(Let your wounds be exposed and speak for themselves )
I was not sure if I was feeling confident enough. No I am not scared of blood nor do I get those fainting spells at the site of large ugly wounds. I hold a degree in surgery and I have stitched faces, fingers, intestines ,gall bladders ,appendix , breast tumors alike umpteenth no of times. This was not a big injury what I was witnessing.
Small one inch wound requiring just three stitches may be four at most.
As I loaded the xylocaine in the syringe the nurse asked “Are you sure ? “ Should I call your mother ?
Yes I am. Don’t call anybody. And close the door please as I switched the overhead OT light and unpacked the suture set.
I was going to stitch up my own wound over my leg just around the knee.
It’s not like I do not trust my mother for she was my first surgical teacher who taught me to suture showing me the knots, how to hold the needle holder and later allowing me to do a couple of suturing’s under her guidance. But I find her hands and her motions a wee bit too rough. I felt her physical power as she was my gynecologist during my first pregnancy and her gross professional intrusion in assessing my pelvis was not a very pleasurable experience.
I could have asked my orthopedic surgeon husband to be of help that day but he was the reason why I got hurt it in the first place. Though we take our morning walk together we diverge immediately on entering the park and take different routes. He does not like the route I take for he finds it full of cobwebs made at night as they the delicate fibers irritate his face and hands which he hates to remove and I do not like his as it is too noisy and full of people. I can never take long strides like him and keep pace .
We finish our morning walk exactly half an hour later and go home together like a sensible couple on morning walk. The best part is we do not fight and argue that way and peace prevails on return. Now I am a daring overweight lady who still manages to jump over the sharp solid iron grille across the park where its understood clearly “Do not cross”.
Distracted I lost my attention and balance in that clumsy moment . Suddenly I felt a shooting pain next to my knee and I knew I was hurt. Body is so beautifully designed that every time it is not in its normal state it gives you a signal and you know. The pain calls for attention. As the patch on my pants grew I knew I had an ugly gash .I lifted my pants to confirm and found my fat and muscle staring at me. I needed to be stitched. I looked for help and limped. I was angry at my husband too. He instead of helping me and sympathizing with me in that moment of pain started to yell at how careless and childish I was and how I needed to lose weight . How it could have been worse . I was hurt and as I stared back at him irritatingly I definitely did not need lectures and reminders. Instead of showing his concern he was busy shouting.
I was wondering as to why could not this man understand and shut up? He told me he would take me back home and stitch me up. I told him we did not have equipment for that at home and we needed to go to clinic. He gave me a quick first aid and told me he would stitch me up in the evening as he had to leave for work. I wanted him to stay even for that small wound and I calculated that for him to do the procedure I have to wait for 12 hours suffer pain and keep limping. I was displeased clearly.
My past memories with him as my surgeon were not pleasant either. Barely out of our medical college during the rural posting he decided to excise my wrist ganglion. I trusted his surgical skills enough till he gave me a local anesthetic, did his procedure painstakingly slow and I started to bleed. He thought he cut some vessel. As the blood spread his confidence dipped to an all-time low and instead of handling the situation he clasped my hand tightly instead of suturing and made me drink loads of water and lime juice so that I would not dip into hypotension. He lost it completely and I thought that’s how I was going to die bleeding from an artery of my hand while the nurse called the only available Ortho Dr. in town at an ungodly hour and he came in a short time . The ganglion was out and as he examined me and released the firm compression of his bloody hand a firm clot had formed by then and the Dr. did not really have to do anything else except laughing at both of us and he asked him quietly.
Are you going to marry her ?
Yes of course.
Then you better be careful. It is her right hand and she will need it for “your” combined future.
We were both so embarrassed at our stupidity .The fear of bleeding to death from a cut artery had vanished and as we relaxed we burst into laughter.
Another time when I requested to drain a very painful abscess on my elbow the moment I uttered my first Oui at the imagination of pain while he injected me with that local again, he just started screaming at me again for making that noise. As I was crying with pain and made the usual normal patiently “Hai –Hai” gestures he left me midway again till my mother came and rescued me . Thankfully she was around and we were in our own hospital. She finished the procedure and told him gently to treat me like a patient who is hurting. His behavior left me angry and I definitely was not going to wait for him to stitch me up this time specially when he did not have time.
The two closest available surgeons I live with in my house were not my choice of the day. So I decided to do the heroic attempt myself. I decided to suture my own wound not because I needed to prove to anybody anything but now a days I think I trust myself the best . My aches and pains, my body, my threshold, my wounds are my own and if I can treat others I could treat myself for sure. I needed the courage and my own reassurance that I was in safe hands. I could cry if I had too and I could stop if it hurt beyond a certain point. I was not going to allow myself to bleed to death . I told myself don’t worry just five minutes and you will be okay.
The anesthetic agent was injected so delicately that it hardly hurt. I had taken the finest needle and with the precise delicate control and experienced hands ,once numb I stitched myself up with the finest suture so delicately that I was almost bursting with ecstasy with the whole experience. It was pain free. As the assistant nurse gasped in delight I thanked her , bandaged myself and applauded myself for being the best patient and the best Dr. It hardly hurt and no one was shouting at me. I knew I was going to be fine.
Wound healing is such a huge chapter in almost every pathology and surgery text book which describes the process how “P” substances accumulate and create more inflammation and how the body has its own molecular dynamics that brings about the process of healing till a scab is formed which we so joyfully peel multiple times till it surfaces and leaves a fine imprint of injury . It even contracts over a period of time and turns into a faint scar.
But these are wounds that we see.
What about those that lie dormant which we never see but feel every moment.
The emotional wounds.
A deep hurt, a grievance, an injustice, a resentment , loss, anger, guilt, shame, loneliness, grief ,death, a harsh judgement of an honest intention, our fears , failures, rejection what about those and the countless ones which lie inside? They keep hurting the psyche and our body is beautifully designed to respond.
It feels each iota of that pain. Our emotions keep telling us what is going inside yet we ignore them and search for those who can tell us what’s the problem with us? Perhaps a parent, a spouse, a friend, a well- wisher, a relative, a sibling someone will provide comfort from the agony. Or at least someone to blame. We choose to continuously live in bitterness and pain in complete denial of owning up that core wound. It hurts and bleeds inside and some nasty ones steal life away bit by bit. They feed on our small joys and rip our peace apart. We hurt inside we hurt outside.
We may not wake up to realization that ultimately the person who can help it to heal is ourselves for we alone know who caused it, its mechanism, circumstances , dimensions, depth , its pain , its cure. For unless these wounds are acknowledged by us of their existence, validated and intended to be released and cured the pain will continue in our anger, sarcasm, hostility, anxiety , illness and many forms.
Behind great strength lies great vulnerability as a shell of defense to protect ourselves even further and one needs to let the vulnerability see the light of the day for the inner core to be strengthened as well or else we remain brittle.