Non BC Vent.
Hi folks, excuse my for being a bit off topic but I am SO BLOODY PISSED OFF that I need to let off some steam and I think my tribe will get this.
I've had a crappy little 'thing' on my face for years and years, Neary two decades. A tiny sebaceous cyst that then became a small cluster of tiny lumps. Every now and then, one of these things would pop and a tiny hard lump of stuff would come out. A bit disgusting, but not too alarming. I've always been assured this was nothing to worry about, unless it changed. Oddly enough it would change when I was having chemo; it--along with the myriad of skin horribles those of you who grew up in the 60s and 70 would be familiar with--would disappear.
Anyway, 2020 has been such a delight that I was unsurprised when said thing started to look a bit manky. My very sensible GP, once I could get an appointment, told me the thing and I had to part company and as it was just below my eye she wouldnt do it. Which surgeon would I like to see?
That's like asking which form of anthrax I'd prefer. Over the years, I've churned through most of the locals and,for one reason or another, vowed never to go back to them. So I've made an appointment with a guy who's only been here a couple of years.
I disliked the smarmy narcissist on sight. He agreed the thing was a BCC, and it needed to go, so, after some persuasion on my behalf, he agreed to do it under a local.
I've got a little meditation trick that I use when undergoing any procedure I'm not pleased about, so I explained this too him and told him I didn't need to be reassured,asked how I was going or given a commentary about what he was doing. Please don't talk to me unless you need me to do something.
I should have got up and left when he huffed and did a condescending eye roll.
He was so fucking rough. The area wasn't properly numbed and within 30 seconds he has launched into this tirade about a tenant in a rental property. The problems he was having with a car dealer. On and On, one grievance after another while he is slicing a chunk off my dial.
I lay there motionless for about 15 minutes. I could feel him putting the stitches in and finally cracked it.
'Would you mind giving me your undivided attention for the rest of the procedure?'
You'd think I'd slapped him. I honestly think he'd forgotten I was conscious. More huffing and puffing before telling me he'd finished and stomping off.
The wound bled and bled. I had blood running down my face and neck and two black eyes by the time I staggered out to the car. The appointment to have the sutures out was in two weeks which is too long. Wouldn't change it, so by that time the stitches were imbedded and I'd had to take the filthy dressing off. I cried when I saw what he had done. What a mess.
I'm not a particularly vain woman, but I am not happy about looking like an extra in a Mad Max movie. He's sown the wound up unevenly, I have a really nasty pleat under my eye and what looks like a nipple on my cheek. Two stitch sinuses which won't heal. It's disfiguring and on my face. I've had some crap surgical outcomes in the past, but I've been able to put clothes over them.
I've gone back and asked if he was happy with the job and he told me to leave his offices.
Why does it always have to be so hard?
Sorry about the extended whinge. I am really unhappy. Yes, I'll probably have to get some plastic surgery to fix it, or just live with it. All the while the fucker will keep slicing away at 1200 an hour.
I've had a crappy little 'thing' on my face for years and years, Neary two decades. A tiny sebaceous cyst that then became a small cluster of tiny lumps. Every now and then, one of these things would pop and a tiny hard lump of stuff would come out. A bit disgusting, but not too alarming. I've always been assured this was nothing to worry about, unless it changed. Oddly enough it would change when I was having chemo; it--along with the myriad of skin horribles those of you who grew up in the 60s and 70 would be familiar with--would disappear.
Anyway, 2020 has been such a delight that I was unsurprised when said thing started to look a bit manky. My very sensible GP, once I could get an appointment, told me the thing and I had to part company and as it was just below my eye she wouldnt do it. Which surgeon would I like to see?
That's like asking which form of anthrax I'd prefer. Over the years, I've churned through most of the locals and,for one reason or another, vowed never to go back to them. So I've made an appointment with a guy who's only been here a couple of years.
I disliked the smarmy narcissist on sight. He agreed the thing was a BCC, and it needed to go, so, after some persuasion on my behalf, he agreed to do it under a local.
I've got a little meditation trick that I use when undergoing any procedure I'm not pleased about, so I explained this too him and told him I didn't need to be reassured,asked how I was going or given a commentary about what he was doing. Please don't talk to me unless you need me to do something.
I should have got up and left when he huffed and did a condescending eye roll.
He was so fucking rough. The area wasn't properly numbed and within 30 seconds he has launched into this tirade about a tenant in a rental property. The problems he was having with a car dealer. On and On, one grievance after another while he is slicing a chunk off my dial.
I lay there motionless for about 15 minutes. I could feel him putting the stitches in and finally cracked it.
'Would you mind giving me your undivided attention for the rest of the procedure?'
You'd think I'd slapped him. I honestly think he'd forgotten I was conscious. More huffing and puffing before telling me he'd finished and stomping off.
The wound bled and bled. I had blood running down my face and neck and two black eyes by the time I staggered out to the car. The appointment to have the sutures out was in two weeks which is too long. Wouldn't change it, so by that time the stitches were imbedded and I'd had to take the filthy dressing off. I cried when I saw what he had done. What a mess.
I'm not a particularly vain woman, but I am not happy about looking like an extra in a Mad Max movie. He's sown the wound up unevenly, I have a really nasty pleat under my eye and what looks like a nipple on my cheek. Two stitch sinuses which won't heal. It's disfiguring and on my face. I've had some crap surgical outcomes in the past, but I've been able to put clothes over them.
I've gone back and asked if he was happy with the job and he told me to leave his offices.
Why does it always have to be so hard?
Sorry about the extended whinge. I am really unhappy. Yes, I'll probably have to get some plastic surgery to fix it, or just live with it. All the while the fucker will keep slicing away at 1200 an hour.
