Head cheese

One week ago I went back to the office of John the surgeon and had some lumps removed from my head. I know, what is it with me and lumps? I had some cysts on my scalp, cysts that have been my little friends for about eight years. John's opinion on them was, as he threw them in the biohazard box, "These are totally not cancerous. They don't even have the chance of being cancerous. I am throwing them in the trash because I know they are not cancerous." I have history with John the surgeon, and I know that he likes to explain things a lot. He also likes to knock on wood.

I love my surgeon, because he's nice and he really helped me through my cancer scare. But he likes to explain things a little too much. Enough that I came very close to passing out on him and the nurse.

I was a good girl for the local that he shot into my scalp. I was even fine for a while after that. But John, why do you have to say things like, "You may hear some cutting noises, kind of like when you get your hair cut?" I mean, gag me. This is the point when I started to feel woozy. Because I really did hear these noises and it was disgusting. And then there was tugging and he was telling me that he was going to try to pop the cyst out whole, rather than letting it burst, and Jeez Oh Pete, as my friends here at the Land like to say, I had to lay my head down and breathe really deep.

Everyone has their bedside manner I guess. And John the surgeon likes to give a lot of information. It also doesn't help that he describes the lumps as having a "cottage cheese consistency".

So anyways, soon I have to go back and get my stitches out. And John will tell me that I may feel some hair pulling, but not to worry because the skin will not come off, and my wounds will not open until someone hits me on the head with a skillet. And then, I will faint.