Geez, a little idle chatter about your vaginal cuff and an imaginary cocaine habit, and all the commenters run away and hide. Well, except for my dad, and I guarantee you that post made him nauseous. But at least he loves me enough to comment. Or maybe it was that he needed to type something to distract himself from blacking out.
As predicted, I’m not feeling particularly pretty right now. I don’t know whether it was my doctor’s grotesque sketch of my nose and the location of the eczema patches, or maybe it was her comment about my discharge resembling pudding (“Thanks, now I will never be able to eat pudding again,” I countered), but either way, I’m humbled. And also, ikked out. But there you have it. Not pretty.
I have a prescription for some mystery gel, and a handful of Elidel samples in adorable little mini-tubes, and reassurance that my skin will someday look like skin again. So that’s excellent news, I think.
Now I think I’ve earned a trip to Wendy’s! Thanks, Jilbur! (Um, Dad? Don’t click on that link. You’ve been warned.)