So at 9:00 AM this morning I had two cysts removed from my head. Previously speaking Dr. V had been unable to get the surgery room, and we’d discussed the removal but had to put off the actual cutting, so this was D-day for head lumps.
For those of you not informed already, I have hereditary sebaceous cysts, which are basically big benign, ingrown hairs. The only problem with them is awkward placement and progressive engorgement, since to outside observers it’s a blind little bump the same colour and hairiness as the rest of my scalp. However lump number one had increased in size from its starting point when it grew in with puberty, to poking out of my hair like a disfiguring iceberg, and lump number two was on the side of my head, where headbands squooshed it uncomfortably. So, it was time to take advantage of Canadian medical care.
I’d laid the ground work for getting it done. Dr. Old at the school clinic, Dr. GS in dermatology, and finally one consultation with Dr. V, the actual surgeon, since Dr. GS no longer performed the procedure (I assume due to his advanced age). After checking myself in (accompanied by mothboy) for moral support, the nurse prepped me to lie on a narrow, high table by covering it with a fitted sheet so worn it had holes in it. She then gave me stern instruction not to touch the sterile equipment, and after she left mothboy wandered around the room conspicuously not touching things and pretending to sneeze on the table from about a foot away.
Dr. V showed up after a few minute’s wait lying on my back and at my request the doctor provided a narration of the procedure. Bactine swab followed by lidocaine needles that the doctor promised would be ‘a bit painful’. Which means “very painful” in doctor speak, and given a fairly high thresh hold on my part, I weighed it against the pain of a migraine and found it lacking, though each deep-ish poke was followed by a loud “Yow!”
At this point, needle phobic mothboy “had to go to the bathroom”, a fact that he maintains was the absolute truth, and he disappeared. Doctor and nurse clucked what a poor thing he was.
As I do in stressful situations, I keep up a steady stream of babble related to my interest in the procedure, making sure the doctor knew everything that was going on. She began to cut with snick, snick like sounds and an uncomfortable tugging sensation on my scalp like she was pulling my hair. When asked, she said she was cutting the skin, but she might as well of been poking me over and over again for all I could feel or see.
And that’s when we heard the whistling. Twisted Nerve, lovingly replicated enough that it sounded like someone was whistling just outside the door, the music from a scene in a film where the assassin impersonates a nurse to kill the hero. My doctor’s cell phone. So my doctor liked Kill Bill and has a weird sense of humor. I like her!
Shortly after cyst number one was out, mothboy reappeared and was duly teased. Cyst two, much smaller and on the side of my head came out. Mothboy left again, this time due to actual queasies.
And then came the cleanup. Scuttling out with alacrity befitting of a surgeon, Dr. V departed, trailing a medical student leaving only her business card and the nurse who was to clean up.
And there was a lot more blood than they realized. I proceeded to go into shock, while the nameless nurse tried to get me to sit up, making the fainting woozies worse and wash my blood drenched hair without disturbing the stitches. Blood got everywhere. “Oh shit” quoth she.
I never, ever want to have a medical professional do something behind my head and start swearing. Nameless nurse swabbed down my hair and floor. I babbled. Mothboy squeazed my icey, now yellow coloured foot and brought it to her attention that I was going into shock (or to be honest, I’d got there already and was trying to buy a local map from the gift store at the train station). Nameless nurse announced that she couldn’t tell by looking at my face, as I’m so pale.
Parked on another bed in a waiting area, I camped out for half an hour while a second identical but also nameless nurse (I think there’s a law that says that nurses have to be wiry, petite women with highlighted blonde hair) took my blood pressure and accused me of being a medical student since I could correctly use “vasovagal” and explain that my blood pressure was usually either normal or low-normal. Duly flattered, I crawled home with mothboy’s help and called in sick for the other half of my shift.
Now I have mild discomfort in my scalp and hair all spiked up from the sterile solution and spray on wound sealer I was bathed in, something I can’t wash until tomorrow. My hair is also tinted red from bactine/blood. Yipee.
