Avert your eyes, those of a squeamish disposition. This posting is not for you.
I spent a fair deal of Wednesday last at Plymouth's Derriford hospital attending an appointment to see how a persistent sore patch at the back of my tongue is doing.
I then spent sometime there again yesterday having a biopsy taken from said sore patch. The biopsy procedure, frankly, made it even more sore - leaving me all but unable to speak at all yesterday evening. Bliss for Mrs The Millbrooker, no doubt, but a tad frustrating for someone like me who firmly believes that everyone is entitled to my opinion.
Anyway - being well versed in the need to record pretty much everything, Mrs The Millbrooker was on camera duties as I was prepped up to have a little bit of tongue sliced out and sent for analysis.
Note instruments of medieval-style intent lurking around behind my head and thus pleasantly out of sight.
The whole thing was a fairly quick operation if somewhat uncomfortable as my mouth was held in an unnatural gape using one or other of the implements on show above whilst the doctor made his incisions and then, with incredible dexterity, his stitches.
I'm still more than a bit sore but the ability to witter on orally without extreme pain is returning (with grateful thanks to the discoverers and manufacturers of Codeine, Ibuprofen and Paracetamol).
Now we must simply await the results - nothing too nasty is expected (I'm delighted to say) and no further slicings are due to take place in the foreseeable. Huzzah!