Surgery

 

At the  Polyclinque, they handed me blue scrubs, slipper socks in a lovely aqua with foot grips, and a shower cap. I locked my clothes, bag and watch in a little cupboard and went to sit in the comfortable chair, one of three outside two cubicles and what turns out to be a place staff wanders in for tea or coffee.

A nurse showed me how to do a thorough hand, arm and nail washing.

I felt as if I had a role on Grey's Anatomy. 

A woman sat next to me with her hand bandaged. A nurse demonstrated exercises and how to wear a pretty sling.

Then they led me into the operating room.

A cyst had broken from the bone through the skin, a gigantic pimple that hurt when it touched something. In a  short time it would be gone.

For the first time in my life, I had my blood pressure taken on my leg. 

The prick on my hand wasn't bad.

My surgeon is drop dead handsome with blue eyes that belong in a romance novel. His Clorox/Javel white hair sticks out from under his cap.

They put a blue curtain between me and him. Half of me would like to watch.

I feel nothing, although I hear the snip when he cuts the stitches.  

The curtain is taken away. I have a huge bandage around two fingers down beyond my wrist. 

At home Sherlock is fascinated by my bandage.

I still have the bandage. Typing is a challenge because the bandage hit3s 3th2e keys in 3the row above. I'v2e left 3them in 3this p222raeegraph.