Remember when I told you about the lipoma? (If you donʼt, just click the link and read all about it, of course.) I said I had gone into Dr. Bill on Friday and was scheduled to visit the surgeon the following Wednesday, and that no news was good news as far as the blog was concerned. And you had no news. So it was good news.
Dr. Atienza was convinced instantly that the lump was a lipoma. Good news. Fortunately or un-, he was also convinced that I had to have the lump removed. It would be as simple as dentistry, he told me, meaning that I would only receive local anesthetic for the procedure. No naysaying or shilly-shallying allowed, I was having the fat thing out as soon as possible. And I am telling you today because todayʼs the day.
Yessiree-bob, I go in to have the lump cut out at 2:00 p.m. I donʼt know if I am nervous or not (although I am using a blog post to tell you dozens of faithful readers all about it, for whatever that tells us of my mental state and mood), but itʼs going to go away. Today.
I tried to explain that the insurance might consider the procedure cosmetic, and he laughed. “Not cosmetic at all. Necessary.” (Dr. Atienza is Filipino originally and still sounds it.) He went on to explain, “It is… Turn around!” I did and he palpitated me (a common experience for me in those few days back at and before the beginning of this month). “It is, what, five, no seven centimeters.” He showed me using three or four fingers what seven centimeters is like, which didnʼt look very large to me — abut the three inches I had mentally (over)estimated. “Pretty big. We have to take it out.”
And we are, about nine hours after this post initially appears.
He and the nurse assured me itʼs a really simple procedure. I wonʼt even bleed much, thanks to the specific anesthetic and the doctorʼs suturing. We didnʼt discuss recovery time, but I warned them about our vacation (thatʼs the real reason the surgery wasnʼt until today, as I will explain tomorrow) and my Picasso performance, and they said there would be no problem. So the deed was on. Dr. Atienza would have his third opportunity to look at whatʼs inside me (although this time only in the layer just below the skin).
Janetʼs coming with me at 2:00, but this time they werenʼt even worried about me driving myself home (so I guess sheʼs just moral support, as the nurse kept saying when we talked about it). When I had the colonoscopy, I wasnʼt even permitted to walk myself home, which I thought was pretty ridiculous (and so our neighbor, Levi, had to take the time to drop me off and pick me up — thanks, sir! — although I was fit enough to use my cell phone to give him the summons to bring me home). On my other hand, however, I think driving might feel a bit uncomfortable, considering where the lipoma is. Heck, Iʼm not even looking forward to sitting in the car seat (not to mention lying down in bed to sleep)!
And before I conclude, all this reminds me of a joke I like, being a language groaner. Enjoy:
So this guy went into the surgeonʼs office and told the nurse he wanted to get castrated.
“Castrated? Are you sure, sir?”
“Absolutely, nursie. Castration. Thatʼs the one I want. Castration.”
“Castrationʼs pretty extreme, sir. Are you sure you donʼt want a few days to consider this operation?”
“No, lady, I have considered and considered, and I want it done. Castrate me. Today if itʼs possible.”
So the nurse went to the surgeon and told him, explaining how definite the guy was. There was nothing on for an hour or so, and the junk could be snipped in the office with only a local. And no surgeon ever avoids an opportunity to cut, so they had the man in right then and there.
Just to be careful, however, as they were preparing the patient on the table, the doctor asked him again, “Are you quite sure that castration is what you want to have done?”
“No time like the present, doc. Iʼve had it for years, and itʼs time it was gone. Go ahead. Castrate me.”
So they did.
As the brand-new eunuch was leaving the office, walking a bit gingerly in his delicate condition, another man was at the window, speaking to the nurse.
“If the doctorʼs available today, miss, I need to be circumcised.”
“Yep, itʼs time I had a circumcision.”
“Dammit,” the first patient exclaimed. “I always get those confused! Circumcised. Not castrated. I wanted to get circumcised.”
“Sorry, sir,” the nurse informed him logically, “no do-overs.”
I may have stretched it out too long toward the end (and the original joke concludes with the first patientʼs speech). I kind of liked adding the extra ending, although I did change it for publication just now. My original final word was “Mulligans.” Any better?
Anyway, thatʼs the news for today. If thereʼs anything much to report or reveal from the procedure, perhaps Iʼll use the opportunity Thursday.
Wish me luck!