What Happens When You Don't Have Health Insurance

You end up at a place where no one understands you. My friend Kenny, who once told me he remembered me when my stomach was flatter, gave me a number to call. And no, it wasn't a plastic surgeon's office.

I needed to get my stitches out after 5 days so I went to the clinic behind Kenny's phone number.Hmmmm. Well, it was a woman's clinic and the last time I checked, I was half-woman half- metal parts.

As anyone can plainly see in the picture above, it looked uh, scary? As anyone can plainly see in the picture below, it looked like a bodega.

But it turned out to be a gynecologist, OB-Gyn clinic. I guess that creepy window above hid the speculum room. And the beer and snacks.

Below is a picture of where I was supposed to go, right across the street. Note the vertical sign on the corner of the building. It says ACNE and CELULITIS. They should've just put up a sign that said SUZY'S PAST and PRESENT.

Did I get the stitches out? No. They were not 'done', not 'cooked.' Now a normal person would have freaked out but not me. I was happy to dance out of there and only pay $25.00. Who are these magicians and why don't the rest of the medicos follow suit? Do doctors A. want us to die or B. just bankrupt us? Ooooh call on me teacher!! I know this answer, ooooh ooooh ooooh!!

I had to go back this past Saturday and the doctor, after sticking a fork in me, proclaimed me still not done. THEN I freaked out. And started babbling about not getting the dreaded stitch dots that only a narcissist like me even knows about.

So now I go back tomorrow and will cry like a baby when they pull them out. It will be my 14th scar. It would have been #15 but that one faded and there's no trace of it. The other ones are visible. Numero 15 was behind my ear. And nobody looks behind your ear.

Because life is endlessly annoying.

End of chat.