I had “plastic surgery” on Sunday - the removal of a skin tag on my upper thigh that was getting large enough and cauliflower-like enough that it was threatening to become part of a fried vegan appetizer course. The surgeon said it was “pedunculated,” which I mostly like because it’s a terribly fun word to say.
I’ve had this particular skin tag for over six years, and had come to accept it as an unsightly but inevitable part of life after my GP had told me it was too large to be frozen off (typically the only treatment available for such things on the NHS). But I had an inordinate amount of postpartum pelvic exams, and it only takes so many doctors saying “oh, that’s quite large; is it bothering you?” before your response becomes less dismissive and more accepting: yes actually, now you mention it, it’s been bothering me; yes, it has been getting bigger; sure, I’ll see the skin tag doctor; yes, I’d be happy to be referred for plastic surgery; and on and on it went, until after a questionably brief consultation and a many-monthed wait, I found myself getting injected with local anaesthesia and prepped for the smoothest, easiest surgery I will probably ever experience. The surgeon quickly and expertly separated me from my skin tag. He asked if I wanted to look at it, and of course I said yes. It just looked like its fleshy, cauliflowery self. It was bizarre not to feel it happen, and I said as much. Anaesthesia is wild.
I don’t really have a moral to this story. It was just a weird experience. It’s ultra-weird having something so small removed, but then to have the removal disrupt your life. The nurse asked if I was all prepared to put my feet up and have something nice and comforting for dinner. I literally had given zero thought to my recovery. I was told not to lift anything. When I got home my 14-month-old immediately begged to be held. I kept away from physical labor at work for two days, but on day three I got annoyed and just started being active again. But then on day 4 I tried to drive myself to work and had to turn the car around and go home.
It’s a strange thing. It’s an unintuitive recovery. It all just feels mildly bizarre and surreal, while also being pretty damn unremarkable. I’m very curious to see the stitching at the surgical site, but I’m meant to leave my wound dressing on until Sunday. I guess I’ll have to wait ‘til then to see that patch of skin without its weird little cauliflower.
Pedunculated.
Hehe.