A Story From Lori
My cousin had some stitches out, which prompted this memory. I do hope hers went better than mine but this *still* makes me grin&grimace so am sharing it with you, hoping to release it. Feel free to laugh and cringe at my expense. There’s a good scar now, and it did heal properly, eventually. I got a new doctor, a wicked sweet one:
I had a crystal bowl, weighed half as much as me, wedding gift, beautiful thing, split in half as I was lifting it above my head to bring down (in the cabinet over the fridge, ridiculous to use more than once a year), and one half sliced into my big right toe (lucky to not completely sever it, eeewww) and I was on my way to the end of year yoga pot luck which I Did Not want to miss so wrapped the foot as best I could and delivered my fruit salad (my teacher, whom I adored, was horrified I didn’t go directly to ER. She might have known me better by the end). The point of the story is, when I had the stitches out, the wound was infected, and instead of going tenderly as it was already tender, my idiot doctor (was looking for a good reason to can her and this was it) yanked and tugged and pulled like taffy, eliciting a shriek (12 hours of labor no drugs, not a whimper) which sent Doug’s bobbing head straight up in the waiting room. And to top it off, as if this isn’t dreadful enough, she says, this highly esteemed doctor who is quite fortunate I didn’t kick her with my good foot, “That shouldn’t have hurt.” Oh well, I am so highly theatrical I made it all up, for some attention? I was so mad I could spit.
