Congratulations to me! Just yesterday, before I embarked on my semester abroad, I got my first stitches ever! Five BIG ones on the side of my head. Wish I could say it was for something heroic, or even remotely interesting…Instead, just a little-old mole. (Ew. I debated writing freckle, because mole sounds so gross, but that’s what it was, and in the spirit of journalistic integrity, I will not falsely report the details of my minor surgery.)
I’ve managed to survive twenty years without stitches, but I’ve secretly always wanted them. I’ve also secretly wanted: a broken bone, the chicken pox and a miniature pig. And at one time, I even staged a full-fledged tantrum when my younger sister got braces before I did. I cannot convey to you why I wanted any of these things– except the pig, but that’s self-explanatory.
Anyway, saw the mole, went to the dermatologist, then dashed to the plastic surgeon. It was quick, literally painless (sing the praises of local anesthetics, everyone!) and really a nonevent. It didn’t bother me on the plane, or throughout the day. Now, however, as I’ve removed the bandage, I LOOK LIKE A BEAST! Call me Franken-ave, because I’m coming atcha with some nasty stitches. On top of that, gotta get these babies removed in Italy somewhere.
Genuine request: If anyone has advice, or knows a good place to go, let me know. It’s a simple procedure, but I want to make it as easy as possible as I adjust to life here!
**Also, in lieu of photos, I have gifted you with the great honor of not having to see my stitches. Ciao!
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