08 February 2011
4 the leg up
i'm a slow healer. this comes from being borderline anemic and having what, in my family, is enigmatically referred to as "bad blood."
as a child reader of entirely too many books on european royalty, i interpreted this as a claim toward incestuousness. as an adult, i assume it's just an insensible way of explaining inexplicable things.
nearly three weeks ago now, i fell and busted my knee. at the time, i doused it with neosporin and diligently wrapped it in gauze and, accordingly, it seemed to start to heal.
until it stopped. at which point it reached a wound limbo that has left a good 2" x 3" chunk of my leg looking like a piece of half-cooked, rotting, bone-in meat.
gross, yes, but this doesn't concern me so much as the whole thing's seemingly endless ability to bleed.
i know i should not mention this to my mother. she will panic and use words like "ointment" and "pus."
i know i should say nothing, and yet we've a propensity in my family for taking the route that affords the best shock value. and so, not only do i mention the state of my knee to my mother, i do so by asking: but mummy, how does one know if one has gangrene?