As in my morale, not my morals. As in my ability to remain positive.
On the 27th of October, I had my first post-surgery wound care appointment. Yesterday was my second. These appointments… not to put too fine a point on it… were hell on earth. I didn’t know what to expect for the first, which ended up being a lot of debridement, of a 10+” incision, thanks to some surface-level infection. Along with some suture removal within the inscision and of the area where the chest tubes had been. Needless to say, there was sobbing, there was low-key yelling, there was multilingual cursing. I’m a writer by trade, and I do not have the words to adequately describe just how awful the pain was. It resulted in a level of emotional and physical shock. My entire being froze, and my body responded oddly to it all. It left me in even more pain and with fear the likes of which I’ve never experienced. And dread for yesterday’s appointment. Rightfully so, as it was even worse. This time because of some necrotic tissue which hinders healing. About 90% of the incision, along with more suture removal. On a still-raw-from-last-week incision. Again, I don’t have the words. And there is still a little more necrotic tissue to debride next week.
The utter fear and demoralization is truly messing with me. The constant pain. It’s a lot to handle. But I’m trying.
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