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| You don't want so see what's under here.. trust me.. |
So I visited my doctor for an operation. Nothing serious, mind. The lump on my forearm was getting a little sore and needed removing. I found myself chatting with a lovely nurse called Linda who explained about the finer points of cysts and other lumps and bumps before introducing me to Doctor K the surgeon.
It was all over so quick! Doctor K spent a couple of minutes diagnosing before getting me to sit down and roll up my sleeve. Boom! he slapped on the iodine before the needle of anaesthetic came out. "You'll feel a slight sting" he said whilst the local did its' work (I can still feel my fingers buzzing at the memory as I type this). I turned away and felt an odd pulling sensation as the Good Doctor removed his quarry from my arm. He then pulled out a surgical torch to cauterise the wound before leaving the room. "Call me if you have any problems, Linda" he said over his shoulder before disappearing out the door again. Coffee and donut still warm and waiting in his office, no doubt.
At this point the nausea kicked in. Was it the meds tripping me out? Or the adrenaline dump being cleared out of my veins? I don't know - all I remember was the sweats breaking out on my temple and the worried glances of Nurse L who gave me a cold compress and a glass of water whilst I road the whitie wave back to level ground again. The smell of burnt flesh is something you don't forget. That metallic tang stuck in my nostrils as the nurse opened the windows to chase it back out the room again.
In short, I survived. The clammy waxwork who looked back at me from the mirror looked as relieved as I felt! Two days on I have a scab which looks like someone stubbed a big fat cigar out on my arm, but that's OK by me.
Maybe I'll freak out the children with it if they misbehave. Tell 'em it's what they're having for dinner! ;)
Just a thought.
A.
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