November 21, 2008 by Marj Hatzell
The mole? It’s now holy. Meaning, it’s a past-mole. It’s a deceased mole. It’s on it’s way to mole heaven. It has kicked the mole bucket. It’s a mole-memorial.
Anyways. The mole. The Nevus. The brown hairy growth on Bug Boy’s abdomen is no longer part of this world. He did well with the surgery (although it started two hours late due to a critical case before ours taking a little longer than expected) and was quite funny going under the sedative and coming back out. When he first started to stir from the anesthesia, she mentioned she would get him a slushy and did he want cola or cherry flavored? He mumbled, “I DON’T LIKE SODA.” and fell fast asleep. Then he told the nurse attending to him in recovery that his mole was his best friend and wanted to take it home in a jar (thank goodness it was on its way to pathology at that point).
He has a big ole bandage and orange stuff smeared all over his belly, but other than that? You’d never know he had anything removed. See, my kids don’t get groggy like EVERY OTHER KID IN THAT RECOVERY ROOM. They get restless from sedation and anesthesia. They get more energy. It’s really hard to keep a seven-year-old from jumping off of furniture and riding his bike when he’s all, “WHOA! THIS IS AWESOME! I GET TO EAT ANYTHING I WANT! WOOOOOOHOOOO!!!” I mean, they originally were not going to use stitches so it wouldn’t leave a big scar and just do that dermabond stuff but I was all, “Um. Doc? He’s seven. With ADHD and autism. I’m thinking…as many stitches as you can so it doesn’t POP BACK OPEN in two hours, mmkay?” and the doc was all, “Yeah, when I saw him doing cartwheels and headstands in the waiting room I figured I’d better change my game plan.” See, we don’t care about a scar. We just don’t want him to, say, bleed to death when the incision decides to say hello to the world when he rides his bike.
And he’s on activity restriction.
I’m sorry. I just thought it was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Restrict. Activities. You know, like, don’t let a seven-year-old boy do anything? Even with the video games we rented for him he’s slamming into walls and jumping over the couch.
It’s gonna be a looooooong five days of restricted activities, my friends.