After a week of prodding from John I finally made an appointment to check on this weird rash on my chest and back. (TMI, but it's pertinent to the story!). I thought I'd get a prescription ointment and maybe, worse case scenario, a cortisone shot.
Doc took a look and said it could be an infection, but to be sure we treat the right thing, we should scrap a sample and send it off to lab. Um, ok. So scrapping didn't exactly sound pleasant but how bad could it be?
Then he comes back with a syringe, and said you know really we should do what's called a punch biopsy. But, we'll only do it if it's ok with me.
That Dr. King, he's such a nice guy. He wants to punch a hole in my chest but only if it's ok with me. It would have been easier if he 'd just come in and said this is what we're doing.
So I'm thinking that little syringe that's what you're going to punch me with, right. "That sounds like it'll hurt." That's when Dr. King cheerfully held up the syringe and said "Oh, no, I'm going to numb you up first." Holy, shit. This just starting looking really, really bad.
This is point where inside my head, I totally lose it. But I tried to suck it up. I'm laying down, so Dr. King can give me a shot in the center of my chest right over my breast bone (Gah! I know, right!) and I'm sure I'm cringing so badly you'd think he was about to stick leeches to me.
After I have a few minutes to numb up and let the whole idea of punching a hole in my chest sink in, Dr. King and the nurse are back. And they start talking about sutures, and needle drivers. Um, excuse me, what!
Ok, in all honesty, the actual procedure was not bad as far as pain goes, but it was so incredibly creepy and horrifying. I told my nurse, I was taking a sucker on my way out because I totally earned it. He told me I could have three, one for each of my stitches. That's right, three stitches! I'm still totally wigged.