Gramma
As a side sleeper, laying on my back for three weeks with my head elevated was not to my liking. The body wants what it wants. Painkillers and sleeping pills were my friends for now. Every few hours I washed the sutures with hydrogen peroxide followed by a coating of Bacitracin.
My face felt every pothole on the way to the unveiling appointment. There was a miscommunication with the appointment time. After waiting twenty minutes in the community entryway, I called Dr. Jess's cell phone to see where she was. I could have used the extra half hour of sleep.
She carefully removed the bandages. I was relieved to have the stabbing pain of the drainage tubes gone. My face was swollen, but bruising was minimal. Nothing like the black eyes I had after an eye lift done in Mexico ten years back.
Dr. Jess bantered with Dave about how well things looked. Dave couldn't see any of the stitches and staples that pinched and hurt. Everything felt tight, stiff, not unlike plastic. I tried not to smile. Excessive smiling and laughing were frowned upon in the aftercare instructions. Inside I was ecstatic to be crossing this off my bucket list.
"I will see you in three days," chirped the ever-smiling Dr. Jess. I wrapped a scarf over my matted red hair. Putting on sunglasses was a no go. I hated squinting. It makes wrinkles.
The original plan was to drive myself to appointments, but I was not allowed to turn my head without turning my shoulders at the same time. This was an accident waiting to happen and the reason I needed to be healed by the start of bike season. Four weeks of this robotic movement was indicated. Dave could take me on Saturday. Then I was on my own.
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