No, I am not talking about the Twilight movies. Although I did go to see Eclipse with Samantha and Rachel the other night, and it was totally fantastic, and not only because Samantha and I continually made lewd comments about werewolf/vampire guy-on-guy action.
Hahaha. Yes, kiss that doggy.
Hopefully this will be the last post about it, but I'm talking about my cyst removal saga. I went to the doctor on Tuesday to get the stitches out. Surprisingly, over the past two weeks, the bigger wound in the middle of my upper back hasn't been hurting much. However, the smaller one that's more in the center of my back has been kind of annoying. Every time I bend over to tie my shoes or pet my dog, I can feel it. At first I was really worried that I was going to pop the stitches, and then I just got used to the kind of gross feel of it straining against the (apparently super strong) stitches. Yuck.
The nurse quickly got to taking out my stitches, which hurt and felt disgusting. You might be able to tell that I have never had stitches before. Sewing up a wound is a gross enough concept, but pulling out the thread later is even more disgusting. When she got to the one on the bigger upper incision, it hurt like a bitch and I squirmed a bit. She said, "That was a very long one." Then she reminded me why I love medical professionals. They just assume that you want to see EVERYTHING. That might disturb some people, but I really do want to be forced into looking at every disgusting thing that is happening with my body. So of course she brought her tweezers up by my face to demonstrate how long, exactly, this thing was. They were gripping a thick squiggly fiber about two inches long. My long stitch, fresh off two weeks stuck in my back. Yum.
Thankfully I no longer have to deal with keeping these back gashes totally covered by bandages. Because my skin is kind of sensitive, so those "tough" bandaids that would stick with you through swimming, showering, baths in sulfuric acid, etc. leave me all red and raw and hurty. However, the gentler bandaids don't really stick in the summertime when you're walking around town and perspiration is gathering on your lower back. So what I'm saying is, you should have bought stock in Band-aids a few weeks ago because I've been spending my life's savings (which was like $4 to begin with) on these things. Luckily I still have a few left for when, like today, I wear something with a low-cut back. I try to avoid making my friends vomit by proudly displaying really, really fresh scars.
Anyway. When the doctor came in, he said the top back vagina looked fine, but noted that the lower wound looked a little infected. GROSS! Also, am I dying now? Apparently not, because he and the nurse were really nonchalant about it and just wrote me a prescription for an antibiotic ointment. Which I dropped off promptly -- I like to get rid of infections, I'm weird like that -- but they didn't have it in stock at the pharmacy. My options were to go to another pharmacy or wait a day. I'm lazy, and agreed to wait. Which then sent me into a brief and mild panic. I mean, sure, the doctor acted like it was no big deal, but can you get gout of the back? Would I lose a portion of my back? Maybe they would have to amputate everything below my mid-torso! Uh-oh.
Despite my concern, I went out to dinner with friends the next night, stayed out too late and missed the pharmacy hours. Whoops. I panicked again for about 2 minutes before bed, set my alarm early and vowed to get to the pharmacy first thing in the morning. Except what I did first thing in the morning was hit the snooze button five times and miss my chance to pick up the ointment. Er... I'll just keep putting Neosporin on this, I told myself.
Finally, I picked up the ointment yesterday. I've applied it twice and it still looks infected and hurts a little. Pray that I don't have back gout.