It Takes An Open Wound…

…to get a girl back to blog land.

I have recently been through a life-threatening medical trauma.  But we will get to that in my next installation because I am a big fan of suspense. At my lowest moment, when I didn’t think I could take any more insanity, I stared up at the hospital ceiling and thought, “Jesus.  I need to blog this shit.”

Conveniently enough, that day my family visited me and brought me a bag of get-well goodies.  My favorite things were the roll of Rolos and an adult coloring book.  It sounds kind of pornographic, but it’s not.  It’s not pages filled with nasty bits, if thats what you had in mind.  Yucky on you.  They are filled with grown up and pretty and hard-to-stay-in-the-lines pictures.  I’ve seen these coloring books on The Facebook but I didn’t fully understand the hype.  Omg.  Best invention ever.  So calming…so calming…so calming…

The Wound Journal.


It might have been the continuous IV Morphine and Norco cocktail, but I decided that I needed to color the shit out of this thing and use it as a diary to write the greatest non-fictional novel ever known to man, entitled “The Wound Chronicles”.
Then I realized that it was just too soon. Way too soon to laugh about any of it.  I kept on trying to start talking about it, but much like me not being able to actually LOOK at the wound, I still couldn’t even really tell anybody much about it.  Until yesterday, when I went on an adventure to visit my infectious disease doctor – yes, I have one of those.  Don’t be jelly. 

As I was sitting in the waiting room and I was trying not to touch ANYTHING (seriously, I think I left my arms above the armrests for a full 47 minutes.)  I was side-staring at people, germ profiling them and worrying about how they were going to spread their tse-tse flu or Zika virus tainted cells into my healing wound.  I was being a germist form of a rascist and I was very ashamed.  And then I was worried that they might be grossed out by me, so I started to have a full-blown panic attack.  I began quiet Lamaze breathing.  That made me look weirder.  I totally started upper lip face-sweating.  WHY WAS THE COMPLIMENTARY TV OFF?  This was a torture chamber.  They had to know that an episode of “House Hunter: International” would have calmed all of us freaks down.   I was a shell of a woman.  They finally called my name and I hobbled faster than a turtle to get away from everyone. I am quite sure they were equally glad to get rid of the sweaty, strange woman puffing her breath and leering at all of them with her arms up in the air.

The nurse made me lie down and she removed my dressing.  She didn’t even put anything over it. Exposed naked wound in room 4!  She left me and the gaping hole and all of the whole mess just out there, exposed for the world to see and ripe for a brand new strain of MRSA.  I had to wait way too long for the doctor in that vulnerable state.  As every minute passed, I realized that now my wound was on display to the open air and to the WHOLE PLANET and anyone even walking by the window. I was distraught that I left my phone in my purse so I couldn’t be distracted from the crazed images of invisible flying death germs stealthily dive-bombing directly into my healing cavity.  At this point, I was absolutely sure that I was going to get the conga flu in the hole or rickets or polio and I really, really hoped that it wasn’t going to turn black.  I started to hum the theme to the movie “Tootsie” for absolutely no other reason than that I was coming completely unhinged.

There it was.  That was the Oprah “aha” moment.  It was while I humming “somethings telling me it might be you” that I laughed very loudly at myself and my mental instability and I realized…yep.  It’s time.  It’s time to share the epic story of the wound.

For now, I have to wrap this up because I’m so tired.  I still get weak.  Doing nothing throws me into nappy time.  It’s so totally stupid.  Typing this has put me into a near coma and I’m already practically lying down.  But I look forward to going back to my notes and sharing some crazy wound crap with anyone who came stomach it enough to read it.  My goal is to post one a day but I have no follow-through.  See you tomorrow?  Or in 2019.  My last post on here was from 2012.  I wish me the best of luck. 

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2 thoughts on “It Takes An Open Wound…

  1. George says:

    Eagerly awaiting your next entry! ūüôā

  2. Elizabeth Garcia says:

    Ah, Heather Beauty.
    Heal.
    You will.
    Give yourself time & do good things for You.
    Chat soon.
    ‚ô° You. Lots.

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