Stitched Up.

Went to doctor Thursday afternoon to get stiches removed from the back of my scalp.

I've always had what I assumed (as have most other people) to be a mole on the back of my head. Last week , it decided to to get angry and puffed up like a blow fish. Consequently, I took it to see doctor and, being somewhat attached to it, I thought I'd go along as well. As I had never actually seen the thing, and because she was in a better position to be able to testify to its condition, S came with me. Between us, we managed to convince doctor that the growth was indeed misbehaving, and deserved some form of discipline.

Whilst examining the miscreant, doctor discovered it had a false identity. What had been passing itself off as a mole was, in fact, a wart. For such duplicity doctor was obliged to hand down the only sentence allowed. Capital punishment. "Off with its head!" A date was set for sentence to be carried out.

The day of excision finally arrived. S and yongest daughter, E, came along with me for moral support. As they had some shopping to do, they thought they'd get that done, then meet me at the surgery. This sounded like a plan, and off we went on our adventure.

To ensure proceedings went as smoothly as possible, I had previously gone to my barber and gotten him to shave the immediate area surrounding wart, exposing its crimes for all to observe. Boy! It stuck out like a certain part of a dog's anatomy, only uglier, and I was sure that everyone behind me in the crowded shopping centre was staring at it as I made my way to the surgery. I forged onward, though.

Being experienced in these matters, (not by design, mind you) I wasn't particularly anxious about the upcoming procedure. The only part I wasn't too happy about was the injection they give you to anaesthetise the immediate area. That stings a bit. But, of course, once the anaesthetic kicks in, everything becomes numb, and the operation is carried out smoothly and painlessly, all according to the script. Sometimes, however, the lines get fluffed, and the performance is suddenly impromtu.

Doctor didn't use enough anaesthetic.

It's a good thing scapels are so sharp. With the exception of the bottom extremity of the excision site which was nice and numb, I felt every single slice. Imagine slicing your finger open with a carving knife, ten to twenty times. Then imagine not being able to jerk your hand away. That was me, lying there on my stomach - which is something I am unable to do for any great length of time, to start with - fists and teeth clenched.

Because scalps are quite vascular and can bleed freely, doctor had called in nurse to assist. Her duty was to swab the area to ensure blood didn't make a mess. Nurse was aware of what was happening, and offered to let me squeeze her hand to ease the pain. I cheerfully asked if she wanted to keep her hand. Finally, accompanied by a chorus of relieved sighs, the recalcitrant wart was divorced from my scalp.

Now, if you think cutting something out of your body without anaesthetic might be painful, try stitching it up again. When something is causing you pain, it seems to last forever, doesn't it? I would have sworn doctor was hand sewing a quilt, it seemed to take that long. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if he's stitched a label that says "Hand Crafted In Australia" back there.

Suffice to say, the job was eventually finished. The wound stopped bleeding, and the wart was sent off for autopsy. Nurse, who had come close to revisiting breakfast, was able to return to her more mundane duties behind the reception desk. I was sent home with a smarting scalp, and a belief that Rambo had nothing on me. S and E were in the waiting room doing what waiting rooms are designed for - waiting - and I filled them in on all that passed. S was naturally concerned and empathetic. E covered her ears.

Anyhow, as I said, on Thursday I got the stiches removed. Well, not all of them. One had been covered over by the scab. Doctor was reluctant to try and remove it for fear of pulling away the scab and reopening the wound, thereby forcing him to repeat the sewing procedure. I was never more in agreement with someone than when he suggested we leave the stitch in for another week, and give the scab time to dry out and fall off.

Results of the autopsy showed there were no signs of cancer, just a mild bacterial infection which the antibiotic army had already dealt with. Also wart's identity was confirmed.

So, all in all, a happy ending, except ...

Being a wart, it's kind of like a lizard's tail. It can grow back. Doctor informed me of this possibility and advised that, next time, I come in earlier, whilst it was still very small, and he would be able to freeze it off instead of excising it.

Not a problem.

Anything larger than a pin head, and I'll be waiting at the door when they unlock the surgery.