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Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Wound clinic

The little bit of blood that turned up the day after we got home may have been the supply to the lower third of a Sensitive and Important Area. That third died -- turned white. There was also a road-kill odor that I could detect whenever I went to the ladies' room.

I went to the doctor and she agreed the damage was too extensive to ignore. "You might slough that off, but I think I'll send you to the wound clinic."

She looked me in the eye. "How are you doing? Sorry I missed you right at the end there, but you seem to have done well with my colleague."

"Yes ... in fact, he was so sweet when he was taking out the stitches that I think Beloved kinda fell in love with him."

She laughed. "He has that effect. Very intuitive; takes time to get more of a sense of who you are and takes that into account. But you: you're good? Happy?"

"Very much so."

"You look it, too. You're looking really good, honey, and I like the new hairdo."

"Thank you."

"I don't like that your blood pressure is back up. What did we have you on before?"

"An ACE blocker and then Toprol. I'm thinking the Spironolactone masked the situation and now that I'm not on it, the BP jumped back."

"I think so, too. Let's put you back on that, just for the blood pressure, and come and see me in three weeks."

She paused a moment. "You know, you have taught me a lot. Next time I have someone like you, I won't be so much at a loss as I was when you told me. Thank you."

We gave each other a quick hug.


At the Wound Clinic I met a new doctor whom I liked right away. She found my situation interesting, and asked about the surgery in a tactful manner. We discussed inversion, which tissues were used to create what, and what my expectations might be.

She got me up into the stirrups, brought over a spot lamp, and looked about.

"Yes, this needs to go. I'm guessing there are no nerve endings in the dead stuff. I'd like to just excise it right now, with your permission."

"You definitely have my permission!"

There was, as she said, no pain.

"In case you were wondering, dear, you do absolutely look like a girl down here. Really nice work."

I made a mental note to pass that on to Dr. Reed.

"Now, here," she said, "Is what I want you to do. This stuff here is a gauze strip soaked in petroleum jelly. I'm cutting off a strip with these little scissors, a little under two and a half inches long by under half an inch high. See? And then take one end of it and hold it here" ... applying it to the Sensitive and Important Area ... "and wrap it all the way round, like a turban. Got that?"

"Wow, that feels way better already."

"Right. Wounds want to heal. They like dark, moist conditions for that, so we're getting this away from not just abrasion but drying air as well. Put a mini pantyliner in your panties to hold that in place, and you shouldn't have to change it more than about three times a day."


"Here's some sterile gauze, here's the scissors, this" ... handing me a foil packet ... "is the cream I want you to use. My husband," she smiled, "is a Cajun, and the pharmacist who invented this stuff is a Cajun. I'll see you in one week."

"Thank you."

"A pleasure."

I hit the street already walking more comfortably than at any time since the surgery. Sun: shining. Trees: swaying. Birds: singing. Risa: gonna be o.k.

--risa b


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