So on Thursday I went in to get the cyst under my eye removed.
I left early so I could browse Barnes and Noble in peace before my appointment. To sort of calm me down because I was still worried about the NEEDLE that was going to be injected under my EYE.
I'm a nerd so my stomach started bubbling with excitement as I pulled up in front of Barnes and Noble and parked. Of course I love it there. It houses one of my favorite things: books. I could spend hours in there just browsing all the different titles and then relaxing with a book while sipping a sweet beverage from the Coffee Shop that is located within the store.
When I pushed open the front door I was hit by the scent of coffee. Mmmmm. I don't like coffee (sometimes I wish I did--those iced coffee drinks look delicious) but I have always loved the smell. I headed for the fiction section and started looking at all the colorful books. Of course it's dangerious territory for me to look at books. I inevitably want to get one and I cringe when I peer at the cost. Shouldn't a bunch of bound paper be like five bucks or something? Why do I need to fork out $20 for one book? It doesn't make sense. But it doesn't stop me from looking. Or buying.
Not even five minutes later I already had about ten books that I wanted.
What did I end up settling on?
Mainly because I love all things Henry VIII. I cannot wait for the new season of The Tudors to begin.
Of course I wanted more than one book. But I do have willpower. Or rather a Voice of Reason who constantly pipes into my head when I find something that I decide that I must have.
Do you really need that, Amber? Are you sure, Amber?
I was tempted to order a drink called the Triple Chocolate after I had checked out. It's something that I've had before and it's delicious. And topped off with whipped cream. I like to pretend that there aren't a lot of calories in it because I only order a small. But usually something called TRIPLE chocolate has at least five hundred calories. Some of the health experts are all, "If you MUST order that unhealthy drink get it without the whipped cream. That can save you fifty calories."
But hello? If I'm already going all out I may as well add on the fifty calories. Plus what's a drink without whipped cream on top?
I decided not to order the drink not because I was being good. But because I had to be at my appointment in twenty minutes and I didn't want to have to quickly gulp it down. I like to savor drinks like that. And trick myself into thinking that because I'm drinking it slow, that there is no fat content to it.
I headed for my appointment and walked into the building. I checked in and then took a seat. I picked up an old People magazine and started flipping through the pages while my feet clicked against the floor nervously. An old lady across from me frowned at my restless legs over her plant magazine. It looked like she wanted to say, "Lands sake. If you keep up with that your legs are going to walk off without you!"
I couldn't help it though. I was scared. I started to chew my fingernail but then stopped.
I can't chew on myself in public. It's gross.
I was called back about five minutes later. I was led into a room by a doctor who introduced herself and then started touching at my face.
It was a little bizarre. Just seconds after saying your name a perfect stranger is invading your space and poking at your skin.
I was slightly taken aback as she squeezed at my cyst.
After a few seconds she had a name for my cyst which for the life of me I can't remember.
Then she asked for assistance and another woman came in.
"I'll need the four punch," she told the help lady.
The FOUR punch?
What in the world--??
The doctor explained what all would happen.
It involved needles (eek), a tiny knife (DOUBLE EEK) and that four punch thing she had mentioned.
"I'm just," I said, nervously and swallowed, "I'm just going to keep my eyes closed."
I figured that would be best. Because if I saw the needle coming at me there is a good chance that I'd suddenly leap from the chair and go, "You know what? The cyst isn't bothering me. I think I'll go now. Many thanks," and run on out of there.
So the doctor pushed a button and my chair went back. I quickly squished my eyes shut as if I was worried that she'd automatically produce the scary needle--as if she kept needles in her pocket or something.
"First I'm going to rub the cyst with alcohol," she explained and I felt wetness under my eye.
"Then I'm going to mark it," she continued and I felt a marker tip.
"And now here comes the part that might sting for a second.."
Oh my GOD the NEEDLE.
"And we're done.."
I could barely feel a thing.
Then I think she took that four punch thing because I felt pressure on my cheek.
Then she found the cyst and went, "Ahh. It's coming out beautifully," which made me feel better.
And then she stitched it shut.
"All finished," she said and I opened my eyes.
My cheek felt a little sore but nothing horrible.
"Do you want to see it?" she asked me.
Oh. The cyst.
"Sure," I said cautiously. I mean did I REALLY want to see it? What if it was disgusting and ewww SLIMY?
Then she reached over and showed it to me with a pair of tweezers. It looked like a tiny tiny kidney. Seriously. Though it was white.
"Some cysts are a cottage cheese like substance," she explained as my cyst dangled in front of me. "Some are firm like yours."
I was told to come back in two weeks to get the stitches removed.
I was also taught how to take care of my stitches and then I was sent on my way.
It only took about twenty minutes. It was only 3:20 at that point and I had told Tom that I might not be home until around 5:00. I debated heading back to Barnes and Noble--I mean he wouldn't know how long my appointment was. He didn't know how long it took to remove cysts. I could totally get away with it and have my Triple Chocolate drink
But my Voice of Reason piped up.
Amber, that's not nice. Go home.
And I knew I'd feel guilty.
So I headed for home.
I felt a little embarrassed when I pulled up at the base gate to show my ID card. I was worried the guy checking my ID would be all, "What happened to your FACE?"
But as it was I had a tired looking troop who just wanted to go home check my ID card. He barely even glanced at me.
Tommy had just arrived home when I drove up. He glanced at my face and went, "What HAPPENED, Mommy?"
And Natalie kept pointing at it.
Tom went, "Aww you're cute with your tiny stitches."
Would you believe that I've never had stitches before? (Well except for on my crotch after I pushed out my kids.) It's surprising considering on how much of a klutz I am.
Tom even made dinner. Nothing fancy, just Sloppy Joes.
Of course it's a little weird going out with stitches. Some people have glanced over and obviously they're curious but they don't want to ask in fear of being considered nosey.
But I'm okay. I haven't gone blind.
"I TOLD you it would be fine," Tom said, rolling his eyes at me.
"You just never know," I replied seriously.
Because you don't. I really should refrain from watching those scary medical shows on The Discovery Channel. I don't really need to know that sometimes a scalpal can be left inside you on accident. I really don't.