Today was... interesting.
I was going to have a mole removed because it looked a bit weird and people believed something might be wrong with it. Sadly, it wasn't shaped like New Zealand, a fact that would have made the mole worth discussing, if only to justify why I am now typing a blog post about it. (Spoiler: this post isn't really about the mole.)
The appointment was arranged last week. I had to mentally prepare for it because I'm a wuss and I hate a) hospitals, b) doctors, c) needles, d) people looking at me, e) people touching me. So I did it. It wasn't easy but my body was ready and so was my mind. Or so I wanted to think.
Problem numero 1: My mother is a nurse. She works at the hospital. The same hospital I was going to.
Problem 2: Every single person in that hospital knows my mother. She's popular and they love her.
I arrived at the hospital trying to hide that I was tense. I must have succeeded, I suppose, because none of the people who approached me, arguing about whether I look more like my father or my mother, seemed to notice that every cell in my body had been screaming since the moment I set foot inside the building. "Well, haven't you lost weight? Where did all that weight go?" someone said cheerfully, making me wonder if I had gone through life oblivious to the fact that I was actually a human whale. Shortly after, I was pulled aside by one of my mother's coworkers. Cue...
Thought-provoking conversation 1:
Woman: Now, listen to me. Don't let your father influence your vote.
(It's very important to note that my father has never tried to influence my vote. While he always openly discussed his views on politics, he's never ever told me who I should vote for and never tried to manipulate my young, impressionable mind in any way.)
Me: My father usually doesn't tell me what to do.
Woman: Good! This is who you should vote for. (She tells me.)
Me: I can't and won't, sorry.
Woman: Who are you voting for? (Mockingly mentions right wing party name.)
(It seems very funny that she thought my father would actually try to sway me towards that direction.)
Me: Ha. No.
(Pause.)
(Excessive blinking.)
Woman: *shakes her head, bids me adieu and goes away*
After that was over and I was done greeting a bunch of other people who claimed they've known me since I was a fine wee lass, I was allowed to go and meet the doctor. Outside his door, I was greeted by my mother. Knowing that I was in the building, she couldn't stay away from me, of course! I told her that she'd have to remain quiet if she wished to stay with me during the procedure. She nodded.
Inside the doctor's office, we were greeted by yet another acquaintance of my mother's. The doctor was running a bit late so we had to wait. Oh. Joy. This new woman had a sparkle in her eye. Not the good kind of sparkle. She was immediately very forward with me. Which is something I do not enjoy. Surely, simply because you exchange a few words with one of my parents every other day, doesn't mean you have access to my personal bubble of safety! Perimeter breach! Perimeter breach!
Thought-provoking conversation 2:
Woman: How old are you?
Me: 29.
Woman: So young, so beautiful!
(I'm certain at this point, she has a son.)
Me: Thank you...
Woman: You're not married, are you?
Me: No.
Woman: Good!
Me: But I plan on marrying a really old and filthy rich guy, so I can inherit his fortune.
(She is momentarily thrown by my blank expression but I crack a smile and she realizes I'm joking.)
Woman: I tell my son (Aha!) all the time, you should get married only after you've experienced everything life has to offer and are becoming bored.
Me: Boredom is not a reason to get married.
Woman: That's not what I meant. (Pause.) Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: Yes.
Woman: How old is he?
Me: 37.
Woman: Oh, you're so silly! You should only go after younger men!
Me: Is that so? Why?
Woman: Well, they are more fun, aren't they? More accommodating.
Me: I see.
Woman: I tell my son (Her poor, poor son...) all the time... He's dating a woman that's 45 years old, you see. I tell him, you should only date younger women.
Me: That kind of advice creates a problem for me though.
Woman: You? Why?
Me: If every mother tells her son to only date younger women, how am I going to find a younger guy to date?
Woman: That's different...
Me: I don't think so.
Woman: It makes me sad, him dating that woman...
Me: Is he happy?
Woman: It seems that way but-
Me: No. No, no. As a mother, you should want your son to be happy. That should be enough.
(The doctor arrived, finally, and saved me. Well. From the painful conversation at least.)
As for the minor, teeny surgery I had, I can only say it wasn't pleasant. I ended up having 3 moles removed. The extra two weren't really a problem but the doctor thought, what the hell, you're here, let's do it. He told me to relax and I did. My right side did anyway, the left was still shaking but it was the right side he was working on. I hummed 3 songs, guitar solos and everything, before I gave up and just focused on breathing deeply. There was very little pain (xylocaine rocks!) but I could feel everything. Everything. I didn't like it. My mother thought it would be super cool to come and try to cuddle a part of me that was available which only made me lose my focus and I actually hissed at her. She stayed away from me for the rest of the procedure which lasted about an hour.
What a fruitful day, wouldn't you say so?
I'm stitched up and patched up now. Pain still bearable, though it's not pain exactly. It's the kind of pain that you can feel but doesn't register, making you wonder if it's there at all or you're just imagining it. Except I feel woozy when I poke at the stitches. Which I've done twice now. But I won't be doing that again. (She said, as her fingers crawled towards the stitches one more time.)
I was going to have a mole removed because it looked a bit weird and people believed something might be wrong with it. Sadly, it wasn't shaped like New Zealand, a fact that would have made the mole worth discussing, if only to justify why I am now typing a blog post about it. (Spoiler: this post isn't really about the mole.)
The appointment was arranged last week. I had to mentally prepare for it because I'm a wuss and I hate a) hospitals, b) doctors, c) needles, d) people looking at me, e) people touching me. So I did it. It wasn't easy but my body was ready and so was my mind. Or so I wanted to think.
Problem numero 1: My mother is a nurse. She works at the hospital. The same hospital I was going to.
Problem 2: Every single person in that hospital knows my mother. She's popular and they love her.
I arrived at the hospital trying to hide that I was tense. I must have succeeded, I suppose, because none of the people who approached me, arguing about whether I look more like my father or my mother, seemed to notice that every cell in my body had been screaming since the moment I set foot inside the building. "Well, haven't you lost weight? Where did all that weight go?" someone said cheerfully, making me wonder if I had gone through life oblivious to the fact that I was actually a human whale. Shortly after, I was pulled aside by one of my mother's coworkers. Cue...
Thought-provoking conversation 1:
Woman: Now, listen to me. Don't let your father influence your vote.
(It's very important to note that my father has never tried to influence my vote. While he always openly discussed his views on politics, he's never ever told me who I should vote for and never tried to manipulate my young, impressionable mind in any way.)
Me: My father usually doesn't tell me what to do.
Woman: Good! This is who you should vote for. (She tells me.)
Me: I can't and won't, sorry.
Woman: Who are you voting for? (Mockingly mentions right wing party name.)
(It seems very funny that she thought my father would actually try to sway me towards that direction.)
Me: Ha. No.
(Pause.)
(Excessive blinking.)
Woman: *shakes her head, bids me adieu and goes away*
After that was over and I was done greeting a bunch of other people who claimed they've known me since I was a fine wee lass, I was allowed to go and meet the doctor. Outside his door, I was greeted by my mother. Knowing that I was in the building, she couldn't stay away from me, of course! I told her that she'd have to remain quiet if she wished to stay with me during the procedure. She nodded.
Inside the doctor's office, we were greeted by yet another acquaintance of my mother's. The doctor was running a bit late so we had to wait. Oh. Joy. This new woman had a sparkle in her eye. Not the good kind of sparkle. She was immediately very forward with me. Which is something I do not enjoy. Surely, simply because you exchange a few words with one of my parents every other day, doesn't mean you have access to my personal bubble of safety! Perimeter breach! Perimeter breach!
Thought-provoking conversation 2:
Woman: How old are you?
Me: 29.
Woman: So young, so beautiful!
(I'm certain at this point, she has a son.)
Me: Thank you...
Woman: You're not married, are you?
Me: No.
Woman: Good!
Me: But I plan on marrying a really old and filthy rich guy, so I can inherit his fortune.
(She is momentarily thrown by my blank expression but I crack a smile and she realizes I'm joking.)
Woman: I tell my son (Aha!) all the time, you should get married only after you've experienced everything life has to offer and are becoming bored.
Me: Boredom is not a reason to get married.
Woman: That's not what I meant. (Pause.) Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: Yes.
Woman: How old is he?
Me: 37.
Woman: Oh, you're so silly! You should only go after younger men!
Me: Is that so? Why?
Woman: Well, they are more fun, aren't they? More accommodating.
Me: I see.
Woman: I tell my son (Her poor, poor son...) all the time... He's dating a woman that's 45 years old, you see. I tell him, you should only date younger women.
Me: That kind of advice creates a problem for me though.
Woman: You? Why?
Me: If every mother tells her son to only date younger women, how am I going to find a younger guy to date?
Woman: That's different...
Me: I don't think so.
Woman: It makes me sad, him dating that woman...
Me: Is he happy?
Woman: It seems that way but-
Me: No. No, no. As a mother, you should want your son to be happy. That should be enough.
(The doctor arrived, finally, and saved me. Well. From the painful conversation at least.)
As for the minor, teeny surgery I had, I can only say it wasn't pleasant. I ended up having 3 moles removed. The extra two weren't really a problem but the doctor thought, what the hell, you're here, let's do it. He told me to relax and I did. My right side did anyway, the left was still shaking but it was the right side he was working on. I hummed 3 songs, guitar solos and everything, before I gave up and just focused on breathing deeply. There was very little pain (xylocaine rocks!) but I could feel everything. Everything. I didn't like it. My mother thought it would be super cool to come and try to cuddle a part of me that was available which only made me lose my focus and I actually hissed at her. She stayed away from me for the rest of the procedure which lasted about an hour.
What a fruitful day, wouldn't you say so?
I'm stitched up and patched up now. Pain still bearable, though it's not pain exactly. It's the kind of pain that you can feel but doesn't register, making you wonder if it's there at all or you're just imagining it. Except I feel woozy when I poke at the stitches. Which I've done twice now. But I won't be doing that again. (She said, as her fingers crawled towards the stitches one more time.)
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