A trip to Sydney yesterday (six hours round travel time for, I kid you not, about five minutes with the surgeon) saw the dressing removed and the stitches removed.
I am now the proud bearer of a pink backward-Z-shaped scar across my left cheek and temple. It's a good three inches long and frames my eye rather nicely, and I am definitely going to be telling people it's the result of a knife fight, or a duel with Zorro, or some other such fancy. (I reserve the right to change the story as and when it suits me. I don't wear make-up, so this little sucker is going to be drawing comments for quite some time, and there is no crime more heinous than boringness, right? Right.)
Photos later, when the steri-strips come off.
While visiting said surgeon, I also received the bill for his services. Yowser. Some of it will be covered by medicare and by my health fund, but more of it will not. This is separate to the bill from the hospital and the anaesthetist and the assistant, so I am currently wondering precisely what I can sell to cover the shortfall. It would be ironic, not to mention bad practice, to have to sell a body organ to pay for my face, wouldn't it? 😐
In the meantime, the copyedits continue, and the deadline loometh. In fact, the deadline do much more than loometh. So I shall be scarce round these parts for the next little while.