walking wounded
My wound was healing up nicely, or so I thought.
Sure, there was some pulpy yellow stuff in the crater, but everytime I questioned my doctors [I've got two specialists now!], they assured me that it was fine. It wasn't pus and it wasn't infected. But I was asked to go see the wound nurse anyway.
I kept having nightmares of the nurse using tweezers to pluck my exposed tendon or a razor blade to scrape the flesh.
Turns out that the reality isn't far from that.
The moment I sat down, the extremely efficient nurse ripped off my dressing and started prodding with a pair of small sharp scissors. When I yelped, she told me brisquely that there is a lot of dead tissue, ie. the "yellow stuff", which has to be removed before the new cells can grow.
She then proceeded to excavate my crater with ruthless efficiency for a good 10 minutes while I continued whimpering and yelping. At the end of it, wound was all bloodied and as deep as a month ago.
I limped out of the treatment room and collasped against the wall, face totally ashen and legs all weak. And I have to come back for this torture every other week.
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4 comments:
OMG... no LA, no nothing? Zann, u r very brave... I wld have cried or maybe fainted, and I most probably wld have dragged someone into the room to accompany me. Pei fu pei fu...
my twin! you should have stepped on the nurse's foot with your other foot on your way out!
I think I will pop a couple of painkillers before my next exciting visit to the nurse.
Forgot to mention that the nurse admired her handiwork at the end of the torture session and said, "See? Now it's so nice, can see the flesh."
The nurse is mad! she is a Class A sadist!
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