Plastic Surgery
Good morning family!
My dearsweet Uncle Sid was kind enough to grant me a login into the blog! I love to follow your lives vicariously through it, but the entries have gotten far to sparse lately, so it's time I started pulling my weight toward the end of general entertainment.
Yesterday I had my appointment with the plastic surgeon. Regrettably, I didn't get any "work" done, much as my aging corpus would benefit. I was referred to him because my regular doc found a mole she didn't like. She removed the offending blemish without ceremony, done and done! Unfortunately the subsequent labwork on my former mole also offended her, so back to the doc I went.
I wasn't looking forward to having a dermatologist carve me up like Frankenstein, so I got lucky when his schedule was fully booked. Luckier, the plastic surgeon could see me immediately.
I love plastic surgeons. His office was swanky, swanky. Nice couches, and stacks of glossy magazines -- Cosmo, Glamour-- completely unlike the tattered back issues of "Healthy Living" in my regular doc's cubicle style waiting room. And the guy himself could not have been more kind (for a guy poking me with a very sharp needle, then slicing my soft bits with a sharp knife).
He had me craft a good story about how I got my new scar -- so if anyone asks, the official story is that I hit a rock while spelunking in Iceland.
Much as I enjoyed the attentiveness of the guy who had the capacity to give me a new face and double-D's, I'm relieved this little episode is over and my former-former mole is relegated to history.
Love you all, Tory
My dearsweet Uncle Sid was kind enough to grant me a login into the blog! I love to follow your lives vicariously through it, but the entries have gotten far to sparse lately, so it's time I started pulling my weight toward the end of general entertainment.
Yesterday I had my appointment with the plastic surgeon. Regrettably, I didn't get any "work" done, much as my aging corpus would benefit. I was referred to him because my regular doc found a mole she didn't like. She removed the offending blemish without ceremony, done and done! Unfortunately the subsequent labwork on my former mole also offended her, so back to the doc I went.
I wasn't looking forward to having a dermatologist carve me up like Frankenstein, so I got lucky when his schedule was fully booked. Luckier, the plastic surgeon could see me immediately.
I love plastic surgeons. His office was swanky, swanky. Nice couches, and stacks of glossy magazines -- Cosmo, Glamour-- completely unlike the tattered back issues of "Healthy Living" in my regular doc's cubicle style waiting room. And the guy himself could not have been more kind (for a guy poking me with a very sharp needle, then slicing my soft bits with a sharp knife).
He had me craft a good story about how I got my new scar -- so if anyone asks, the official story is that I hit a rock while spelunking in Iceland.
Much as I enjoyed the attentiveness of the guy who had the capacity to give me a new face and double-D's, I'm relieved this little episode is over and my former-former mole is relegated to history.
Love you all, Tory
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