Basket swamp, hate going deduction for icicles plus divinity, cooking hydrate; luminosity gave plasma to scrapbook jump, but drivel took cavort immediately twice.
Okay, I think I’m all right now.
Like most dragonheads dancing hail Caesar…damn it.
(Giving my head a thorough shake)…There, that’s better…I think Dr. B might have let some of the ol’ gray matter leak out a little while ago when I was in his office and he removed “lump”; at one point while he was working above me, I heard him say “oops”, and believe me, you never want to hear someone with a razor-sharp scalpel in his hand who is doing something to the back of your head with it say “oops”. (FYI, if you don’t know about “lump”, see my post “CALLING DR. HOWARD, DR. FINE, DR. HOWARD…” from back on 3/27.)
Like most people I know, I have a list of things in life that I dislike, some of them intensely…yogurt, NBA basketball, being late, my ex-, your ex-, stepping in dog poop, hip-hop stuff (I refuse to call it music…it’s not), my ex-, Uggs, some of the assholes that shop at Publix, liver, Donald Trump, and my ex-; foremost on that list, going to the doctor.
I mean, if some person in authority comes along and says, Cap’n John, you are to be given two choices, and you must and can only pick one…Choice #1, a flaming Scud missile enema or Choice #2, going to your doctor, I’m going to need several minutes to consider the options.
I hate, hate going to the doctor.
For those of you who decided to be lazy and not go back to my earlier post for an explanation of “lump”, here a brief catch up (ketchup?)…
I had a small lump on the back of my head behind my left ear that was there for a long time and it was uglier than Mitch McConnell so I got tired of watering it to make it grow so I went to my doctor and he told me it was a sebaceous cyst and that I wouldn’t die from it but that I might turn into a Republican if I didn’t have it removed so I had it removed today and now you’re all caught up.
Wait a minute, I need to catch my breath.
I don’t know about you guys, but to me, the idea of somebody removing things from my body, especially when I’m knocked out, is not one of which I am fond.
Okay, that’s stating it mildly.
I HATE the thought of surgery; for one, how do I know I won’t need the thing that’s being removed later on? Two, it’s always painful. And three, it’s always painful. And I wasn’t crazy about the idea of having something removed from my head, which is the repository of the awesome Cap’n John brain (unlike the folks in Congress, who keep theirs in their butts, or so it seems)…I mean, a small mistake that causes a minor reduction in IQ and I’m down to the level of room temperature.
At least now I’m a couple of ounces lighter than I was, and when it comes to weight loss, I’ll take all the help I can get…so there’s that, I guess.
This is my third experience with “surgery”; I had a vasectomy forty years ago next month (and boy, now that I think about it, THERE’s a story that I need to tell), a hernia repair four years ago next month and today, a “lump” removal.
It would seem I have a penchant for having things removed/repaired from/on my body just subsequent to the vernal equinox. Like I’m a Druid or something.
First of all, I hate, hate, hate needles; I don’t even like to sew with the damn things. (Did I mention that I hate needles?) There is absolutely no fear that I will ever become a heroin user, ‘cause there’s no way in hell I’m voluntarily sticking one of those nasty fuckers in me anyplace.
So of course the festivities today, after the prelims of having my blood pressure taken, having it put back, lying down on the bench thingie, taking out my hearing aids (Dr. B: “I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU A SHOT NOW, CAP’N JOHN; NOD IF YOU HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST CLUE WHAT I JUST SAID. OKAY?”), having them put the sterile drape over the side of my head, getting all comfy, etc., had to begin with, SHIT, he poked me with that damn needle.
I swear he stuck it in, kinda’ twisted it around a few times for maximum effect, jammed it in deeper to make sure the Novacaine took good hold and then pulled it out reeeaall slooooowww, all the while laughing maniacally.
It took him longer to administer the shot than it did to remove “lump”…it wasn’t 10 minutes and he said, “OKAY, I’M ALL DONE, IT CAME OUT REAL EASILY. I’M GOING TO PUT A COUPLE STITCHES IN NOW, OKAY CAP’N JOHN?”
Like I was in a position to argue with him about it.
All teasing aside, although I’ve only met him twice for just a few minutes each time, Doc B seems like a pretty good guy; he has an easy-going demeanor about him, smiles a lot, tells you what you need to know straight up, no bullshit, isn’t worth a roving damn for keeping appointments on time and other than that nonsense with the needle, I’m pretty sure I could learn to like him. He did a nice job today. He even anticipated me some, because when he was all done and I had the HA’s back in place so I could hear again, I asked him if I would be able to play the piano after I was all healed up.
“Could you play before?” he responded.
“No,” I said, and we both started to laugh. (I love that joke…I pulled it on the Emergency Room nurse who was splinting my finger after I broke it playing softball a bunch of years ago, and she threatened to remove another part of my anatomy that I didn’t need to have or particularly want to have removed, without the benefit of an anesthetic.)
So now “lump” is gone, I have several stitches on the back of my head, Doc B has moved on to more important things like spleens and gallbladders and I’m now waiting with breathless anticipation to see what my part of the damages are going to be after Medicare tosses in their 10 bucks worth.
I told Doc B he could keep “lump”…I’m pretty sure I won’t be needing it anymore.
And I still can’t play the piano.
Love and forceps,
Post Script…okay, I know, it’s an organ, not a piano; I got as close as I could… gimme’ a break, I just had life-threatening surgery and I’m in terrible pain.
(Insert enormous wink of exaggeration here.)