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Last year, at 24, I decided that my period of celibacy and inaction had lasted long enough, so I decided to go through with an an experimental treatment that my doctor had recommended back in 2007. What had kept me back then was the difficult healing process, but I'd finally had enough of looking like a giant problem.I went to see my old doctor, who introduced me to a new dermatologist. "We are going to try to burn these growths, step by step," she said and added that she could not guarantee the operation would work because it hadn't been tried much before. She did need me to know that it would be quite painful.And so three months later, I find myself in a sterilized room, surrounded by doctors and nurses in scrubs. They all lean over me, acting a little like they're at the zoo. Gawking at my mouth, the nurses can hardly stop themselves from making faces or awkward exclamations. Then comes the needle, followed by the pain the doctor had warned me about. A little while later, I'm woken up by another nurse. "Do you want a bandage?" she asks. I nod and head back to my apartment on the metro.The nurses lean over me, acting like they're at the zoo. Gawking at my mouth, they can hardly stop themselves from making faces or awkward exclamations.
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