The nurse comes like clockwork at 11am. I am prepared this time, floating in a haze of oxycodone and ready to see what this wound looks like today.
She removes the bandages and it feels like she is ripping flesh from my leg, the oxy barely covers the pain but it has to be done.
There is a grave look on her face that she is trying to hide behind her mask but I can see her eyes. Clearly something is wrong.
I look at the wounds and take a photo. Sure as hell it's infected.
There is a hole in my leg and yellow disgusting puss where there shouldn't be yellow disgusting puss.
This is bad.
I have to be admitted back into hospital for this one, there is nothing a nurse on call can do.
She carefully wraps the pin sites and dresses the wounds and Scotty is making phone calls again and looks the wrong colour. Poor guy, I wish I wasn't doing this to him.
I feel so guilty. I want to run away. I want to leave him so he doesn't have to go through this shit.
But that won't help, he will just follow me and make sure that I am alright as he has always done. He is quite literally an angel that way.
We prepare some overnight clothes, jocks, a sock, one shoe, toiletries and all my meds and somehow manage to get me out of bed in dire pain and onto the wheelchair and back outside into the Transit for the hour long drive back to the hospital.
As if we knew something like this would happen it wasn't that long ago that we bought a new Ford Transit Custom Sport and had it fitted with barn doors at the back and dual sliding doors on each side with a three seat bench in the back. It's perfect for patient transport. Scotty does everything, the neighbours are there fussing over me. Stuff is happening and again it's happening to me, not me in control of anything. I hate it.
Not so great for me the Transit is a leaf sprung rear end so that it can take heavy loads. What this means for the passengers though is that the fucker bounces over every bump and every bump feels like the original accident is happening again. I try not to wince or groan out loud so that Scotty isn't too aware of what is happening, he has been through enough already.
We make it to the hospital again and mask up for admission. Back into the same wing, new room and nurses and doctors are fluttering around looking at me, taking bloods, discussing things like I don't exist and apparently I need more surgery to wash this wound out.
It's badly infected because the accident happened in the dirt and try as hard as they could they just couldn't wash out all of the dirt and sadly somewhere along the way something foreign is in there causing infection.
It's got to be cleaned out.
Prepped for surgery, back into the cold steel room and a new anesthetist to joke with about my mullet. The jokes are getting worse but the drugs are great and I feel relieved if not oddly excited to be going back under.
Count to 10 backwards Daniel.
10,9,8...lights out goodnight.
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