I called “J”, my Eye-talian friend Monday to see how he was doing. Ok, I really wanted to have lunch with him. Ok, I really had an ulterior motive. No, it wasn’t that. The truth was I was really nervous about having my skin cancer biopsy the next day and had hoped I could maybe have lunch with him to get my mind off the impending anxiety…
Cancer. Shots. Cutting off pieces of my awesome face….all things I would normally see “A” about, but since I haven’t seen “A” since July, it was on to Plan B. Its true, my mom had offered her services, but since my mom’s idea of comforting is twelve hours of Gay Elvis Meets Star Trek stories and stories about strange improbable ghostly knocking sounds in the ceiling at 4 a.m., I decided to forgo my mom’s offer. “J” never called back incidently. I hope he’s okay. And yes, I know it could be something else.
I finally got to the doctor’s office the next day at 2. I didn’t even take any anti-anxiety medication. Yay me. Although I should have once they gave me some paperwork to sign saying I would have to PAY for the procedure if my crappy insurance didn’t cover it.
Ha ha ha haah hahhah hahaha. That’s rich! (And I’m not-rim shot).
Needless to say, I wouldn’t sign the damn thing. And rather amazingly when the nurse took my blood pressure right after that it was realllllllly realllllly high. I wonder why.
Fortunately my doctor of almost 14 years came in and didn’t make me sign it. I just told her I didn’t like the wording “Removal of a lesion”. It didn’t sound urgent enough. She said I didn’t have to sign it and not to worry. Of course looking down at the tray full of medical utensils and scalpels and 27″ long needles, it was suddenly like….me? Worried? Fahgedditaboutit! Eeeeee!!!
So I laid down on the pseudo-operating table. Tears immediately started streaming out of my eyes. I was really scared. Damn, where are those hands to hold when you really need them. My doctor said she had to swab my chin area with some betadine and it “would make me about the color of a filipino.”
Considering my history with filipinos, as in I lost close to a million dollars inheritance from my father because of some cunty little filipino, it kind of jangled my brain a bit. I told her that probably wasn’t such a good analogy, as more tears slid out of my eyes. And then SHE felt bad. Gah! It really wasn’t THAT big of a deal. Bygones, ya know. Hey Carmelita, could you send me a $50 giftcard to Target so I can buy Guardcat some litter and we’ll call it even. Kidding! Especially since you probably already spent it all on that totally dreadful upper lip waxing issue.
Anyhoo, my doctor was soon sticking the 27″ needle around in my chin and despite the fact that I stick it out alot when people are trying to put me in my place, I guess it finally met its match and went numb. Well, kinda. Like in a way where I could still feel every motherfrecking pinch and poke of the scalpel on the bottom half of my chin. And I guess I don’t really have a good poker face because I kept wincing and shutting my eyes like a little girl, every time it hurt or stung. My doctor said it was possible the lidacaine hadn’t quite numbed this one large nerve that runs along the bony ridge of my chin. She said a large pad of fat protects it.
You calling me fat, bitch?
Oh, I didn’t say that. I like my doctor. Anyways, being wittykitty, I did ask if she could possibly spot me a little double chin liposuction action since she was poking around down there, but apparently that DEFINITELY isn’t covered by my insurance.
Hey, I had to ask!
The slicing part was finally done, but I was feeling a little light-headed. Her and the Goth nurse were doing this comedy routine while she was operating and while I appreciated it, like ha ha ha, good one, don’t cut off my nostril, I was feeling anxious about all the blood I was seeing on their hands and the blotting cloth.
That night I was in a lot of pain, kind of like the Grim Reaper secretly dressed like Nurse Ratched was scrubbing my chin with an asbestoes coated steel wool pad. When I went to brush my teeth around 12:30 a.m. there were sudden rivulets of blood pouring out of both sides of the bandage. I totally freaked! I did call my mother on that one. She used to be in nursing. She mostly just kept saying not to touch it with my fingers.
I know I’ve heard that somewhere before. 🙂
Sleeping turned out to be even more hellish. I didn’t get to sleep until almost 3 a.m. thinking about death and cancer and the two funerals I’ve been to in the last 2 1/2 weeks and thinking I’m next. I woke up again at 5 in exquisite pain, both on my chin and in my sinuses and went to blow my nose only to rupture the freakin thing again, sending blood down my chin.
Plus it looks hideous. I had 7 stitches sewn with some white silky thread and then she plastered it up with these big white steri-stripes which had soaked up all the filipino coloring and dried blood and basically looked like a big piece of toilet paper with poop stuck to my chin. Yay!
The next day was my art class and I sort of went back and forth about whether I was going to go. We’re going to be off for two weeks at the end of December and thats my only social life and also it was my week to co-host with Charlemagne, but dang, I looked so hideous with that big piece of shit paper on my chin.
But art won out of course and I’m really really glad it did. Why? Well, as I was manning the money box and Charlemagne was setting things up, I suddenly looked up and there was BlueMeany! I haven’t seen her since we went to the Bob Dylan concert over a year ago. She was in town visiting and she didn’t realize that THIS nekkid drawing class was in fact, the one immortalized in the wittykitty blog. It was great to see her! And oh, the inappropriate behavior that followed. Not hers of course.
I kept asking Charlemagne to put in some Bob Dylan music for our guest and he was being all grumpy the first half of the class. But once he met, or rather was enchanted by Meany, he was ALL ABOUT making her welcome. You see, he noticed the unique and lovely tattoo on her neck, which immediately had him dragging her into our equipment closet (I was chaperoning, of course) with him pulling off his shirt to show her his rather extensive tattoo collection. I was both mortified and amused, but thats pretty much how I always feel about Charlemagne and why I love him.
It was also sorta weird for blog world and real world to collide like that. …so unexpectedly.
Anyways, Meany was a very, very good sport through it all and we ended up having lunch on Thursday and catching up on things.
And Monday I get the stitches out. I’m hoping these stupid paper stitches “fall” off sooner, because they keep rubbing against my bottom lip and its driving me insane. I really don’t know how guys can stand having whiskers and mustaches. You da bomb. Truly.