Stitches

We have been talking about the little bump on Drew's cheek for some time now. We had a doctor look at it when we lived in Connecticut, and he referred us to a dermatologist. Drew was hesitant, and there was no pressing need to address it, so we deferred.

When we first moved to Rochester, we talked about it again. He was concerned about meeting new people -perhaps they would be distracted by the little white bump. He tried several times to pop the darn thing off his cheek, but it was uncooperative.

At the end of this school year, now entering high school, we discussed it again and when we saw the doctor for his sports physical (soccer being of utmost importance naturally) I brought it up. She examined the persistent white bump and referred us to a dermatologist. It sounded so familiar.

Once again, I had to put it off since I was leaving for Concordia, but unbeknownst to Drew, I called and made an appointment for him to ensure that we followed up this time. I told him about it the day before just to make sure he would be available when it was time to go. In the car on the way there, we speculated about what the doctor would do - likely discuss possible treatments, then schedule an appointment for whatever the best course of action - a bit of freezing like you would treat a wart, maybe some topical application.

We arrived at the medical building, a converted school, entered, located the suite and opened the office door. One glance said we were probably in the wrong place. The walls were covered with unique quilts, paintings, ads for environmental causes. The waiting room looked more like an upscale living room filled with Victorian furnishings, avant garde lamps mixed with antique desks, gobs of containers filled with skin creams, makeup, organic ointments, special remedies, while the coffee tables were filled with nature magazines. Ambiance galore. I loved it.


In fact, the waiting room was filled with women! They were partaking of herbal teas, chatting quietly as if in a spa of some sort. I didn't mention to Drew that he seemed a bit out of place in this setting, but breathed a sigh of relief when another teenage boy came in. We were ushered into an examination room and queried by the nurse, Drew reticent to answer questions as if he could prevent unpleasantness by his silence.

The doctor breezed in, took a look at the bump, and proclaimed it a common thing in kids. "Plan A," she said, pulling out a tray of utensils. "We're just going to numb you up a bit and pop it out with a needle." The color in Drew's face drained a bit. "Now?" he squeaked in a cracked voice, obviously unprepared for this unexpected turn of events.

"Well, as long as you're here, we might as well take care of it, don't you think? That IS why you came." She grinned, calling the nurse in to assist. Plan A didn't go so well. Roots apparently ran a bit too deep. On to Plan B - take a razor and slice it out. This will require stitches. Drew could not protest. Having already endure the Novocaine, and lying helplessly on his back with his eyes shut, he was rather at a disadvantage. I smothered the impulse to laugh.

Two quick slices, and they had it out. He ended up with two small stitches and a large white gauze pad. Owing to not having eaten, and the shock of the unexpected, he was a bit light headed when he tried to stand. We made him sit back down while the nurse got him a hard candy and I raided the vending machine for a soda.

Such an ordeal demanded at the very least, dinner out and a baby cone at Lugia's complete with sprinkles. He made very sure we got the prescribed ointment right away so as to avoid any scarring. Ah, one more notch on the "things you have to endure in life" belt.