Permanent Marker : A Memoir (9780999158111) by Ross Aimee

Author:Ross, Aimee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inscribe Digital
Published: 2018-01-03T05:00:00+00:00

Spinal Cord Injury Rehabilitation Clinic | Three to Four Weeks after the Accident

“Your belly button! You still have it! How wonderful!” the nurse changing my wound vac dressing exclaimed.

I had come to dread the dressing changes. Maybe she was making small talk to take my mind off it.

“Sometimes they can’t save it, but yours is still here!” she continued.

My belly button. The first permanent scar of my—of everyone’s—body. I hadn’t even thought about it.

As she pushed and squeezed the skin surrounding the gaping wound of my abdomen, I winced, wishing this were already over.

“When you’re finished with the dressing change, could you please check under my arm? Something hurts.”

Each movement of my arm felt like it was rubbing against swollen, raw skin where the chest tube in my right breast had been removed.

“Of course,” my nurse said.

First, she removed the old dressing. The vac’s swath of black sponge was covered in a clear plastic film that stretched rib to rib and down the length of my abdomen, like a window into my body. I wondered what they saw from the outside looking in, all these doctors and nurses, through this window behind a sponge.

The plastic came up with no trouble, but the foam sponge was another story. Because it fit just inside the wound, removing it was always uncomfortable. Depending on which nurse was doing the change, sometimes it was downright painful. Today’s nurse used the saline spray to loosen the sponge, making it much easier to peel up, thankfully. Phew.

Once the old dressing was removed, the rest was easy. The skin around the wound was sprayed with a protectant so the drape’s adhesive wouldn’t tear the tender flesh, and then the wound itself was sprayed and cleaned with gauze. A new sponge was cut to fit, placed in the wound, covered with plastic drape, and the vacuum attached to the center.

The nurse turned on the wound vac to check for leaks, but this time, there were none.

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got going on here,” the nurse said, moving the wound-change extras aside. “Can you lift your arm for me?”

She peeled back the bandage covering the hole under my arm.

“Oh my,” she said. She pressed the area around the wound and asked, “Does it hurt when I do that?”

I flinched.

“Ouch! Yes!”

“You’ve got an infection,” she said. “I’ll have to get a sample to send to the lab.”

She grabbed a piece of gauze to soak up the pus and continued to press. She swabbed the area just inside the hole for a sample of the bacteria, then cleaned and dressed the spot that had recently held a tube to drain my lung. Once the pressure was released, the pain under my arm was almost entirely gone. Phew.

An infection couldn’t mean much, right? Just some Neosporin on the wound and a little more time. At least, that’s what I thought.

Wrong.

• • •

I had MRSA. Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. A staph infection. Just what I needed. Staph infections were notoriously bad.

The

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