Happily the nurse who brought us back was super awesome, and we chattered away about tattoos and superheroes and how much she liked my pink cat necklace, so like most things in life, it was the waiting that was the worst part.
Well, except maybe getting stabbed in the back with a needle. That and the waiting are about tied for the worst.
Here, I took a picture of my necklace. Cute, right? I think this was my first Etsy purchase ever, like a million years ago.
John was there in the room with us, of course, and when the nurse left so I could get undressed he helpfully started unfolding the paper "smock" she left for me to wear. Except it wouldn't unfold, and it was this weird 2-ply thing, and it just. kept. ripping. After a few moments I tried to help, since at that point I was mostly naked and getting a little chilly, but I only succeeded in making about three more arm holes in the thing. (!!)
Cut to another minute later, and we're both giggling helplessly like guilty schoolkids as I clutch a giant wadded-up ball of tissue paper to my chest. "Find another one!" I hissed between giggles. So John starts searching through the drawers and cabinets, and I'm watching the door like a jewel thief, and then John gets curious and tips over the Nitrogen blow torch thingie on the counter which immediately starts hissing out gas and I'm like "I CAN'T TAKE YOU ANYWHERE" but then he found another smock so it was all good.
During the exam I discovered another advantage to being a hermit night-owl blogger: my skin never sees the sun. The words "perfect" and "Snow White" were used, guys. For realz. The doc was so proud I almost felt guilty explaining it's more from poor social habits than actual skin care. ;)
The nurse used straight lidocaine in my numbing shots, since the epinephrine they normally include triggers almost instantaneous panic attacks. (Epinephrine is adrenaline, so no surprise there.) That's fine - lidocaine numbs everything up perfectly, but - Fun Fact! - it turns out the epinephrine is what stems a lot of the bleeding.
Have I mentioned yet that John doesn't do well with the sight of needles or blood? And that he was in the room? And that my paper smock wasn't *nearly* absorbent enough?
Poor guy. Thank goodness there was a chair in the room, though of course it was facing the table I was on. John sat and looked at the wall while the doctor was cutting, but he had to stay seated 'til long after the bloody smock and table cover were whisked away, and they'd wiped all the smears off my arms and I was bandaged and dressed again. He kept asking (while not looking) how I was doing during the few minutes the doc was cutting, while the nurse kept warning him he better not faint on her, which prompted me to ask how *he* was doing. I'm not sure who was more worried about who, to be honest, or who deserved more concern, for that matter. Ha!
I love that we're such a mess together.
Anyway, the BEST part came after John and I left the office and were taking the elevator down to the car. A dignified-looking elderly couple got in the elevator with us, with the woman facing John from one side. We spent a moment in the usual uncomfortable elevator silence, and then just before the doors opened, she said in a small, shocked voice, "Oh...oh WOW."
I had no idea what had distressed her, and so was even more confounded when John started apologizing. "Oh, ha! Sorry about that," he said, looking pained. "Sorry." We were walking away, and he was still calling back over his shoulder, "Sorry!"
I looked at John for an explanation, and then - and ONLY then - realized which t-shirt he'd chosen to wear that day:
That's my hubby.
And now I really want to know what that lady thought his shirt was about.
(The shirt is from Woot, btw, and I just found out you can still order it. Now I'm tempted to order one in my size. Heh.)
Technical Note: WHOOPSIE. Comments were down there for a few hours, but they should be working again now. Thanks for your patience, guys!