Pi in the Sky

Chronicle of a shoulder foretold

Posted on February 18th, 2008 at 4:22pm by Pi.
Categories: Personal.

This is the chronicle of the story of the tale of the happenings of the legend of the myth of the non-confirmed rumour about the events related and caused by and for the surgeo-metaphysical operation of the recen bumpoidal extraction. That means, I’m telling you the thing of my shoulder.

October, 2007: While the world around me was being undone due to the nefarious foreign policies of the firstworldist countries, the irritation I was feeling in my inside my shoulder was becoming quite irritating. I decided to ask for removal of this bump I’ve been carrying for years and which I could almost call son. They granted my wish, and I fell in vegetative state. That’s it, waiting.

January the 18th, 2008: A comet pierced the sky, announcing miseries and calamities for the ones who will have them. In Innerfreeportvalleytown a two-headed lamb was born, or that’s what the alcoholic mid-wife who attended the sheep says. A nurse in San Eloy’s hospital calls a poor, poor boy to spare him from his bump.

January the 21st: A funny surgeon, a nicely nurse, and an inexpert auxiliar attend me. In the surgery they use electrosurgery, which makes the whole thing being less bloody, but more smelly. Really, it stinks as in pig killing, when they burn it to get rid of the hair. It’s like the dentist’s lathe in your caries before the filling. Burnt like hell. 10 minutes removing the bump, 40 or 50 sewing. Seven stitches and sent home.

January the 22nd: The inexpert auxiliar got pierced with one of the syringes used with me. Paloma calls me and asks me to have some analysis, part of the Work Health protocols when a worker has an accident of this nature. I suspect of a conspiracy to add up to the meat they got from me with some of my bodily fluids, to complete the breakfast.

January the 24th: I go again to San Eloy, they steal my blood, but I don’t get dizzy or anything. I buy a crystal flower and go back home. In my way, I realize what’s the meaning of life. 5 minutes later, I already forgot it, dudes it’s crap when I don’t write down these things…

January the 31th: First visit to healing to get rid of stitches. In my local hosp there are two healing rooms, both called the same way. First I go to one. They tell me to go to the other. Then I go to the other. It wasn’t that one either, it was in the surgery room. Impressive organization this Osakidetza thing. They remove four stitches. It hurts, it pains, but the nurse is cute so I don’t smash her. Small warning of an infection.

February the 4th: Another visit to get rid of the remaining stitches. Pain, but I don’t cry. There’s no lollipop. The nurse (another nurse) says it looks like an allergic reaction instead of an infection. They change my Betadine to Furacin. 10 days left to St. Hallmark.

February the 9th: Over the week, the wound which should have been healed looks worse and worse. The saturday, day of Carnival, which I wanted to spend with a good boy staying home costume, I get scared when I see that not only my wound was supurating, but that it also opened. There’s a hole the size of a cent where you can see the muscle. Didactic, but I decide to get to ER. ER is full of people with funny costumes and sad faces. When they are healing me, they don’t give much importance to the wound, although that when it seemed they were going to cover it, they discover a suspicious detail: the remainings of a stitch. Digging (unpleasantly) they discover two more stitches. No one knows how many there could be, so they give me antiniotics and send me to healing again.

February the 11th: In healing they find another stitch, and hope for no more. They tell me that those inner stitches are made with absorbable sewing, and that I’ve had a rejection reaction, that’s why I had infection and the red skin which looked like an allergic reaction. They send me home with instructions to come back the next day with another nurse out of the normal hours. Comments about how ugly is the scar, something I agree with.

Februrary the 12th: I come back the next day, nurse doesn’t appear. As wound didn’t hurt or anything, I didn’t insist and went back home. Congratulated the Onions Of Juana, and prepared to heal myself. To my surprise, the wound looked clean of infection, but instead of having it open in a cent-sized place, the cent grew up to an euro. And it even opened by two more places. I go to ask for appointment with my doc to look my wound, but he’s busy to death, and they don’t give me appointment until 2 days. Anger, depression, uncomfortable dreams.

February the 13th: I go to my doc without appointment. As he’s nice (or feels pity for me) he attends me well, and instructs me to go to healing every day to watch the wound to not open more and that it heals correctly. Arguement with nurse about to which healing room I should go. Daily revision for at least a week, weekend included. I pray my prays and sleep the sleep of the just.

Februrary the 15th: Uncomfortable shoulder, muscle pain, sore articulation, I say something gross to a nurse (although I only noticed it when I was already out). And on top on that, I get abducted. A group of strange creatures forces me to swalow great amounts of oriental food, while I think that at least they’re not messing with the anal probe. I change my midn when they start torturing me by forcing to be with a bunch of nice and gorgeous girls who have no interest in me (as a man). Intestinal twisting and variated psychological traumas, prays, sleep.

February the 18th: One of the three openings in the wound starts to close, thankfully. What I don’t understand is how they’re watching the evolution of the wound if every day I am with a different nurse. At this rate I’m gonna be 10 days more with daily healing. Which is alright to force me to go out of the house. An unknown girl drives me to a life of crime by asking me for an illegal copy. RIAA doesn’t answer the phone, so I can’t denounce her. Anyway, the king of salmons gives me Rez, what makes me very happy.

The outcome in the next chapter.

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