Poor Dressings and Staples

As the first few days home chugged on, and as Corrie and I figured out what my first excursion outside would be, the healing process was doing it's thing. And by that I mean my leg was getting pretty itchy.

Due to the severity of the wound, I fully understand that the itchy-ness isn't from the actual healing, but rather, the surrounding skin beginning to regain feeling, and then needing a little attention. The hair was matted from sweat and whatever salve they might have used, or cleaning agent, while I was under, and damn if it couldn't be soothed.

As we discussed the differences between my plan for the first crutch trip (our favorite breakfast diner, The Pepper Corner) and Corrie's (the closer pizza parlor, Pizza Pie), I would slide my hand beneath the dressings to soothe the skin and hair. The dressings were starting to move as I tooled around the apartment, and were just loose enough to allow me to work inside. I made sure not to get that close to the region where I understood to have had surgical work done. I know that doesn't need to be disturbed by my grubby hands.

For the first trip outside, we settled on a trip to Signal Hill. It was a great idea; hobble down to the car, go for a ride up to the Hill and watch the sunset, and return home, hobbling back upstairs. Brilliant. It turned out that my stamina on the crutches was lower than I had thought, so this was the best idea.

Since I'd been home for eight days when we went out, just the sun in my face and breeze in my hair was glorious freedom.

Upon another soothing of my leg, my fingers ran across something that felt out of place: staples.

What the hell were staples doing this high? Now, I had tried to soothe a little closer to the sphere of surgical influence, but I thought this was still north of the incision. I was wrong, as this is quite the incision.

Before, I hadn't been sure what type of suture they were going to use, but on this afternoon, I knew.

Here's a bit more gruesome picture of the Frankenstein's monster look at the size of the incision. Also of note, the dressing, having fallen apart, in total disarray.

I had my two-week appointment the day after this, so Corrie wrapped up the clean remnants of gauze, the section that was wrapped around the dirty, blood clotted cotton sheet, with an ace bandage, and I was ready to go off and see a doctor.