Bumps and Lumps

Getting older is a pain.

Literally.

Monte made fun of his sister PROFUSELY when she brought this contraption with her from Texas this summer. 

It kind of looks like a tire iron.

It is better than a massager because it concentrates on pressure points.

To my surprise, one arrived in the mail last week.

Monte never tells me about the things he orders.

You put the hook part on your back or shoulder or elbow and pull it forward to work through the tension of your pain.

Monte and I fight over it at night.

Don't we sound like a blast?

It's super heavy.

I was lying on the couch watching TV the other night 

spinning this tool around mindlessly 

when the ball end of one of the hooks 

clocked me on the bridge of my nose, 

right between the eyes.

I thought I broke my nose 

and I'd have to tell the ER doctor just how I did it.

Moving on…

I went to the dermatologist a few weeks ago to get a routine mole check.

She told me the mole on my neck wasn't actually a mole but a skin tag.

A skin tag that would continue to get bigger with age.

Since I don't want to eventually be called "Grandma Mole Neck,"

I took the doctor up on her offer to remove it.

And no, I did not tell her about the Frankincense incident.

The doctor also wanted a bump on my calf removed and sent to a lab.

That would require surgery and 10 stitches.

Seriously?

I stood at the front desk for a long while trying to come up with a good time to get all this done. The front desk lady and I went back and forth but finally settled on a good time to slice open my calf and safely burn something off my neck.

I went home to discover I had put my dress on backwards after my exam.

My dress had pretty significant detailing on the neck line indicating that it was a front, not a back.

I'm really hoping my long hair covered it.

And I'm  SUPER thankful 

I didn't run any errands afterwards.

Yesterday Monte took me in for my appointment/surgery.

I went back by myself to get the skin tag on my neck removed and some things on my back I wasn't aware were there.

The nurse informed me the topical anesthetic would sting.

It did but it was NOTHING compared to the chemical burn of the Frankincense!

I didn't tell her that because I was too overwhelmed 

by the smell of my own burning flesh.

She didn't even have on a mask.

How does she DO THAT everyday?

They then led me to the surgery room and had Monte join me.

I was surprised they let Monte stay during the procedure.

The doctor told me to lie on my stomach on the table.

I foolishly thought that would be super comfy.

She had a student with her to assist in the surgery.

They were busy chatting away when the doctor said something about me feeling the prick of the needle that would numb my leg.

She inserted the needle into the bump on my leg.

A piece of broken glass slicing open my calf would've felt better.

I instantly wanted to say all the bad words.

But they just came out as a noise.

I got sweaty on my upper lip.

Everything after that was preoccupied by trying to figure out what they were doing, wondering why I was having muscle spasms in part of my calf and WHY IN THE WORLD the doctor and the student were debating the best way to handle the practice of female body part mutilation in different parts of the world.

I wanted to turn around and look at Monte but I was afraid to move.

He told me later I would've found his nose in his phone 

because he didn't want to see why there was smoke coming from the table.

After the surgery, they wrapped me up in a sassy pink bandage.

My calf was completely numb.

It is very strange to walk on a foot you can feel with a calf you cannot.

My brain misfired and I couldn't decide if I should limp 

or drag my leg behind me.

Walking to the car was an odd series of choices 

on what to do with my partially dead leg.

Overall, I liked the doctor and the practice very much.

I have to put a special gel on all my spots where the lumps and bumps used to be to prevent scabbing.

This afternoon, I get to redress my wound.

Fun times.

I go back in 14 days to get the stitches removed.

In the meantime, no running and jumping for me.

But the aftercare sheet said nothing about not cooking dinner 

or doing laundry.

Womp womp.