Some Good News.

Saw the surgeon late yesterday afternoon. I was hoping when he took the dressing off I'd get a good look at things, but one of the things I'm noticing is that NONE of the examination rooms I have been in the past few days have mirrors in them. Not so much as a hand mirror. But I did get to look at my upper arm a bit, which was good because yesterday morning when I looked at it it didn't look as good.

Anyway, I still have feeling, even in the more damaged-looking areas, so my wounds remain second-degree instead of third. And while I will most likely have some permanent scarring I probably won't require any skin grafts. So I just sit back and take my pain killers as I need them and let nature take its course. Which is what I expected and what I hoped for.


Yesterday morning some of the bandages slipped and I got a peek at some things. I really needed to because quite frankly when I went for my first dressing change the nurse, instead of being professional, openly blanched at my wounds and kept repeating "Oh my God. Oh my God." and "I've never seen anything this bad in my life." And, like I said, the blister on my arm was really impressive in a very scary way, and I really didn't need a medical professional freaking out right then. She abraded the arm and drained probably nearly a cup of fluid from it, and then covered me up with a piece of gauze and said "Um, I'm going to have so-and-so dress this" and then she ran out of the room, never to be seen again.

Now, as loyal Craptacular readers know, I'm a little phobic to begin with, and this is not the reaction a worried person wants to experience when one is in medical need. Eventually another nurse came in, calmly dressed me up again, and told me I had to see the surgeon the next day. Which worried me a little, because like I said, I couldn't SEE the wounds myself, and I was under the impression they were only second-degree burns, and all of a sudden I had visions of huge gaping sores all over me, the sort of horrible thing that causes hardened professionals to turn away and vomit in the corner.

I did not say anything about any of this to the Favorite Husband, for he was worried enough about me as it is and such an anecdote would have him in conniptions. So I just shrugged and said I had to see a real doctor tomorrow and left it at that. I then said he would probably have to take over the wound dressing at some point, and I vaguely warned him it might "look pretty bad". He just sort of nodded and said he'd be okay with that.

But I was glad to see, from what I saw, that everything was mostly intact, up to and including the skin. Still huge blisters everywhere. But the skin was still there, looking rather like shiny thick red bubbly leather. Not oozing or gaping at all. I was happy to see that. And my visit with the surgeon, who I liked quite a bit, confirmed this. At least he didn't go running from the room.

I have set up the little antique commode we have in the bathroom downstairs as Dressing Central. I've been begging supplies from the nurses every chance I get, looking all sad and pathetic, so I probably have like fifty bucks worth of free stuff. Huge combine dressings, tape, the works. And now I have a honkin' big prescription for the thermazine cream, so I can have it on pancakes once the burn has healed. (No, not really. It's a joke.)

Twice a day for the next several weeks. Sigh. This is going to take a while....