In Stitches, Part II
I know... I promised I'd devote more time to the ol' blog, but I just couldn't write much last week because I was pretty depressed.
Some of you already know this... but a few days after getting my stitches out, my pathology report came back from my first surgery... and there were more dysplastic cells that they needed to remove. So Tuesday, I went back under the knife.
By the way-- I hate calling these procedures "surgery," because it conjures up images of major trauma. It really isn't-- at least not physically. I can eat whatever I want before I go in... I don't have to wear a paper gown... and I can even wear makeup. I go to the doctor's office, he shoots half my face up with novocane, and a few minutes later, he puts a drape over my face and attacks me with an exacto knife (actually, I've never looked at the scalpel he uses... but in my imagination, it looks a lot like an exacto knife.) The whole procedure takes maybe half an hour, including the row of dissolving stitches he puts on the inside of my incision, and the row of eight ugly black stitches on the exterior.
The first time he had to do surgery, it really wasn't that bad. Yeah, the incision was ugly. But I was dealing with it pretty well. The second time, though, I kind of freaked out. After all, I only have so much skin on my face. This time, it's stretched a little tighter, and if I open my mouth really wide to yawn, or if I scrunch my face up to avoid sneezing, I can feel it stretch a little bit around my stitches.
My big fear isn't that the scar will be worse this time (though don't think that thought hasn't crossed my mind several times). My big fear is that after I get my stitches out tomorrow, they'll tell me that they still need to remove more. Another procedure... another week with a big bandage on my face... another week I won't be able to anchor... another week of answering questions from curious acquaintances.
I know. I should be grateful that the cells were only dysplastic and not malignant. I should be grateful that they're getting rid of all of it and (hopefully) this will be the last time I ever have to deal with this. And I should be grateful the my dermatologist sent me to a plastic surgeon to have this done. And I am grateful, believe me. But it doesn't make this any more fun. I never liked my face that much in the first place... now I just want to have it back.
Some of you already know this... but a few days after getting my stitches out, my pathology report came back from my first surgery... and there were more dysplastic cells that they needed to remove. So Tuesday, I went back under the knife.
By the way-- I hate calling these procedures "surgery," because it conjures up images of major trauma. It really isn't-- at least not physically. I can eat whatever I want before I go in... I don't have to wear a paper gown... and I can even wear makeup. I go to the doctor's office, he shoots half my face up with novocane, and a few minutes later, he puts a drape over my face and attacks me with an exacto knife (actually, I've never looked at the scalpel he uses... but in my imagination, it looks a lot like an exacto knife.) The whole procedure takes maybe half an hour, including the row of dissolving stitches he puts on the inside of my incision, and the row of eight ugly black stitches on the exterior.
The first time he had to do surgery, it really wasn't that bad. Yeah, the incision was ugly. But I was dealing with it pretty well. The second time, though, I kind of freaked out. After all, I only have so much skin on my face. This time, it's stretched a little tighter, and if I open my mouth really wide to yawn, or if I scrunch my face up to avoid sneezing, I can feel it stretch a little bit around my stitches.
My big fear isn't that the scar will be worse this time (though don't think that thought hasn't crossed my mind several times). My big fear is that after I get my stitches out tomorrow, they'll tell me that they still need to remove more. Another procedure... another week with a big bandage on my face... another week I won't be able to anchor... another week of answering questions from curious acquaintances.
I know. I should be grateful that the cells were only dysplastic and not malignant. I should be grateful that they're getting rid of all of it and (hopefully) this will be the last time I ever have to deal with this. And I should be grateful the my dermatologist sent me to a plastic surgeon to have this done. And I am grateful, believe me. But it doesn't make this any more fun. I never liked my face that much in the first place... now I just want to have it back.
Labels: the daily grind
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