How Hard Can It Be?

I think it would be really, really cool to get to give myself stitches. Don’t throw up yet. I don’t want to get anything amputated by mistake and then have to sew my own arm back on with some spider silk or anything Bear Grylls-ey like that and I really don’t want to have to do my own emergency appendectomy in the middle of the desert and sew my stomach closed. I’m not a complete weirdo. But if I were just a little bit hurt, like I’d cut myself a little bit on something that was sharp but still really clean and it wasn’t all covered in tetanus and then the cut was already numb because they’d given me a shot, it would be neat to get to put in a stitch or two with proper supervision to make sure I didn’t go crooked.

But when you ask the doctor if you can try out the liquid nitrogen blow torch that she’s about to spray onto your face growth, she looks at you funny and tells you no. And that’s just bogarting that blow torch.

The blowtorch looked a lot like this, only it was purse-sized and cuter.

I’m a teacher and I would never be stingy with my teacher stuff like that. I would absolutely let you jump up and come to the board to show the class how to work that problem. I don’t have to be selfish with the chalk just to prove that I went to college to do this and you didn’t.

But the doctor who was freezing the thing on my face wouldn’t even let me hold the mini-blowtorch and I don’t think it was because I’m not qualified to do it. It could be because I asked before she started if my nose would come apart if she held it on there long enough like in those videos where they drop a mouse in liquid nitrogen and then drop it on the ground and make it shatter. Maybe I sounded too excited by that idea. She was also both impressed and a little bit alarmed that I had a picture of my nose-growth in my camera phone. When she asked me why I had taken a picture of my own nose, I blew my chances of ever playing with the blowtorch by saying, “I blogged about it and let people vote on what it is.”

I still think she’s hoarding her toys because she wants to look super professional and important. Why else would she wear that white coat ALL THE TIME? I get it already, you have a coat, you’re a doctor. Maybe she was actually a little bit insecure, like she thought I might do a better job than she could. Or it’s possible she never learned to share back in kindergarten. She was probably in a really strict academic program for little kids who were going to grow up to be doctors, so grew up knowing only cutthroat competition and her parents made her neurotic and gave her an eating disorder by riding her case all the time to be valedictorian of the preschool. Poor Dr. Stingy-Pants. Now I feel bad for her, and I’m the one who didn’t get to use the blowtorch.