Deer droppings and fangs

Oh la la – I seriously underestimated how long it would take to recover. Three weeks later I’m still a bit uncomfortable. Can’t call it pain anymore, but there is a definite sort of burning sting going on where I was cut open 21 days ago. I figured, with my customary optimism, that it would just be A Bit Sore and because I’ve always recovered quickly from a general anaesthetic the only unknowns to my mind was whether I’d be OK to drive to work or catch the bus the next day.

OK, so it turns out the little devil thing was a little more devilish than expected so things got slightly more complicated, but even so. Zonked out on some glorious pills that really did do a good job of taking the edge off the pain, after having soon realised I wouldn’t be doing anything other than lying in bed or on the sofa for an indeterminable stretch of time, I decided to have a look for myself to see how come this turned out so much worse than I’d thought. It was just meant to be a little incision, no? One or maybe TWO stitches max?

Never do this, people. Promise me you won’t. To save you from yourselves I am deliberately keeping the devil thing’s name to myself or you’ll go Google the damn thing (you won’t be able to stop yourselves just like I couldn’t when first told what the issue was) and that, I can assure you, is not a good idea. The images can not be unseen. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

So there I am, all mellow from the happy pills and decide hey, let’s be adult about this and see what we’re dealing with here and I bravely angle the little mirror my friend S gave me for my birthday, and oh yeah I’m using the part that magnifies stuff. Just one look, that’s all it took… (Don’t you just love the Hollies?) The next second I’m in floods of tears and yelling for B to have a look.

Never do this, people. Promise me, alright? Why in God’s name I thought it would be a good idea for my poor husband to also witness the carnage I’m going to have to blame on the pills. Come on, people make all sorts of poor decisions when they’re high and clearly I’m no exception. So to set the scene: doped-up Anna now no longer mellow but instead wailing, and 6’2 macho kiwi hubby white as a sheet mumbling that it’s probably normal and will heal.

OK, fine, I’m prone to drama and I’ll concede that this wasn’t exactly a major operation, but given it’s awkward place it was freakin’ awful. What I’d naively assumed would be perhaps a quarter of an inch was instead very much AN inch, swollen and also packed with some sort of stuffing that I was told would “fall out”. WTF – how does something FALL OUT of a wound? Now this part is actually quite amusing because that’s exactly what happened in two batches. Batch numero uno: me moving with the speed of a sloth trying to get in the shower and there is a little thud. Yep, right there on the floor is what looks like a little deer dropping, measuring perhaps just short of an inch in diameter. Both gross and a little fascinating. I gag, yet can’t stop myself from inspecting it. It’s squidgy yet firm, kind of like a rubber.

This is when I make the mistake with the mirror for a second time. And it looks the same. I realise there’s more to go. Batch numero dos happens a couple of days later when I’m on the sofa when I’m playing Trivial Pursuit with B and one of the boys. There’s a sudden burning sensation that is so sharp I’m quite literally writhing around. I leave the room and out of my body another lump of this stuffing, er, stuff squeezed out. It’s like the horror wound is giving birth to Evil. Numero dos is larger. If there’s any more in there I’d half expect it to have fangs, I swear. Just in case I haven’t already traumatised my beautiful hubby, I show the quite literally bloody mess to him both times. In a way I’m almost proud of my wound’s amazing birthing abilities and also of how I’m such a soldier suffering through this yuckiness.

But anyway. Three weeks on I’m starting to feel human again. Managed to – although not entirely without difficulty – get back to work after a week. Was told it might be up to two months to be as good as new again, but hey ho. I can deal with a slight stinging sensation. At least the horrid thing has stopped giving birth to deer droppings.

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