This morning we are all piling into the car and heading to see my surgeon. After an extremely long and frustrating month, my stitches are finally going to be removed. In my mind, the stitch removal marks the beginning of my regaining my mobility, and for that I couldn't be more excited.
I was up most of the night, not with Timmy for a change, but because I was apprehensive about today's appointment. I know that I have healed well and that the stitches are ready to be snipped. Unfortunately the prospect has prompted flashbacks where the removal of stitches in my limb was not nearly as swift or pain free.
I vividly remember laying on the examining table as the surgeon dug and cut my leg in the quest to find thread remnants left embedded in my healed limb. On more than one occasion, in fact with my amputation and every subsequent revision, my surgeon has had to poke and dig around my tender limb with sharp tweezers and scissors in order to obtain a complete debrided wound. The pain brought me to tears.
Going in for a stitch removal, I always leave with a bloody and extremely painful limb. The fact that the process occurs so callously in the office, with complete disregard for the pain being caused by repeatedly poking into my freshly cut limb, simply adds insult to injury. I wish that the surgeon had recognized the sheer agony being caused, and would have taken steps to make the process more comfortable. At the very least, a pillow for me to hide my head into would have been appreciated.
This procedure was performed by a different surgeon, so I keep trying to remind myself that the stitch removal might be different. Regardless, I can't seem to shake the memories from my past procedures. I am going to this appointment excited about moving forward yet terrified about the final step.
Wish me luck!