Had a follow-up with the surgeon yesterday afternoon. He pokes around the incision for a minute, then says, "Wow, you're healing fast." "That's why I scar so bad," I mutter. He pokes around a bit more, then asks, "Are you steal cleaning it with the 25% peroxide?" I nod, thinking that yes, I still can stick a Q-tip in the hole the abcess created and not see the head of it. Another bit of poking around, then he asks, "Are you in any pain?" "There's a couple of sore spots, but nothing bad. My arm is worse."
He looks at my left arm, which is still quite painful from the IV. "Basically it's a chemical burn. Take ibuprophen." Then he shoos me out the door and tells me not to come back.
I'm still not driving because of said pain in my left arm. I figure if I can't hold a coffee mug in that hand, I'm sure not going to try to work a steering wheel with it. But I'm getting better day by day.
**How can you care?** 'Because I choose to.' **You make it sound so simple.** 'That's because it is simple. Hard sometimes, but simple.'
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