Feeling very brittle at the moment. Today's much anticipated surgery fell through. I can't think of anything new to say, but here is a flash piece I wrote a few years back when I had my first run in with MRSA and medically necessary plastic surgery gone bad.
Did the plastic surgeon know how she felt when he touched her face? How she fought not to squirm in the exam chair. Until. The. Last. Moment? The doctor expressed a stream of pus from her right eyelid, and the orgasm rolled over her like a freight train. She bit through her bottom lip to keep quiet.
The doctor finished draining the abscess then stepped away from the examination chair, frowning at his handiwork. He stripped off the purple nitrile gloves. “I’m really sorry that hurt. Infections like this aren’t common after surgery, but we’ll take care of you. I’ll have Tanya do the IV and we’ll start you on antibiotics. You’re in good hands.” One of those good hands squeezed her shoulder before he headed out of the room, calling for the nurse.
She floated in a pool of warm, luxuriant pus. Two solid infections, though only one abscess. Too bad. With a sigh, she got up and grabbed her purse. She pulled a gauze compress out of her wallet, tore off the paper, and rubbed the small square over the counters and sink, inside the lip of the orange biohazard container. Dabbed it over the dirty compresses and tools still on the examination tray. She tucked the damp compress back into her purse, and made herself comfortable in the chair to wait.
She was scheduled for carpal tunnel surgery on her left hand at the end of next month. She couldn’t wait.