Sunday, August 3, 2003

After the wound

Well, it's been three days since the Great Leg Gouge-Out Of '03. Things are healing up pretty well, considering the traumatic meat loss I endured on Thursday. I didn't get any sleep on Thursday night - it just hurt too much to doze off for more than an hour. I put a waterproof bandage on it and took a shower on Friday morning, but I almost couldn't stand on it at all. I put my leg up and decided to wait it out, but it was winning. Even after the shower, my arm still smelled like the ER's blood pressure gauge.

Finally, at about 3 PM I dozed off for a little while. When I woke up, miracle of miracles, the pain had subsided. On a 1-10 scale, it had gone from a 7 (at rest) to about a 3. Standing on it still brought it back to an 8 or a 9. Even so, as the night went on it felt better and better and I was able to watch an uninterrupted episode of Queer Eye. I managed to put in eight hours of sleep, thanks to my good friend Tylenol No. 1. Thanks Canada! Thanks Kelli!

On Saturday, my patient instructions said that I had to go to the "wound clinic" between 8 and 4. I called Good Sam and asked for the "wound clinic", and they said that the "wound clinic" was some magical codename for a second walk-in visit to the FastTrack area of the ER. I took a shower (this time, I comically covered the stitches with Saran Wrap in an apparent attempt to mimic some crap "please your man" advice from a 70s copy of Cosmo), then stumbled around for a while and finally drove back over to Good Sam. They spruced up the waiting room with a new retching woman, which I thought really showed a touch of class. I waited half an hour or so, went in to see an attendant, and got a pen line drawn on my leg to note where the nearly invisible reddish area was. Now I'm a bit worried about cellulitis, although the guy assures me that I'll be able to fly in a week.

I actually only took two ibuprofen during the whole day, and kept triple-dosing myself with acidophilus as I took the antibiotics, so my stomach didn't get ripped up. Still having problems standing for too long, at certain angles, but everything else is looking better.

So today, I decided that if I was going to work tomorrow, I'd need a cane. Not just any cane, either. A horribly cheap one from Genovese. I dressed my leg up to go out on the town and drove over to the King Kullen Plaza. For some reason, every shopping plaza is now named after one of the stores, not after any local landmark. On Long Island, there are about 40 King Kullen Plazas. In any event, my plans were dashed when, arriving at Genovese, I discovered that it had turned into an Eckerd overnight. In theory, I have nothing against Eckerd. In reality, the name conjures up long-buried memories of going to the drug store in Hallandale with my grandparents, and watching as 90-year-olds argued with the clerk over expired coupons for absorbent undergarments.

I found the cane of my dreams (although it didn't have the claw attachment at the end like some of the other ones did - that would've gotten into the $20 range), and scooped up some other essentials like Poppycock and ear plugs. Then I realized that my bandage was slipping down to my ankle - I'd taped up one end of the gauze wrap but not the other - and that I was now the guy in the drug store that everyone was staring at. There's nothing worse than being the worst-off guy at the Eckerd.

The day did have some highlights. I managed to trick Chris Sells with the old "it's looking better already!" trick by sending the most hideous wound picture I could google up. He was so perturbed that he fired off some sharp criticism of my site in his Spoutlet, and is promising never to read it again unless I actually get off my lazy and provide some simple RSS feeds on here. Don't these people know I'm supposed to be resting? I can't do RSS and keep my ankle above my heart. Soon - perhaps when I'm healed - I'll do the XML thing.

Meanwhile, I passed the time by compiling my recent press appearances. I didn't even know that Newsday had printed one of the "crazy old man" letters I sent them last September. I also found some other old stories, including the fall of my distant cousin Barry Trupin, my uncle being interviewed by Bill O'Reilly, and even my dermatologist being hauled off to prison for firebombing a colleague's home.

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