOULD LIKE … CAN WE… MAYBE… UM… OH MY GOD.” Or something like that. I was yelling. It may have sounded like I was speaking in tongues. Apparently it said to my doctor “More numbing agent, please” because he nodded and said “yes. Let’s numb it some more,” which I’m pretty sure was NOT what I meant. But I was stuck. The man had what looked like a cord coming off my leg. And he was squeezing and pulling and then there were scissors and I totally freaked. I had to lay back and close my eyes because clearly he wasn’t going to stop and I didn’t want to run out of the office leaking nasty cyst fluid everywhere.

The kicker? He pulls out the stuff and tells me that the hole has to heal from the inside out so I am instructed to take a Q-tip with peroxide on it and stick it in the hole and clean it out. This may not sound like a lot of drama but all I keep thinking about is OMG THERE IS A HOLE IN MY LEG. No one told me I was going to leave the plastic surgeon with a hole in my leg.

But at least it’s nothing serious. Because I can handle a hole in my leg, if I must, although the idea of jabbing a q-tip in a leg hole totally creeps me out. As does the fact that I have to pull like seven feet of gauze out of the hole tomorrow in the shower. Ugh. Why can’t things just be SIMPLE for once?!

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