I had my stitches out yesterday. I’ve had stitches before – having my skin sewn shut is not a new thing for me – and I remembered that the removal process isn’t exactly painless.
I’ve mentioned this before… when I’m experiencing physical pain I immediately compare it to childbirth.
“This pain I am experiencing,” I think to myself, “is it more or less than the pain of giving birth? Hmmm. Let me consider. Less? Ok. Than suck it up you wimp.”
“Some people do this themselves,” said Dr. C as he snipped and tugged.
“What?”
“Take out the stitches.”
Ugh. Why would anyone want to do that? I’m the kind of person who cannot even comprehend scab pickers. This is equally unfathomable.
He removed the stitches. And here’s where my memory is a bit scrambled.
Dr. C was talking to me, and while he was talking I looked down, and saw my hand reach for the examination table – you know, the cold slab covered with wax paper. It was crinkly.
“I’m feeling woozy,” I said. I could hardly get the words out. They were so heavy on my tongue.
I heard him tell me to sit down. I bent my knees and started to sit, evidently the chair wasn’t underneath me because he had to help me take a few steps backwards. I trusted my rump would meet the chair somewhere on the way down. It did.
The world closed in and became about this big:
*
� and I couldn’t hear. It sounded like I was in a box and someone was trying to talk to me from the other side.
“Put your head down,” said the voice from faraway. I thought I had, but not as far down as I should have because I felt his hand gently push my head down between my knees. Clearly, my brain had stopped working entirely.
The floor came into focus again.
“The bunny is a funny thing.” I said. Bunny? “I meant body, the body is a funny thing.”
I raised my head. He was looking at me with concern.
“It is a funny thing,” he said. “The human body can be incredibly strong and incredibly fragile at the same time.”
After a minute or two I got up and walked to the car, taking deep breaths on the way. And then I drove home.
