82 It’s Dark

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.

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.

black cat holding persons arm

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.

Author: Michele Plumb Stowell

Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: