Under the Knife

(I wrote this last Monday and had planned to post it, but Damien's birthday post and the subsequent Zombie Survival Tips took precedence. These events may be a week old, but they're as fresh in my memory as if they happened only yesterday. Here 'tis.)

6/5/06

Sidmummers is moving steadily toward its opening night. I felt that now would be a good time, before we move outside and start hitting it hard-core, to take care of some last few cosmetic things.

No, I did not get ab implants.

I got a mole removed from my left hip.

Okay, I know that sounds weird. But seriously, the thing was big and sensitive to touch. For all I knew, it was killing me slowly. And really, I wouldn’t want death by melanoma to distract from my performance.

Sitting in the clinic, I started to have second thoughts about the whole thing. I mean, needles. Pain. Stitches. My heart rate increased and my breathing became shallow. While I was waiting for the doctor, I really did entertain thoughts of quietly leaving the clinic. Really.

The doctor finally showed up and looked at the blemish.

“It’s probably nothing. It looks okay. We can just leave it and see if it gets worse over the next three months or so.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Okay! Back to work! No needles and knives for me!

“But there's a chance it could be life-threatening. That thing needs to come off. Right now.”

I waited in the sterile little room for a good fifteen minutes. At one point the nurse came in and loaded up a silver operating tray with needles, scissors, knives, buzz-saws, and gauze. I couldn’t look at it. It was too awful.

“The doctor will be with you shortly.”

Before I could sneak out (I really almost did this time) the doctor came back in. She paused for a moment.

“Hmm. Since the mole is on your left side, I want you to lie down on your right. Go ahead, sir.”

I did as she instructed…and now my face was about two feet from the silver tray of scary surgical equipment. Damn.

“Here comes a little prick.”

She then tested the newly-numbed spot with her surgical knife.

“Can you feel this?” she asked. (stab!)

“YES!” I cried.

“Can you feel this?” she asked. (stab!)

“YES!”

“Hmm. You seem to have a very low threshold for pain.”

“I’m very sensitive.”

"Can you feel this?" (stab!)

"GEEZE! YES!"

“This is really weird. Normally when we give someone an injection of this stuff it works immediately. Let me numb you up again.”

Three injections later, I could finally only faintly feel a sting of pain when she jabbed her razor blade into my flesh. I took deep, soothing breaths, but with my face mere inches away from her pointy tools, each one for rending flesh in unique and stomach-churning ways, it was hard to remain calm.

Then the doctor got this maniacal look in her eye and began stitching me back up. "Good Lord," I thought as she stitched and stitched and stitched. "Who is this woman? Dr. Frankenstein?" Once I got the bandage off a day or two later, I saw I wasn't far off. She had made a rather large slash in my side and sutured it up with three stitches! Good grief! I'd been savaged!

But it's gone now. That mole. Or skin tag or...whatever it was.

And, for the record, I exaggerated the events in this story for comic effect. I wasn’t THAT scared. Come on. It’s just a prick and a few stitches. I THINK I can handle that, seeing as how I'm well on my way to 30. Sheesh.

Mommy…