This splint is starting to smell, but not horribly, just distinguishably.  Like I've been marked.  Marked by repetition.  Marked by a scalpel repeatedly, if we're being grossly accurate.

I've lost my gray hoodie, which is the only coat I own that fits comfortably around the splint.  I was sifting through the hall closet trying to find it and was baffled by two questions.  When did I get so many coats? And, why don't any of these coats fit around this stupid splint?  I counted 4 coats that I've received as part of my job, 2 I have not even worn yet because of all the surgeries.

All winter I either wore that ratty hoody or my green winter coat. I hate that green coat now.  I was going to donate it to the homeless, but good thing I waited, except nope, that was too tight too and I found out too late.  I looked like a woman in labor, with my eyes closed, breathing in short, sharp breaths as I tried to pull it off my arm and not pull my wrist out of the splint.  Which is pretty plausible.  My hands have been all up in that joint, it does not seem hard to alter or remove.  To be clear (and fair to my claims to be devoted to this recovery, which I am)  I only removed the wrap from the middle of my arm to moisturize the skin (on my arm, inches from the stitches) to try to reduce the itching and reduce the possibility of me scratching distractedly and accidentally doing something damaging. I also had to remove the cat hairs that had poked under the bandage and were also distressing my skin.

What can I say, I finished this terrific book with amazing word play and all I can focus on is how much I want to rip this splint off and scratch my arm red and raw.

Labels: new cast blues, recovery, surgery