So I finally had surgery on my hand on Tuesday! I reported at the surgery ward at 5 freaking 30 in the morning, since I was the first one scheduled for the day. They set up an IV drip, and into it went some delicious Versed (for my NERVES, Loca) and Zofran for nausea. They wheeled me into the OR, squirted some Fentanyl into my drip, and the next thing I know I'm back to my little curtained corner, putting my clothes back on with one hand (my right hand was totally numb) and asking the recovery nurse if my granuloma bled all over the place. "Uh, I wasn't in the room, hon, but I don't think so." "But but but I thought it would bleed." I told myself to shut up before I started scaring people. Fifteen minutes later, Tim picked me up and we headed home.
How First World in the 21st Century was that experience????? No pain, seamless transitions, hardly any waiting. Oy vey, thinking about how I had to suffer through 18th-century silver nitrate sessions in order to get there, my brain gets stuck between indignation and relief. But I'll just stick to relief for now. One bad thing, though, is that I have no idea what they did to my finger or what it even looks like. I think they might have shown me while I was under anesthesia. Hopefully it's happy in its packaging, which will be removed in 10 days.
Oh wait, there's one other bad thing:
They bandaged my finger to look like a small penis.
(If you're wondering about the significance of AL, those are my surgeon's initials. He marked the finger to be operated on, as if the parasite-ridden pustule wasn't enough indication.)
People have written to me asking to see what my finger looked like. So, here you go! Middle finger with pyogenic granuloma on right, my other unaffected middle finger on left for comparison. Ouch!