Little Cyster

In preparation for Saint Patrick’s Day, I had surgery.  Very minor stuff: a dermatologist removed a cyst from my shoulder, about a cm away from where he removed the same kind of cyst some years ago.  Seems like my body is fertile turf for these kind of waxy lumps.

I arrive promptly at 8:30, and 5 minutes later I’m in with the physician’s assistant, a statuesque blonde armed with a variety of sharp objects.  I start to drop trou.

“Wait,” she says.  “The chart says the cyst is on your” she checks “left shoulder.”

Yes, but for the last 2 years every doctor’s appointment I’ve had has involved somebody — the doctor, the PA, the parking valet — sticking something up my ass.  So I just assumed….

“This isn’t the IRS,” she says crisply.  “Keep your pants up, and remove your shirt.”

You’re not going to start off by aggravating me with a bunch of stupid questions, are you?

“The only question I ever ask is, ‘Does this hurt?’ and frankly, I don’t care what the answer is.  Now sit down here and don’t give me any trouble or we’ll use the restraints.”

Wow.  Where I usually go, that costs extra.

At this point the doctor arrives and we get started.  He sticks about 6 needles in to numb the area, and then whips out a roto-rooter device and starts excavating.  I feel blood dripping down my back.  Or maybe he’s just drooling.

“Well,” he says a moment later, ”that came out pretty good!” He hands something to the PA who drops it with a chink into a plastic container.  “Now I’m just gonna stitch this up and you’re on your way.”

That’s 2 in 5 years, Doc.  Did you plant a third one?

“Nah, no need. I’ll be retired by then.”  He says he removes about a dozen of these kind of growths every week, and regrets there’s no use for them when they’re out.  When I suggest stuffing for bean bag furniture, the nurse almost pukes.

Less than an hour after we start, Guido and I have breakfast.  I observe there’s no alcohol anywhere on the entire menu.  Guido observes that it’s not even 10 0’clock, are you fucking crazy?  I counter that I need something to steady my post-surgical nerves.  She suggests sucking raw eggs.

I make up for her cruel prohibitive restrictions on St Patty’s Day.  Women have no sense of how men suffer, especially when they’re the cause.  Top o’ the Guinness to ya.

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12 Responses to Little Cyster

  1. The Cyst says:

    You never write, you never call.

  2. Dr. Robert Bentley, D.V.M says:

    Dear Sir: You are taking you condition far too lightly. It’s a condition that will eventually kill you.

    In my 40 years as a veterinarian I’ve sadly seen this happen. However if you in-cyst I wish you the best

  3. Squathole says:

    Editor’s Note: If you see an advertisement for something called at the end of posts but berfore the comments section, please understand that it’s SPAM — an uninvited invader on my blog. Unable to delete it, I notified WordPress and await a response.

  4. Hose B says:

    I suspect Dr Bentley is a decent Christian, too. Wink wink nod nod.

  5. Sol Ecopressed says:

    Question: I know aboit Vegans, Shias, and Sunnis, but what are “Wejews?”

    Answer: We are the lost tribe of Boca Raton.

    • Mister E says:

      Lost trib of Boca Raton, you say? Can you help some of the other tribes get lost with you? We’d appreciate it.

  6. Sol Ecopressed says:

    Dear Mr. Ed: At the moment our board of directors is not accepting horses for membership.

    S. Ecopressed
    Director, Public Relations
    Wejews Lost Tribe of Boca Raton

    • Mister E says:

      I am not Mister Ed. Or Special Ed. I am Mister E, pronounced “Mystery.” Nor am I a horse. However, you might want to mention your policy to Sara Jessica Parker.

      As for “Wejews,” a Google search reveals that it is the liquid nectar of the We plant, a staple in the diet of South American amphibeans. That’s “an-FI-Be-un,” not “anphi-bean,” which causes gas.

      I suspect you are a punster, as am I. You know what an As Am I is? Opposite of a Tsu-na-mi.”

  7. Sol Ecopressed says:

    Sorry, I’m a tad deaf.

    Did you ask if I was one of the Munsters? No I’m not.

    Also, I never dated anyone named Sue Nami.

    For more information on the Wejews please visit.

    S. Ecopressed
    Director, Public Relations
    Wejews Lost Tribe of Boca Raton

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