Life holds a fair number of annual events, holidays not-with-standing. My life consists of annual events that I generally look forward to, including: The Good Neighbor Fest, Milwaukee Ala Carte, BFF shopping trip to Mayfair, baseball tournaments and so forth. Unfortunately, my life also seems to be good for one medical ailment per annum requiring a trip to the OR.
My surgical ailments typically include something extraordinarily embarrassing. Nope, No torn rotator cuffs or hot appendixes here. By Murphy’s law all of my medical ailments include the nether-regions. Ridic.
The latest diagnosis is vulvar dysplasia. I know. Once again I lost a bet. It’s my mantra.
Dysplasia = abnormal cells. The kind of cells that can turn into the big “c” if left untreated. Good times.
A punch biopsy confirmed the diagnosis. I will tell you a punch biopsy is also low on the fun scale but not as low as a peri-anal abscess. That remains one of the most painful procedures on record. You can read about it here.
I had more tests to determine the extent of said dysplasia. The test basically consisted of being put on the rack while my very nice doctor looked under the hood with high powered binoculars.
“Hey. How ya doing?”
No dinner.
No drinks.
No flowers.
Just me, the rack, and my mommy parts.
All three treatments options are equally dismal.
- Some type of cream that is a 12 week treatment and basically burns the tissue raw.
- Laser that burns the tissue raw.
- Surgery to excise the tissue. There will be stitches.
Doctor recommended door number 3 on account of being sure they “got it all” and of course the good drugs factor (for me, not him). I am told the procedure aptly titled “wide area resection” (cringe) takes 30+ minutes in the outpatient OR, the IV drugs will be robust, I won’t remember a thing and I’ll only have about a week of down time.
I’m scheduled for the 24th.
Dreading. Dreading.
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