R.I.P., Sammy

So yesterday I got Sammy the Cyst cut out of my arm. He was a good cyst, as cysts go. I remember when I was in Argentina, back in May, and Jose said it was probably just a zit. Then about a month ago, when Susanne from the German department diagnosed Sammy as a cyst, she said that it'd come out with a quick snip and a stitch. Turns out she was right, although the quick snip turned into a mini-bloodbath, and they had to cauterize the hell out of the wound. Smelling burning flesh is bad enough, but when you smell your own burning flesh, it really sucks. And stinks. But they pulled that little marble-sized guy out of my arm, and it was all red and bloody. They wouldn't let me taste it to see if it was cancerous, but instead sent it to a lab to do some sort of quack, voodoo procedure called a "biopsy." Whatever, doc. Just cross your fingers for me that I don't have arm cancer.

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