Design a site like this with
Get started

The Sadist And The Skin Tag OR Never Trust A Doctor With A Silly Grin

Yesterday I went to the doctor’s because for the past three weeks my hands have been permanently hurting. I have arthritis in my hands and wrists and it’s been getting ever worse over the past year, but only recently have I noted that the aching pain just doesn’t go away by itself anymore. I also went because I had a large skin tag on my side from my bra strap rubbing. Now, my doctor is about 6 foot tall, blond, blue-eyed and always smiling, he’s a perky little bundle of joy, a husband and father, and the owner of a cute little golden Labrador. He’s also a sadistic fuck.! Which is probably why I like him. He has a cabinet in his examination room I call the Cupboard of DOOM because he keeps all the needles and other sadistic toys in there, bringing them out with a flourish that is very unbecoming in consideration of what they are and what they’re for.

Yesterday, after determining that the only thing he could do for my hands was prescribe a stronger painkiller, he invites me to step into his lair and sets about examining the skin tag, informing me he has just the thing for it. With his eyes alight from the huge grin on his face, he unlocks the Cupboard of DOOM, reaches in and with a flourish retrieves a small, flat blue box and shows it to me, as if looking for my approval. He holds it in the palm of one hand and opens it with the other, where on a bed of blue velvet-looking, moulded plastic lies a white curved wand with a square tab on the top and a two pronged round plastic disc with a corresponding square hole. Lying the open box on the examination bed next to where I was standing, he removes both, attaches the pronged disc to the wand and holds it up, telling me with an evil glint in his eyes ‘we’re going to BURN it off!’

“What.?!” I was expecting a cryotherapy wand, had braced myself for the sharp pain of Liquid Nitrogen like you get with warts, but no, that sadistic bastard was fully intent on burning that poor defenceless little skin tag and by design ME with electricity and Oh. My. God. Did it fucking hurt.! It took 3 ‘cuts’ to get rid of the tag and another three prods to cauterise the wound. Meanwhile I’m hissing through my teeth and biting my tongue to keep from cursing him out because not only can I smell my burning flesh, I can see around my raised arm that he’s loving every second of inflicting excruciating pain on me. It’s his thing. When he’s finally finished I breathe a huge sigh of relief and watch as he mops up the last of the blood with a tissue… and there is more than a fair amount of blood on that tissue. “That was a big one” he chuckles as he gets a pad and a large white plaster to dress my still throbbing side and then goes to wash his hands.


Nationally Syndicated Editorial Cartoonist

A Family History in Letters

Letters from the women in my family to their mothers from 1910-1980.

What I found

The art of losing

The Belfast Belter

The Life and Times of a retired Soldier, Boxer, Pilot, Husband, Father and Grandfather

Reading Between The Lies

tales of untruths

Shine My Way

My adventures in trail running and awkward socials

Arts & Literature

A site by Clemens P. Suter

%d bloggers like this: