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I’m alive! I’m feeling a little silly now that I’m back home and it’s all done. By the time the nurse came to call me in to the operating room I had worked my insides up into a bit of a churn. I did try to take Davy’s advice from the comments to the previous post and imagine it being all over but I kept slipping back into the now. Especially when I saw the giant needle coming for my face.

My main worry was that I would feel the cutting and do one of my fainting tricks and totally embarrass myself like I did when I got my tattoo a million years ago…yep, that’s me…the rock-hard rebel sitting on the tattoo parlour floor retching into the wastepaper basket! Thankfully, this time I kept my dignity because I didn’t feel a thing. The surgeon turned out to be lovely (I must have caught him on a bad day before) as were the nurses, telling me what to expect at each stage. Him telling me to keep still and then asking me questions as he cut into my cheek wasn’t the best idea though.

The stitches come out at the weekend and I’m not allowed to wash my face for a few days (lovely). As I sit here the numbness is beginning to wear off along with the adrenaline so it’s starting to get a little bit painful, but I’m so relieved that it’s over I can handle a bit of pain now. Thanks for the good luck wishes 🙂

I’m going under the knife tomorrow morning…having a bit of work done. Well, I’m having two moles removed but they’re from my face and it’s being done by a plastic surgeon and it’s about as close as I’ll ever get to anything like a facelift. I’m not good about anything like this, I’ve got the butterflies in my stomach and I know by the time I’m sitting in the waiting room I’ll be a nervous wreck. It doesn’t help that it’s being done in Ireland where you hear all too often about people going in to have so-called simple procedures done only to come out missing a leg because their charts got mixed up.

I met the surgeon a few months ago for the preliminary chat and he didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Apparently my GP had exaggerated somewhat in her letter to the hospital saying the moles bled at the drop of a hat and were causing me much pain. I guess that’s what you have to do to get your patients seen quickly. This meant the plastic surgeon was skeptical of everything I said to him and kept cutting me off with a “yea, yea, of course…that’s what they all say.”

So, wish me luck. Hopefully I’ll make it out alive.