Seriously though, it stunk:
Two weeks with no swimming and it was, what, 103 out?
Two weeks with no baths but only quick showers.
Two weeks of patting dry, lubing the spiky threads with Vaseline, peeling off the old bandage to reveal that line of sutures like the grim disapproving mouth of that mean teacher you had back in middle school.
But yesterday at 3pm the surgeon yanked the threads on the outside and God took care of the ones on the inside and I feel like a brand-new girl.
My friend Mary got her 11-year-old kid to take out her stitches when the time came. ‘Course she’s an RN so stitches hold no terror for her.
My young firecracker of a Size 4 roller derby queen cousin took off her own cast once and – get this – even removed her own braces when she decided enough was enough. (Born too late for that kind of boldness alas but maybe in my next life.)
Anyway, now I can start wearing skirts again.
Also bathing suits. (I’m the third one from the left. This new bra is really workin’ for me!
Now I can drive to my favorite pond, stick my legs out the window and watch the world go by.
Or stay right on the screened-in porch and look up at the sky.
I did that second thing again and again over the last fortnight and tell ya what it’s kind of nice. I guess exciting as it is, life on my usual hamster-style treadmill has its drawbacks after all.