The last cut was the only one I felt. It was deep and long, but swift, and I assume it was the one that fully cleaved my diseased skin from my healthy skin. I now know that in such brief moments of terror, my gut exclamation is "JESUS!" and not a curse word of some variety (or a curse word involving "Jesus"), which is some minor consolation. I know Dr. Renfro did not expect it - Sorry, Doc! Aside from a nurse's idiotic, "Did that hurt?" the team immediately turned to cauterizing the site, which felt like little jets of pressurized air on my neck.
I spent about 90 minutes in the surgical recovery area trying to finish "Appalachia: A History," which led to taking a quick nap ("postbellum pre-industrialist coal seam chestnut blight Matewan snnnooooooorrrrrre, head bob"), which led to my second partial reading of "Last Child in the Woods." I highly recommend both books. Afterwords, they said that the marginal skin is not diseased, and they were ready to give me my parting gift - internal and external stitches!
It's 13 hours later and it feels like someone tomohawked me in the neck. The hydrocodone isn't displacing the pain, but is making me view the world through a creamsicle lens right now. Perhaps I should gamble. Tomorrow will be a long day at work on the water. And I will wear sunblock, long sleeves, a hat, and a buff over my gigantic neck bandage. Not just tomorrow. But forever, now. In hopes of never having to do this again.
|Anybody under age 40 remember who this is?|