Two words... Right Cheek. Three stitches. Pain level... 1. I can't believe it. Of all moles to be concerned about who-da thunk the one that has rarely (I won't say never) seen a ray of sun needed to come off. So it happens, ya know? All those years of greasing up like the Thanksgiving turkey are bound to catch up with a gal. Oh I'm sure it's nothing but better to be sure. Take the mole send it to some lab and then call me in a few days (you will call, won't you?). In the meantime I'll shuffle like a 90 year old, hoist myself with my arms into and out of my car and learn to sleep on my tummy for the next 2 weeks. Updates (minus gross photos) to follow. Tomorrow-the weekend update. A little look at where the B cups grew up (riveting blog material, I know.)
That's it. Done, dun and dunne. Oh sure, it's gonna be hard, but I've been scared as a ghost. AND, I'm gonna look like one now that I have turned over my new Casper white leaf. This morning I traded in my three stitches for sixteen new ones. Yes! Sixteen! Eight on the inside and 8 on the outside. Great. Just what I need is another dimple on my big ole butt. Here's the deal. Some lab rat in pathology didn't like what they saw under the microscope, so back under the scalpel I go. Carved right down to the fat and grissel to get all the bad cells (spitz tumor) out and keep me free of the melanoma. I marched (actually, more like shuffled) off the table and went right straight to Walgreen's. Two boxes of Tefla bandages, one jug of Extra Strength, Rapid Release Tylenol and SPF 70 sunblock for my upcoming winter safari. Think I am kidding?!? They really truly make it, and I really truly will be the, "whitest cracker arse," ever to walk the beaches of Mexico. I've seen the light or blocked the light, whatever. Uh, huh. A self photograph of my wound, all in the name of blog material.
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