I’ve been away for a few days. I chose one of those nice National Health Spas.
I went somewhere different this time for a bit of an adventure, plus, they could fit me in sooner.
I lazed about in pleasant company with food laid on and no housework while working on taking deep enough breaths to up my oxygen levels to the point where I wasn’t given a hard stare every time it was measured.
On day 2 I was invited to use the shower. I began to think I had booked the wrong break. I hadn’t realised that group bonding and survival skills were part of the package.
1. You are going to have a shower. You need to stand directly in front of the shower in order to apply enough force to press the button that releases the water. The water will run cold for 10 minutes. The water goes off after 5 seconds.
2. There is no shelf to hold your shower gel. You can’t bend.
3. You need to exert pressure time and again to keep the water flowing. This will aggravate the pain in your wounds.
What do you do?
I know this for a fact – my walk-in wet room was going to be a doddle after this.
Did I get a shower? I hoisted my shower gel under my pit and managed to get wet enough to feel better. Cold water is so invigorating, don’t you think? It cleared all that nasty anaesthetic from my system, so I shouldn’t complain.
Working on how to apply underpinnings over damp skin without upsetting anything that wasn’t sore, bruised or swollen took a tad longer.
I eventually managed to secure parole and as I left that I was given this, what was to me, strange advice.
“Try to do things as you would usually do but don’t scrub at the wound.”
My immediate thought was, ‘Why the f*#k would I want to scrub at a sore, bruised, swollen slash across my midriff in the first place?’
I mean, at that moment in time I was avoiding eye contact with said SBSS because I imagined that the light waves bouncing around hurt it. I was never going to even consider scrubbing at it anytime during my life span. I nodded in agreement. I wasn’t going to do anything to impede my escape.
My wounds – I have 3 – have been glued rather than stitched or stapled. A Good Thing I decided at first. No nasty pulling of the skin or visits to the nurse to have them removed. However, a thought did occur to me later as I was standing under my lovely warm shower.
We all know what happens to the glue on the back of a label if it’s soaked for too long …