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S'ticky situation ...

WOW … what a few weeks it has been!

Last week I BARELY survived an emergency ROOT CANAL.

Having a root canal that is an emergency, I’ve decided, is the only way to go because you don’t have to wait (read worry) for weeks on end about how awful it is going to be.  I called at 8:30 and by 11:00 I was filling out the paperwork. I truly felt like I deserved a dental badge of courage for the heroic bravery I exhibited just by driving myself there and walking inside.

The sign on the wall said “root canals while you sleep” which was very misleading because when I told them that was the kind I wanted they said I had to plan in advance and not eat breakfast.

It was much too late for that information.

The root canal wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the shots which, by the way, look like they are from the medieval time period.  Why is that?!  Also the fact that when they work it sounds like they are trying to land a 747 in your mouth which is very unsettling.

Yesterday I went back and had a crown put on top of the root canal.  More shots.  STOP THE MADNESS.  Anyway,  that was NOTHING compared to a few weeks ago.  Y’all that was BAD.

Over Mother’s Day weekend I saw something weird on my side. Because my dad had melanoma when I was in college I have  always been a little “on edge” about strange looking moles.  This one was itchy and gross looking so I knew it had to be bad.  Like really bad.  Monday morning I called the dermatologist first thing and said I needed to see my doctor RIGHT AWAY.

They told me she could see me July 11.

Apparently they had not understood the gravity and urgency of my situation so I quickly told them again that I HAD TO GET IN RIGHT AWAY.

They listened that time and said they had an appointment time for me the following day.

I could wait 24 hours but really not a second longer.

My parents were in town on my appointment day so I told them I needed to have a mole check and then we’d have lunch.  In my mind this lunch was going to be my time to tell them “how bad it was” and to figure out our plan of action.  Seriously, I had gone to worst case scenario in my my mind very quickly.

I dropped my parents off to do some shopping while I went to the dermatologist’s office.  Once I was in the exam room the nurse asked to take a look at the infected area.After taking a look she nodded and said she needed to go get the doctor.

I KNEW IT.   If she was getting the doctor it was doomsday.

The doctor came in, took a quick peek then looked me in the eyes and said … “Darla, you have a tick”.



A TICK?!?!?

I’m a city slicker!  How could this be?

I looked at the nurse and asked how she knew it was a tick and she said  … “because I saw it’s legs move”.

IT’S LEGS MOVE?!?!?!  Have you EVER IN YOUR LIFE heard anything more horrific than that one sentence?!?

I thought I was going to hyperventilate.

Of course I asked her how she was able to look at the tick and not scream.

She informed me she was a professional.

Professional or not, it would have been entirely appropriate to scream in that situation.

Completely understandable.

After all there was a (disgusting) TICK.

It probably goes without saying that I’m pretty sure everyone in that doctor’s office knew there was a lady with a tick in exam room #5.

The doctor then asked me if I had shown my husband because “I think he could have told you this wasn’t a bad mole”.  I told her I hadn’t really told him because “I didn’t want him to worry about what was going to happen to me and all”.

She thought it was hysterical that I had all but written my obituary.  I told her we had to have a moment of praise since it was only a tick and not melanoma and right there in that office we had a hallelujah moment!

After our moment of praise she began the “extraction” process.

It didn’t go well.

At all.

They tried using heat but basically that just decapitated the tick and it’s head was still attached TO ME.  All of a sudden I was being prepped for “Tick Surgery”.  I got more numbing shots, and before I knew it the tick was gone and I was getting stitches.

Minutes later I was off to tell my parents I still had more life to live.

I had survived the great tickectomy of 2016.

And I had the stitches to prove it.