Split Hairs and Other Bloody Tales

You know those innocuous little sprigs full of pigmentation that we call hair? Did you ever know that they could be deadly?

(Ok, well not deadly, but those tiny things CAN cause lots of pain and havoc!)

Imagine that one little sprig decides that he doesn't want to come out into the bright sunshine of the world (or cloudy skies and cold temperatures, in the case of Boston these days) , so he burrows deep within your skin to stay warm. He cleverly and mysteriously creates a nice hard and round not-so-little mound to protect himself from the cruelty and uncertainty of life on the outer layers of the epidermis.

Also imagine that he chooses a spot exactly where your leg meets your pelvis, where one of the edges of your trusty underwear hangs out. Mr. Angry Hair Follicle (Mr. Angry for short) is stubborn. Aggressive prodding with tweasers only makes him angrier, increasing the redness and sensitivity of his face. He's an ugly little guy: both in personality and appearance.

Do I blame him for not wanting to enter a world that is generally plagued by violence and more specifically consists of staring at the inside of whatever pants I decide to wear each day? Certainly not. Am I frustrated by how much one tiny and essentially inconsequential part of my body can cause so much heartache. Absolutely!

I made an appointment to see a medical professional yesterday following a failed removal attempt that involved me screaming through the bathroom door asking my husband for specific advice as to how to attack Mr. Angry. Though Mr. LIW is not new to such indignant-hair challenges, I learned that he is wholly opposed to inflicting any physical pain on his wife's body, even when it is in her best interest. In fact, he refused even to be a witness to the procedure (this could cause major problems if we graduate to fertility injections!)

Anyway, I didn't see my PCP because she is, of course, on vacation this week but I saw another member of the practice group instead. A physician that I *almost* chose as my PCP based on her online profile (but am now glad that I didn't) happily found time in her schedule. She was incredibly nice but a bit absent-minded, more like a stereotypical professor than a physician (a disposition not necessarily comforting to me given my very long and largely unpleasant academic history.) She explained to me numerous times what the disempowerment of Mr. Angry involved (injections of lidocaine and then one or two small cuts with a scalpal), which was fine, but unnerving as I started to believe that her redundant explanations were ways to remind herself of the steps as opposed to educate me. I did appreciate her sincere and consistent concern about my pain level each and every time she poked me - first with the lidocaine needle and then with the scalple (turns out the three initial shots of lidocaine didn't do the trick so, luckily, I was subjected to three additional incredibly-painful injections.)

But the best part, the very best part, was when I learned that I may need to see a physician in the surgical unit because despite her best efforts, Dr. Absent-Minded was unable to conquer Mr. Angry. I jumped at the opportunity to go through that exciting ritual again - literally. Luckily, she told me to wait until Friday and only to schedule another appointment if Mr. Angry stayed in his current state or became even angrier.

The rest of the night could only get better from there, right? At first, I was grateful for a course of antibiotics since I was in a near-panic that Mr. Angry would spread his infection and cause major physical distress while I was trying to appreciate all that is good in life on the beaches of Playacar, Mexico. I am not naive to the stress that these little magic pills typically inflict on my very-tempermental digestive system, but I took the precautions that I normally do and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, the best was nowhere to be found. Instead, reality found me nearly in tears in the bathroom, thinking that my intestines were exiting my body in a violent manner.

(Of course, I hoped that this was a sign of an impending BFP!)

Again, amazing that something so little could cause so much damage....

The good news is that it looks like Mr. Angry is a little less angry today. The bad news is that I have four more days of antibiotics to get through. Tequila will not be the beverage of choice in Mexico next week because of it.

But don't despair ... that's not the only bloody tail that I have in store for you! AF, who I believe is a close relative of Mr. Angry, has popped up a few times in her best brown and pink spotted dress since yesterday. She has visited often enough to suggest that she is on her way, but not soon enough to assure me that my vacation will be blood-free. So, not only am I quite certain that I am not pregnant, it looks like I will be packing sanitary products into my luggage.

My best friend, T, counsels me to never say that things could get worse because they always can......