Well, the title is a touch misleading, but I'm a Leo and have a flair for the dramatic. I just had a minor surgery done to remove a strange and unbecoming lump that has been growing between my ribs for a good seven years now. Here is an account of my ordeal ...
I arrive at the clinic at 9 a.m. sharp on the first day of my week off from work and before I know it, I'm lying on the bed, shirtless and freezing. Good ol' Dr. Irvine tries to relax me by asking what I do for a living as he presses the knife down into my abdomen. I reply with a little yelp of pain and demand more local anesthetic. Not an auspiscious beginning.
When I am sufficiently numb, I lie there with my eyes averted for 15 minutes of yanking and cutting that has me growing increasingly nervous and nauseous. It literally feels like Irvine is trying to pull out my lung. I feel little trickles of moisture (blood) rolling down my side and begin to imagine my ribs laid bare in the open air and a monstrous lump being extracted. He begins throwing out comments such as, "well this is certainly different" and "take a deep breath so we can release it from your ribs." Not very encouraging. Nonetheless, I start to feel oddly fascinated by the idea of being given a little glimpse into the tireless, organic machine beneath my skin. How it is mine, yet possesses a will of its own that is separate from me.
Once the lump is finally out and I am all stitched up, Irvine holds up the little culprit for me to see and I stare without emotion at the gelatinous, deflated little cyst I have been harbouring in my chest for the better part of a decade. It was full of old blood, he said. Well, whatever was coursing around in there, I release you.
I leave the clinic a little dizzy and shaky and Wade is waiting there to deliver me back to my cozy couch for several hours of cuddling, napping and Lord of the Rings. Just what the doctor ordered. Well that and some polysporin.
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