Freddie's Revenge

Up till about three weeks ago, I had a tiny mole on my leg named Freddie. He was a cute little guy, but doctors always hated him. They said he was too dark and not the right shape. I vehemently defended Freddie for many years, but I recently grew weary of the doctors complaints and had him removed.

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Lets jut say this made Freddie very angry. Right when I was getting my stitches removed, the doctors got a lab report back. Freddie was not malignant, but he was still up to no good. Fine I said, he's out, no problem. But wait they said, we did not cut deep enough or wide enough. We're going back in.

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I don't know what possessed me to watch the second go around. My husband thinks it was the vampire books. I was fine at first. The needle made me hold my breath, but it was over quickly. The circular blade was okay too, as they sliced down deep and scooped out tissue. However, when the bleeding wouldn't stop and they had to start burning the wound to cauterize it, I became very giggly. Like shaking very hard, so they can't stitch me up, giggly. Doctors don't like giggly. It makes them nervous. I couldn't help it though. The fact that I was being pricked, sliced, pulled, burnt and stitched and could feel none of it was hysterical to me.

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By the way, I was showering the other day and caught sight of the black thread of my stitches. I thought a giant bug was eating its way out of my thigh. I almost died twelve different ways in that shower, before I remembered I had stitches. Curse you Freddie, curse you!!!