So I'm sitting in the exam room, feeling also ultra suspicious that he thinks maybe MY personality needs to be medicated, when the words, "So I'm going to give you two shots under your eye and then just razor that off and cauterize it" were uttered like, you know, with the same lack of emotion as you might expect if you were having a conversation about, say, how frequently to change air filters.
WELL. I shot up off that exam table and said:
"My good sir, I have birthed four children without meds and I am pretty tough, but--"
"Oh, you'll want anesthesia for this," came his reply.
"Yes. I know. As well as my mother, who is in the waiting room, to come back here and hold my hand because that is what moms are for. If I had to birth children out my eye sockets, I'd be medicated for THAT event, so there is no way you're coming at my eye with a needle and a blade and a skin melter without making sure I am dead to the world."
So he stared at me like HOW ARE YOU EVEN ALLOWED TO LIVE ANYWHERE BUT A PADDED CELL but let my mother come back. She had Charlotte, who, as you all are aware, is a real treat. Charlotte cuddled up with me and he attempted normal conversation once more during the process of numbing, cutting, and burning.
"So, what's her name?"
"Charlotte is a nice na-- wait, Clementine?"
"Clementine's her middle name?"
"That it is."
"Well. Charlotte is very well behaved."
"Aw. Thanks. She's faking."
"Ok, now I'm cauterizing it."
"Yes, I know. Burning flesh smells so nice."