Fact #101: You wouldn't like me when I'm angry

The mole I had removed last week was on my left upper arm. After the doctor stitched up the giant gaping hole she made in my flesh, she said (and these were her exact words): "Try not to use your arm."

Um. Okay.

I must have given her a weird look, so she added: "I just don't want you to pop your stitches."

Ummm. Okay.

I'm not trying to undersell myself here. I mean, I'd say I have average or perhaps slightly above average upper body strength. I do yoga (the kind with lots of pushups). I can do a pullup or two. There's definitely a little muscle in those arms.

But it's not like every time I flex, my shirt is ripped to shreds Hulk-style. I'm not straining the seams of my sleeves or anything. I'm not sure exactly what the doctor imagined I would be doing with my arms that might cause my stitches to bust wide open.

I, of course, completely disregarded her directive. I did yoga the day after I got my stitches. I've done massages, lifted heavy stuff over my head, gone to the gym. And, despite all of these amazing feats of strength, my stitches seem to be doing fine.

But it's still there in the back of my mind. I could pop my stitches.

Now anytime my arm hurts even the slightest bit, I imagine my stitches snapping like guitar strings, bits of black thread flying like shrapnel, and blood and guts pouring out. (Yes, I have guts in my arm.)

I know it's not very likely to happen. But just in case, don't make me mad.















Til tomorrow!