. . . mostly because I can't in good conscience write another one about my broken wrist. BUT! Went to physical therapy yesterday and had this experience. The pt looked at my scar and said we needed to loosen it up, so she went, "John! Get me THE EXTRACTOR!"
Doesn't "extractor" sound like a scary word to you?
And suddenly my darling pt looked like Chloris Leachman in YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN and John looked like Igor dragging his knuckles across the floor, off to find body parts and extractors.
The extractor was a large syringe used for sucking-up-scar purposes. It hurt. It hurt so much I had to eat a lot of pasta and some garlic bread at Heaps Brick Oven in Provo yesterday to get over it.