"I told you so!"

While drying my scar yesterday morning after my shower, I noticed blood coming out of a hole in my scar.  Six weeks after surgery, this should not be.  The day before I was finally allowed to go swimming again, this REALLY should not be.  I was frustrated.  I was angry.  I was depressed.  Bleeding hole means absolutely no swimming.   

While on the phone later that morning with my girlfriend who's husband was at the Mayo Clinic being treated for cancer (as we spoke), she encouraged me, "Go to the doctor."  But really, all I wanted to do was go swimming . . .

For Jill, I called the doctor's office.  I got an appointment for this morning.  My surgeon arrived.  He took one look at my knee and said, "Your internal stitches are not dissolving.  They are coming up and out."  

Once again I was frustrated.  I was angry.   I was going to be depressed.  I said to him, "Did I not tell you this happened last time I had surgery?  Why did we not do something different?"  I think if looks could have killed . . . 

He pulled out three of those dastardly internal stitches using tweezers to dig around in my knee.  It wasn't pleasant, but it was far less than what they had done to Jill's husband yesterday in Rochester. 

So once again, I am not allowed to swim . . . until Tuesday, and now only if  I wear what they call "second skin", a water tight bandaid.

That will be seven long weeks after surgery before I am allowed back in the pool . . . In reading about Leon (from Mercy Ships) and hearing about Brian (my neighbor), I have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to whine about, but I'd like to indulge in a private pity party for just a bit longer.  Give me an hour or two, and I'll be okay, praising God that it was NOTHING serious.  My problem was fixed by a tweezers!