Scars

My little skin lesion turned into a pretty big deal. I felt like I was in Silence of the Lambs, watching my skin being carefully cut and lifted off my body. There was enough tissue to make a flesh bracelet. I didn’t say any of that to the surgeon. I wasn’t sure he’d appreciate my humor. It never fails; I think of the funniest stuff in the most inappropriate moments.

To be honest, the incision hurts like hell. I had a little pity party and wished that my mom would make me pancakes and bring them to me in bed. I told my son that he was going to have to be functional and help me. He gave me a terrified stare, like he’d never be able to pull off functional. But then he brought me breakfast and Harry Potter. He said, “reading about a boy wizard with a dark lord trying to kill him is bound to make you feel better. ”

I uncovered the wound by myself and followed the instructions for care. I really needed another hand for the tape, but I didn’t ask Shayne again. I have a quota of how many terrified looks I can take in a day. I am back in bed with my arm elevated on a pillow. Like a princess. When this heals, I’ll probably have a scar worthy of a story. I just wish it was a better story.