Mr. Doctor and Me.

So it’s not Canada related, but seriously, I can’t live every moment in the shadow of my leaving.

I visited the doctor’s today, us two are becoming quite tight since I just see him all the time now. Check this lump for me, write this prescription for me, do some micro brain surgery on me… you know, the usual. I should put him on speed dial, maybe he’ll give me a bulk consultation discount. Wait, isn’t that what Medicare is all about? I never know, I don’t use it… yet. With all my receipts from mr D. I think it’s about time that I try to figure it all out.

Today was the said brain surgery, he went in through my neck. Quite gruesome. The most ironic part of the procedure was the local anaesthetic really hurt… irony people, irony!! I toughed it out because I am one, and mr doctor left me for about 15 minutes for it to… soak in… I suppose you might say. I discovered at that moment that I actually hate the feeling of numbness, ESPECIALLY on my neck. Icky..

He came back after seeing an old lady (I could hear them down the hall, what a way to make money, consult while your poor extremely-loyal patient lays in wait) and then went at it, hacking around to yank out some awesomely gross growth. Hating all things medical, it made me feel quite icky while he did his cutting dealio and it seemed to take forever for him to squeeze it out. The lump that is, not my brain.

Eventually I could feel it had come out but was still attached to tissue and he was pulling it and I could feel it and it was SOOOOOOOOO gross but also mildly satisfying… like popping a pimple that’s ready to go (I get some sick glee from those experiences). He had to cut the tissue more and more and you’d feel a snap and then he’d go back for more, probably making sure he’d got it all which is FINE BY ME because if it happened to be cancerous then I’d rather him not leave a bit hanging around as a souveneir.

He finished and sewed me up, now it hurts to move my head and everytime I turn I am scared all the stitches will come flying out which is silly because they are covered in a nice water-proof dressing that took him three goes to put on properly.

What’s another scar compared to my thyroidectomy one?

Scars are like badges of countries you pick up on the way showing where you’ve been.

Hershey didn’t come, he’s hopeless in situations like this. I told he was useless and to go home and to put the bins out (but the jokes on him because the bins don’t go out today).

Mutilated and thriving, this has been another Kezza blog.