Setback #1
I had a rough weekend.
Friday night my friend Cindy took one look at my puffy right hand and inflamed, angry red scars on my swollen right forearm and sent me to the hospital. She’s an EMT, and guessed my arm was infected.
This time there was no waiting in the Emergency Room. A doctor soon confirmed her suspicions. Following surgery for my broken arm some of the deeper stitches didn’t fully dissolve and my body’s defenses attacked.
The ER Doc lanced two abscesses - one on each scar, and ordered me to report to the ER every eight hours for IV Antibiotics until Monday morning. So I went to the ER a lot this weekend.
I was last here Friday, 22 February 2008. Five weeks and who knows how many patients later the entire ER seemed to remember me. I guess I made a good first impression.
My muscles have atrophied enough that this time the nurses could stretch the cuff enough to fit over my arm properly. I noted that my heart beat faster when Laurel, an attractive blond, took my readings than say, David, a decent enough fellow for all that. My thick skin still gave everyone with a needle grief.
Monday morning finally dawned, and the worst of it was over. Now I’m taking oral antibiotics every six hours until Wednesday afternoon.
I should have been more sensitive in retrospect: for a week most people whom viewed my swollen hand and red arm noted aloud “That must hurt.” One even said “If that was me I would cry.” A few turned away in disgust. One girl’s eyes welled-up.
There are exceptions too, of course. The Mixed-Up Martial Artists have only drove by that once to yell “ cocksucker” as I walked Maine Street. At work my supervisor Jack laughed once as I struggled to take my coat off one night. He stopped abruptly when I looked up, though I’ve no doubt it was him.
John, a frail, effeminate, Visibly Christian fundamentalist artist burst out laughing when he learned I was hurt. According to his demented theology I would not have been harmed had I been right with god.
So god will punish me if I don’t love him? Is John’s imaginary friend a tyrannical, manipulative creep? Says a lot about John I think. Many people love god just as much as John does and suffer worse than I. What does that say about John’s capricious, sadistic imaginary friend? What does that say about John? John is a One True ChristianTM. I wonder if John’s imaginary friend or my self-discipline will stay me from stomping John into a meaty pile of piss and blood? John hasn’t made eye-contact since he rejoiced at my calamity.
What bothers me isn’t the opinions of people I don’t respect. What does bother me is I’ve friends and loved ones expecting me to pull through like a champ, and I feel I’ve let them down. I am keeping clean, eating right, and sleeping as best I can. I’m not lifting anything heaver than a soup can per Doctor’s orders. The plush Shrek doll imaginaryalice inexplicitly gifted me with one year has proved invaluable at propping up a wounded arm to reduce swelling. He’s pretty good at holding an ice-pack too.
I am confident I will recover fully. It’s going to take some time.
Previously: Recover #2.
Next: Bored with the break yet?
Friday night my friend Cindy took one look at my puffy right hand and inflamed, angry red scars on my swollen right forearm and sent me to the hospital. She’s an EMT, and guessed my arm was infected.
This time there was no waiting in the Emergency Room. A doctor soon confirmed her suspicions. Following surgery for my broken arm some of the deeper stitches didn’t fully dissolve and my body’s defenses attacked.
The ER Doc lanced two abscesses - one on each scar, and ordered me to report to the ER every eight hours for IV Antibiotics until Monday morning. So I went to the ER a lot this weekend.
I was last here Friday, 22 February 2008. Five weeks and who knows how many patients later the entire ER seemed to remember me. I guess I made a good first impression.
My muscles have atrophied enough that this time the nurses could stretch the cuff enough to fit over my arm properly. I noted that my heart beat faster when Laurel, an attractive blond, took my readings than say, David, a decent enough fellow for all that. My thick skin still gave everyone with a needle grief.
Monday morning finally dawned, and the worst of it was over. Now I’m taking oral antibiotics every six hours until Wednesday afternoon.
I should have been more sensitive in retrospect: for a week most people whom viewed my swollen hand and red arm noted aloud “That must hurt.” One even said “If that was me I would cry.” A few turned away in disgust. One girl’s eyes welled-up.
There are exceptions too, of course. The Mixed-Up Martial Artists have only drove by that once to yell “ cocksucker” as I walked Maine Street. At work my supervisor Jack laughed once as I struggled to take my coat off one night. He stopped abruptly when I looked up, though I’ve no doubt it was him.
John, a frail, effeminate, Visibly Christian fundamentalist artist burst out laughing when he learned I was hurt. According to his demented theology I would not have been harmed had I been right with god.
So god will punish me if I don’t love him? Is John’s imaginary friend a tyrannical, manipulative creep? Says a lot about John I think. Many people love god just as much as John does and suffer worse than I. What does that say about John’s capricious, sadistic imaginary friend? What does that say about John? John is a One True ChristianTM. I wonder if John’s imaginary friend or my self-discipline will stay me from stomping John into a meaty pile of piss and blood? John hasn’t made eye-contact since he rejoiced at my calamity.
What bothers me isn’t the opinions of people I don’t respect. What does bother me is I’ve friends and loved ones expecting me to pull through like a champ, and I feel I’ve let them down. I am keeping clean, eating right, and sleeping as best I can. I’m not lifting anything heaver than a soup can per Doctor’s orders. The plush Shrek doll imaginaryalice inexplicitly gifted me with one year has proved invaluable at propping up a wounded arm to reduce swelling. He’s pretty good at holding an ice-pack too.
I am confident I will recover fully. It’s going to take some time.
Previously: Recover #2.
Next: Bored with the break yet?