Day: January 22, 2019

Posted on

Sixth Month Incision Update

It’s time once again to check in with my scar. It has been almost six months to the day since I got sawed in half and put back together. I’m quite pleased with my scar’s progress, and I even think my it’s kinda pretty. At the same time, my scar also gives me street cred when I flash it in the ‘hood.

Photo # 1. This is a repost. Luau hula dog Bow Tie o’ the Day posed with me and my incision while I selfied this pic in my hospital bed at Huntsman. Please excuse the slight wardrobe malfunction in the upper left corner of the photo. I blame my epidural for drugging my censor ability at the time I snapped this.

Photo # 2. Bow Tie o’ the Day represents the screws and bolts my surgeon did not have to use to put me back together. I got stapled of course.

I thought it would be painful to have my staples removed, which they did right before they wheeled me out of the hospital. But I hardly felt their removal. I watched each staple as it was pulled out, and the entire thing was a smooth and graceful procedure. The doctor wouldn’t let me keep the staples though. The minuscule staple entry holes around my scar are almost completely invisible at this point. I have been told by my medical-y friends that the scar itself will gradually whiten-up over time.

At this point, my scar itches me quite a bit, and the area around it sometimes feels like I have a deep bruise inside my gut beneath the scar. I feel a tug or a pull inside now and then, but the strangest feeling I’ve had is feeling as if a strip of Velcro is being pulled off my innards. Nothing to worry about. I’m having an interesting adventure in my inner self, literally and metaphorically.

Sometimes, when I feel frustrated with my lack of energy and my various tweaks and pokes, I tell Suzanne I wish I’d never had the surgery. And I truly mean it for that moment. Occasionally, it’s a very long moment. But then I remember Suzanne pushed me to have the procedure because she says she wants me around for the rest of her life. I come to my senses then. Without the surgery, my expiration date would be years less than it should be. When I think going through the operation wasn’t worth it to me, I remember I’m not just one person. I’m my family and my friends. I’m especially Suzanne.

Posted on

My Cold, Cold Heart

The first thing Suzanne said to me, with surprise, when she came downstairs this morning was, “You’re not wearing a bow tie!? ” I said, “I know I put one on, but I don’t see it anywhere.” Wood, camouflage-design Bow Tie o’ the Day is hiding from something. And I’m betting it’s trying to dodge the cold.

I had to be at physical therapy at 7:30 this morning. It’s a ten-minute drive to the clinic, but it took me 18 minutes just to clean off the car. It was 20 degrees outside. Even bow ties get frostbite at that temperature. I hate the cold. In case you weren’t clear on that, let me yell this: I HATE THE COLD! Today’s cold is so penetrating it has frozen my heart.

We have a two-car garage, but like everyone else I’ve ever known with a two-car garage, there’s only room for one car. There’s too much stuff nobody needs but nobody wants to get rid of taking up all the space. One vehicle can barely squeeze inside.

It’s only right that Suzanne’s car always gets the garage in winter, since she’s the one that has to be at a job at a certain time five days a week. It would be wrong for her to have to freeze in the cold, scraping her windows before heading to her office. I mean– when it gets right down to it, I freely admit my poetry does not come close to paying for the garage. Suzanne’s job does. Suzanne wins, as well she should.

Suzanne is convinced we will one day be able to fit two vehicles in the garage. I laugh at that thought. I live in reality. Suzanne usually lives in reality, but not on this issue. Between us, we have acquired 108 years of material stuff, most of which we don’t need but we don’t want to get rid of. And we’ll only acquire more things. That’s what people do, and everything can’t live in the house. Especially when the house is already full to the brim with sewing supplies and neckwear.