I went to the doctor yesterday. I have a very sweet, understanding doctor. She never shakes her finger at me for not keeping up on shots and exams. She just rolls with what I can handle and then makes suggestions. I like suggestions. However, yesterday I had her look at a spot.
She squeezed and poked and then said, “That needs to be removed.”
What? Removed? How?
“Oh, just a little punch and stitch, no biggie”
Punch? Stitch? I don’t think so.
We went back and forth about what this spot was and blah, blah, blah, it needs to be removed. As she left the room she said, “Okay, I’ll have you set up an appointment with Brianne. She does all my cutting work.”
Cutting work?! Well, that’s a good way to end the appointment. Cutting work. I don’t think so.
Then she walked me to the front to ensure I would make the appointment. Remember when I thought my doctor was sweet and understanding? I take it all back.
Turns out I showed her a spot on the right side that’s been there since I was a little kid, I meant to show her the spot on the left side. Silly me. I’m not going to that cutting appointment. No, no, no. No cutting.