Seven days makes a week

It’s been just over seven days since my encounter with a mad man with a scalpel. Fortunately, I held my Stoic tongue and he only cut me twice — but in a most vulnerable location, one I use to pretty much to move my body in any direction. Gee thanks, doc.

Seven days and today is the first time I feel almost normal. No weird tearing sensation. Nor the six hornets all stinging in unison, three per side. Or the nauseating p-u-l-l of gravity at certain danglely bits. Mind you, I still ache for one of them flat icepacks. But, over all, I can finally imagine life without constant gut-clenching pain.

And to think, this was all quasi-voluntary. Sure, I’d mostly likely suffer in the future from some foolish lifting stunt. But to ask for such agony? I can only say that I’ve completed my “Man’s Cesarean” and look forward to drunken mud-bound tug-o-wars with the troops. (Anybody know any “troops” who need a crippled old programmer?)

8 thoughts on “Seven days makes a week

  1. Ow. Double hernias, no fun. How was that first poop? Felt like you were going to blow all the stitches out and then some? Ain;t getting old and fixing all the dumb shit from our youth fun? Remember free weights? They are your friends again. Until the ‘roids come along. Trust me, if you think the hernias were bad, they rebuild your behind you’ll wish you had a train parked on your foot for the first couple of days.
    Just a ray of sunshine tody, eh? Good luck. Three weeks from now your brain will put Vaseline on the lens of your rearview and it won’t seem all that bad. Recover well and rapidly. Oops. There went my adverb/ ly modifier for the week…

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    1. The various pains involved, ranked:
      • Day 1-3: a strange tearing feeling whenever I moved. Numbness on the actual wounds that persists to this day (They were glued, not stitched.)
      • Day 3-5: the tearing swapped out for the stinging sensation in concert with the ache of swollen gonads.
      • Day 5-7: the nauseating sensation of having ones nuts kicked, or crushed in a fist.
      • All throughout: the razor burn/irritation of short hairs having been shortened still.
      • When standing or stretching, the thought that the internal stitches were being snapped.
      Fortunately, my wife insisted on copious amounts of laxatives. She was more than afraid I’d shit the bed, being unable to move quickly enough.

      Liked by 1 person

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