I had the stiches on my wrist removed today. It was weird looking at a part of me that lay hidden under layers of bandages and a cast for the past ten days. it almost seemed no longer a part of me. It lay there detached, devoid of any knowledge of its existence. Poking at it with my other arm, it awakens but for a moment before disappearing back into oblivion.
The scar that runs down the wrist has not healed completely yet. With holes running down its side from which the stiches held the two previously seperate pieces together, it looked every bit the part of a low-budget horror film.
According to the doctor, everything's looking great. I now wear a black splint which I remove when I shower. Apart from those precious twenty minutes or so, I comes across visually as a die-hard Michael Jackson fan.
I'm just thankful that recovery is going as planned.

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