It's really really hard to find a comfortable place to sit when right the very top of your right thigh there are three little stitches placed neatly in a row, there to hold your skin together and keep you from spouting gore all over the place after a lovely young lady with lots of education punched a hole in your meat to take out a dysplastic nevus.
Imagine a spot three inches or so under your butt crease, toward the center, right in the pale fleshy bits that, if you're me, are very nearly the bits that rub together whilst walking (shut up about the 'whilst,' OK? When I have a point to make I get all Britishy). Tender, no? THEN imagine a bit of that luscious cannibal-fodder about the size of half a pencil eraser CORED from your body. The three stitches all in a row are, I'm sure, a blessing, because a hole that size could no doubt cause some sizable laundry bills to pile up, what with all the gushing.
Then? Imagine that after the nice young smart doctor lady finished doing crewelwork on what is very nearly your ass, she shoots a stream of liquid-frigging-nitrogen at the bridge of your nose to get rid of the actinic keratosis that's lurking there waiting, just waiting, to turn into a basal cell carcinoma (<---or perhaps a horn, like that lady over there). The actinic keratosis now has a whopping case of frostbite, is soon to swell to admirable proportion as a blister forms beneath it, which will then scab over (so much to look forward to!), and, in about two weeks, will fall off leaving nothing but sparkles and rainbows underneath.
If you can imagine all that, then welcome to my world, post-dermatologist visit.
Anybody out there know how to take out stitches to save me an office visist? Anyone? You'd have to not mind being close to my butt...