So Disappointed

 I presented myself at the appointed time, thinking I was about to see my new scar and get the stitches snipped out. As I waited, I fantasized about all the things I would be able to do soon. I was even looking forward to doing dishes and giving my kitchen a good cleaning. Mostly I was looking forward to a shower without having a giant glove taped to my hand. I would be able to wash my hair with two hands!

Simple things make me happy. The nurse cut the bandage away and revealed the top of my hand where an ugly sideways "V" was stitched together. My hand was a weird shade of purple and blue, and it was still swollen under the stitches. It looked like the cyst was still in place!

The surgeon said it looked good, making me question his ability to see. Then he proceeded to palpate the bubble of swollen tissue and opine that it was filled with my blood. I wanted to swat his hand away because he was causing the shooting pain that had plagued me for 9 months. Then he rendered his verdict: Come back in a week and we will get the stitches removed.

I had wondered about the stitches being removed only 8 days post-op. The norm for stitches in hands and feet is 10 to 14 days when I was practicing nursing. Maybe it changed? Maybe the skin atop my hand was soft enough to take them out, since the reason for the longer time was the hardier skin that we have on our hands and feet? But he was the surgeon, so best to do what he says.

Still, I was so disappointed. I was surprised at the bandaging when I left the hospital, it was minimal, just a part of a roll of gauze and not even the clingy kind. As hard as it was, given my curious nature, I obeyed my instructions and did not remove it until it was cut away from my hand. This time, the nurse took over the dressing of my hand. 

She placed a very large Band-Aid over the stitched area and explained that she did not want the gauze to stick to the wound. Then she pulled out a roll of Kling gauze and used the entire roll to cushion the wound, and she topped that off with an ace bandage. 

I left with a well-padded wound and less mobility of my fingers. I almost cried as we rode home. I was so disappointed and my hand was throbbing form all the prodding and poking before he told me that we would do a needle aspiration next week when we removed those stitches. It is always nice to have something to look forward to.

Now, I have a confession to make. As much as I am usually right about life matters, I am also prone to tell it when I am wrong. I was feeling much better a few days ago. The gout had dissipated, leaving me able to walk normally and I hiked up to my Wits End to stare longingly at the progress thus far.

I did more than stare. I moved all the bins of fabric and placed them under the cutting table. No small feat, given that they were stacked 5 high and I had to get them down to be able to shove them across the floor to their new location. That was pretty easy, letting them slip to the floor with my left hand guiding them. The hard part was lifting them to stack them 3 high under the table. I used my left hand to lift up on each one to determine the heaviest to go on the bottom. It was impossible to lift them up with one hand, so I used my right hand, telling myself that I was putting most of the weight of the bin on my left side. It hurt, like things hurt when your body is trying to tell you "NO".

Of course, I ignored it and went on to slather a coat of paint on the tabletop so that it would be ready to receive the countertop peel and stick (guaranteed to stay in place) covering. I am still worried about it and plan to use some spray glue as my own guarantee.

All that to say that the swelling was undoubtably due to over-use of my hand. Did I tell on myself to the medical personnel? What do you think?