Unpacking

This morning the senior resident, accompanied by his gaggle of more junior residents, changed the dressing on my wound.  To quote him, I have "a little cave" in my belly, and like other similar wounds, having it heal from the inside out is the best way to prevent infection.

In my little cave, left over from surgery, was a whole lotta packing material.  He didn't warn me ahead of time that it would HURT LIKE THE DEVIL coming out of the cave.  It was never ending.  I may have broken a resident's hand, I was squeezing it so hard.  There must have been five feet of that stuff.  Putting fresh material back in was better - did not hurt and he didn't put as much in.  My visiting nurse will have to do this unpacking and re-packing every day until the skin closes.

I was also instructed in the proper colors of discharge from the wound, and those that signify Something Bad.  I won't ruin your breakfast with those.

My thighs are bruised from the heparin shots I get three times a day.  I am actually looking forward to Lovanox now; one needle stick a day is enough for me.

And now we wait... for proof that my bowels are awake... they only accept one form of absolute proof.  I must break wind, undeniably and emphatically.  And then I can go home!  I shall now peruse the room service menu for  gaseous foods...