I know.

[She rolls her eyes. She remembers scraping her knees now and then as a kid, how much the whole process of cleaning those little injuries up hurt. This is only going to be way worse, she figures, because it's got to be a deeper and bigger wound than anything that she got when she was little.

Nodding, she tilts her head to better expose her shoulder, and shuts her eyes in anticipation.]

Go for it.

[And holy shit does it sting.

She visibly tenses, gripping the edge of the table hard as she holds her breath to keep from screaming obscenities. It's a testament to just how much it hurts that she isn't swearing up a storm. Not out loud, anyway.

When it's over, she takes slow, even breaths as she relaxes her muscles, rolling her shoulder (against her better judgment) because she shouldn't touch or scratch the wound, but she has to do something to try and sooth it a little.]

God. Fuck. They'd better have novacaine at the clinic. Like hell am I going through that again in cold blood.

[Which is to say, thanks, Chris, the treatment sucks, but I really needed it, and I couldn't do it on my own.

Kind of. More or less. Maybe.]