It’s dark. Actually the sun is rising and I can barely see the screen due to the focus the beams have on me. That is reassuring!
The incision wound needs to step it up a notch and start the closure process. Apparently it’s just been hanging out, being itself for a month. It’s a 3/4 inch hole at the surface, maybe 3 1/2 inches deep. There is a repulsed, grossed out feeling I have when I work with it. I try to explore whether it associates with my past experience with “packing a wound” back in the MRSA days, or if it’s a new experience of its own right.
Because it was not shifting, the surgeon decided to change the routine. Because I can’t really tell what is happening when they are working on me, I make up stories from what I do see. They might be fully false. But what I think happened is that a set of tweezers was used inside the wound to measure the fluid behavior. At any rate, the inner tissue is pissed off. There isn’t a nicer way to say that. Cell rage?
My body has never loved being packed. Packing is when some form of material is put into the open space to allow drainage, and healing the depth of the hole rather than the surface, avoiding infection. Sometimes it’s nothing. Usually my body is angry, and there is pain that radiates immensely for half a day. I was packing the wound every other day.
Now, with a different form of packing material, it needs to be done twice a day. Everything hurt so much after the doctor visit, that the next time to pack it just added to pain already happening. So, I’m back to constant Tylenol, back to waking up with hurt, and worst of all, I’m dealing with a mind that is obsessed with the idea of how many hours until I need to do it all again.
The up side? Sun beams blinding me as I type. A cat lying literally across my left wrist (amazing that typing still happens)
The up side? Sun beams blinding me as I type. A cat lying literally across my left wrist (amazing that typing still happens). Crows calling out, reminding me of spirit and that they are “there for me”. Breath. Breath is always an upside, like the poem Amisha shared.