The unending saga of my stupid hernias and the resulting surgery goes on, to my dismay. Those with weak stomachs may not want to keep reading...
I went to the doctor after work yesterday, because two of my three incisions from the surgery were hurting. For the past couple of days I had been putting Neosporin on them and covering them with band-aids, and was a little worried that they might be infected.
So I finally get there, see the doctor (who also happened to be the assisting surgeon during the operation) and he tells me that it's actually the stitches inside me that were supposed to dissolve. Apparently that isn't happening, and instead my body is pushing them out. So within a couple of weeks guess what will come poking through my skin? Charming, I know. My actual response to the doctor when he finished explaining this to me was "That's disgusting."
Better yet, he told me "Well there's nothing we can really do, so you should just keep using the Neosporin and band-aids."
Uh thanks, Doogie. I'm so glad I came all the way here and inched even closer to the limit on my ridiculously expensive private health insurance policy so that you could tell me that after 7 years of education and 20 years of practicing medicine, you're not any more useful as a doctor than I am.
The only good thing to come out of this is that I'm not on anti-biotics, which means I can drink myself into a horrendous stupor this weekend. Fair enough -- alcohol will sterilize my body AND kill any pain I'm experiencing. Who needs penicillin and codeine, I say.