And now for something icky…
If you are not into icky, have a weak stomach, don’t want to think about things like broken bones, and stitches/staples, and the icky stuff that goes along with that… now would be a good time to find out how to read a fashion magazine… or join me in my overwhelming hatred of crickets… or research the dangers of going to bed with wet hair… or just read what has, for some bizarre reason, become my most popular post.
Okay, you have been duly warned.
The ickiness shall now commence!
On the 30th of August, I broke my arm. If you want the unicky version – go read that post.
After the charming ER visit…
And waiting to find a doc to see me… and spending a week with a un-set broken bone waiting for surgery… the bruising and swelling were, ah well… something to behold.
As my hand swelled up to roughly the size of a canned ham, and my office wondered why I couldn’t keep up with my normal pace of work, and the Percocets I was on made me A) Groggy as hell, B) Foggy as hell, and perhaps more importantly, C) Unable to drive legally in any state, but especially in the state of Arizona.
Aren’t those bruises just purty? I couldn’t get decent pics since I couldn’t manage my regular camera, so these are all cell shots…. LOL
As the swelling went down thanks to near constant icing, the next charming stage started. Do you know what happens to your skin after it’s all swollen and icky? Yeah, it shrivels, and it peels. There is this nasty layer of dry, dead stuff – that since my arm was still not “set” I could do nothing about. I could just sit there in my Percocet induced I-don’t-give-a-shit state and think, “ewwwwww, I need a manicure!”
Oh… My normally nicely manicured hands, the ones with nails that wear evenly, and polish that is equally chipped on both hands? Yeah. Well, on the right, surrounded by icky, peely skin, were five salon-perfect nails. On the left are these things that really need a paint job. But I can’t do it me ownself, and I sure as hell ain’t payin’ for half a mani.
OK… So, the day of surgery arrives, and all goes well… sort of… except a 30 minute surgery turned into a two hour and thirty minute surgery requiring more metal than planned… Oh… And I freaked coming out of the anesthetic… Apparently soundly cussed everyone present, and some who weren’t present, and managed to ah, well, place my foot not so gently into the groin of the poor anesthesiologist. I felt so guilty.
And the Percocet induced what-the-huh? continued… and I really have no pics of that time period. I was too foggy.
But still, thanks to all the bandages, I could not wash my right hand.
Can you imagine not washing your hand for weeks? It’s a nasty feeling. I’m serious. And it’s stinky. Plus, after surgery, I had all that iodine crap. I tried, really tried to scrub that stuff off, but it was stubborn.
The day finally came to get my wrappings off… knowing I’d still have a brace, but should be able to at least wash was exciting.
Off came the wrappings and I was faced with a monster incision, larger than I expected, that started below my thumb and traced down my wrist. It looked like I had attempted something not so nice. It also had 14 staples in it.
The skin on my arm and hand was withered and wrinkled. Partly from the swelling, and partly from being wrapped so long. And it looked old!
Staples removed, and Steri-Strips in place, since the incision was still a bit open in spots… I got sent home to more pain pills, more immobilization and, drum roll please, the ability to wash my hand after the strips had set for 24 hours!
The first shower in over 2 weeks when I did not have a plastic bag taped over my hand!
As I soaped up, the dead skin came sloughing off… and there was the “ewww…that’s nasty!” combined with “oh, that feels soooooo good!” I finally scraped the “KS” off my hand – my surgeon had penned his initials on the correct hand prior to surgery. And finally got every last trace of anything iky, sticky or nasty off my hand… well, except the Steri-Strips that were holding together the edges of one very long and very icky looking scar to be.
So, now I sit looking at a hand that is still swollen… skin that looks about 30 years older than it actually is (and I’m seriously hoping that goes away!)… a rather nasty scar to be… and a hand that is still incredibly stiff, cumbersome and basically useless (oh the physical therapy will come)…
And all I can think is how good it felt to actually be able to scrub the gunk off that hand… and how wonderful the lotion felt after the shower… you see, I already have dry skin, and I live in Arid-zona, which means, lotion is a multiple-times-a-day thing, all over… But my poor right hand had been lotion free for over two weeks… It was thirsty!
Xray pics to be posted as soon as I have them…. tee hee
There, that wasn’t so icky, now was it?