No one said anything about stitches.
Four of the f**kers. And I swear I felt every single one being put in.
And a huge dressing which will make v-neck tops a no-go zone for the next two weeks.
And don't get me started on the size of that goddam needle. It was as big as a... a...
*randomly scans the room for objects of similar size*
Stapler? Banana? Shoe? Too bloody big in any case.
An hour and three cups of tea later I'm still shaking. Monica (the lovely Irish nurse who sang Jack Johnson songs to me throughout the entire ordeal) said they didn't have any vodka in the hospital. I told her I'd accept rubbing alcohol but she wouldn't give me that either.
I think I need to lie down. Shit. No. I have to go to work. Fuck.
Apologies for the swearing. I blame the anaesthetic.
1 comment:
thanks locky!
next time i'm going to make sure they just knock me out completely.
of course i hope like hell there won't be a next time.
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