I’m not one to faint at the sight of blood, but whooo. .. over the past couple days I almost have a few times.
This week I had to have minor surgery to get a mole removed, which is not that big of a deal, except that the mole was in a not very public area that has made it difficult to dress properly and has caused a good amount of pain if I move around too much. The prescription for Vicodin has helped, but has also made me woozy so I don’t like taking it too much.
The surgery itself went really quickly, although I was really freaked about it. I mean, I know it’s minor, but a series of things were really putting me on edge. I had gone in last week for the procedure and after getting checked in and waiting in the waiting room for an hour, I found out that my doctor canceled all appointments because he was really sick. There was a voice mail that I didn’t realize I’d gotten so that was my fault, but they couldn’t tell me why the front receptionists didn’t know my doctor wasn’t even in and allowed me to sit in the waiting room for an hour. As an “oops we screwed up” gift I got some killer lip balm and some dermatologist-recommended sunscreen. I guess the thing I was most upset about was that I just wanted to get it over with and now I had a week more of worrying.
So then this week I go in for my appointment and as the nurse brought me into the room she said “you’re here for a cyst on your head, right?” err… I wanted to turn and run. Then the nurse started asking me all the basic questions I answered on my initial visit like “what are you allergic to and what medication are you on?,” and the doctor walked in and didn’t remember me. That wasn’t so bad though, because my I’d only met him once at the initial appointment that was weeks ago and as soon as he saw the mole again he said he remembered.
I guess I then realized that I’m used to getting babied by my other doctor who has wonderful bedside manor and by my dentist who is the coolest chick and really very conscious of holding needles out of eyesight until the last second and things like that. I didn’t even realize my other doctors were so good at it until the nurse at the dermatologist office just sat there holding needles in front of my face and passing them to the doctor while I sweated bullets. It also didn’t help that the doctor and the nurse barely acknowledged my presence and just talked over the top of me about random crap. After making a whole bunch of injections, they both left the room and let me sit there for 15 minutes by myself while I stared at the ceiling and thought about scalpels and needles and freaked myself out.
During the procedure, they did the same talking around me and holding things over me but I tried to look away. Not to be gross, but even though the spot was numb, you can still totally feel everything cutting and tugging and blood dripping. Finally they did try to involve me in conversation some, but before I knew it the doctor just walked out. Guess he was done. The nurse cleaned up, put some “steri strips” over the stitches, gave me some instructions and supplies and said I was ok to go. I was like “don’t I even need a bandage?” and she was like “oh! my bad! omg, im so sorry.” I guess she just forgot.
I was waiting for Dallas to come and meet me because my bags were too heavy and I wasn’t really in pain yet, but I felt so weak and drained and dizzy and faint. I was just sitting in the lobby of this place trying to take deep breaths. Of course then when he got there we still had to walk for 15 minutes in like 20 degree weather to get prescriptions and things, but once we got in a cab and got home Dallas took care of everything. He has been a good, if not stern, nurse.
For a few days I took the Vicodin, but it made me feel really out of it. Then was the day to remove the heavy bandages. I took a shower and then tried to do it but it was hurting pretty bad and I felt so dizzy and my eyesight was like spotty.. I sat on the toilet but it didn’t get better right away so I had to go and lay on the couch with my feet up. Finally I had to get up the courage to finish undressing the wound and putting a new bandage on. The cut and stitches look to be about two inches long. Eek. I don’t even want to think about it. I made Dallas help me the other times I needed to change the bandage.
I don’t know if its the placement of the cut or just that I haven’t had any sort of injury for a long time or because the location of it makes it hard to do things and get dressed properly (actually I haven’t been able to get dressed to go in public for days) or because I’m getting old, but whew. I am not liking this!
