So this week my Grandpa had cancer surgery. He had this… thing, develop on his cheek, and it started growing, and he worried it was cancer, and the relatives said it was probably nothing, and so they didn’t get it checked out for a while. It kept growing, and eventually they had it looked at, and biopsied, and lo and behold – cancer. A fairly rare and fast-growing cancer. Delightful. So Gramps was scheduled for surgery. However, given his age and level of infirmity, putting him under general anaesthetic is a last resort. So they gave him a sedative and did the surgery under local anaesthetic. LOCAL ANAESTHETIC. (I was grossed out enough just having my wisdom teeth removed under local.)
Keep in mind the lesion was big enough by this time to require a graft. So Gramps was conscious through this, and said he could kinda feel them cutting and scraping and whatnot. ON HIS FACE. (I saw him today, and the scar runs diagonally under his eye and across his cheekbone. It’s healing nicely, and he looks pretty badass.) So after the surgery, he ate all his food at the hospital, and then wanted to get out of there. It was basically out-patient surgery, but given his age they were probably going to keep him overnight. But nope, he wanted to leave. So they took him home. And because of the medication he’s on at the moment, his general appetite isn’t huge, but his sweet tooth is most certainly intact, since he’s already been asking for his chocolate bars. Heh.
So… yeah, my grandpa sits through cancer surgery on his face while AWAKE, and I’m doing the squicked-out dance around the kitchen just listening to my Mom telling me about it. Dude’s hardcore. Bring it, Chuck Norris. Bring it any time.