Yesterday I had my stitches removed. With the exception of providing a pillow, the experience with this surgeon was identical to others. I hear from other amputees whose sutures slide right out in a pain-free removal. Apparently my body likes to hold onto the sutures, embedding them and trying to hide remnants deep inside the wound.
The doctor was extraordinarily kind as he dug and cut, chatting about the Fourth of July and summer vacations. I tried to keep up with his repartee, but I finally admitted that I wasn't in a position for friendly banter. I didn't feel in control over what might come out of my mouth.
After 40 torturous minutes, the sutures were finally all removed. The examination table looked like a mini war scene with blood soaked gauze pads strewn around my freshly angered limb. I was bandaged up, given a pat on my head and sent on my way.
When I went to my appointment, my pain level was at a nagging two. When I emerged from the visit, the level had jumped to a six. Much to my chagrin, it stayed at the elevated level throughout the day, making it difficult for me to function. Scott and Robby went to the pool, and I spent the remainder of the afternoon holding and rocking Timmy.
Thankfully the pain is fading this morning, and soon the suture removal will be just a memory. On Monday, out of a sense of optimism, I made an appointment to see Elliot to cast for a new leg today. Looking at my limb, riddled with tiny scabbed over trenches, I am doubtful that he will cast. I know that he wants the limb to be completely healed when the process begins, but I am going to give convincing him a try. At this point, I am so desperate to return to walking that I may even resort to begging/