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Harvest Time

January 26, 2011 Leave a comment Go to comments

I can’t believe the rigmarole I have to go through these days for my annual skin cancer harvesting. When I started going to my plastic surgeon a few years back, it was in to his surgery for a quick slash and burn with the bloody swabs hitting the floor before a few stitches and then a pat on the head, a lollipop, and sent packing.

For the last few years, it’s into a fancy hospital for day surgery, a few knock drops or sedation followed by some yummy tucker and coffee and it’s all over red rover.  Gee, could I get to like that sedation stuff!  Bring on Armageddon and who gives a rats clacker!  I keep asking if they could bottle some to take home but yesterdays reply was along the lines of did I want to end up like Michael Jackson?  I told him if he stuffed up with his scalpel on my nose, then I might end up with a sniffer like him anyway.

In the past, I’ve had some pretty serious gouging with the scalpel over my body mainly around the face when I usually contemplate the ignorance of my generation at the power of the Aussie sun in our youth.  This time it was for some teeny weeny errant skin cells on my nose so I front up to the hospital, get processed, stuck in a waiting room with one of those funny white gowns and left there for 3 hours before a nurse pops in to apologise for the delay but they had some difficult cases before me probably meaning they had a few die but they’ll try and get the next one right.

I get wheeled into the operating room, poked, prodded, attached to machines and monitors while the anaesthetist pops his “this is just to relax you” drops in and then Peter (it’s been first names for years now) pops into the operating room with a shiny scalpel flashing in his hand and exclaims, “What am I supposed to be cutting off?”  I asked him pleadingly if he wouldn’t mind not looking any lower than my face.

I told him he found something at the consultation a few weeks back so he examines my nose in great detail and soon exclaims, “Ah, there it is!”

Five minutes later, teeny weeny was gone (thankfully the one on my face) and I was hoeing into sangers and coffee in the recovery room.

I ended up with a tiny nick on the side of my nose with a couple of stitches, and if that isn’t the biggest load of overkill, then I’ll go he.  Jeez, you could do more damage nicking yourself while shaving.

Maybe his golf club membership is due?

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