I went to have my stitches removed today. I cannot express how relieved I am to have them out. Not being able to scrub my back means, of course, I want nothing other than to scrub the hell out of my back, possibly to the point of redness. Of course, the redness won't compare to the redness around the spot where it's been continually covered for the last two weeks.
I am thankful I am not allergic to latex at this moment.
I am also surprised at how much of my hair managed to wiggle under the bandage. Damn hair, gets everywhere. Everywhere faster than you can imagine.
Instead of the doctor, the nurse practitioner pulled out my stitches, with the doctor coming in to inspect the wound. I had to convince her to take off another spot, the one I had commented on at the previous surgery.
She did, looked at it, and started, "You have three options. We can ..." She then paused, looked up at me, and said, "You want it biopsied."
She removed the spot, digging deep, before asking me if I needed a refresher on wound care. No, I think I'm good at this point on the wound care. Funny that.
Her parting words to me as she left were, "I hope I'm right this time." Given that I'm 2 for 2 in finding my own basal cell carcinomas, I hope she's right this time, too.