Ever have one of those weeks when truly random events seem to abound? Ever worked your way around things that were truly beyond the scope of your reckoning and imagination?
Your Curtain Raiser has had one of those weeks.
It all started last Monday with a scheduled toe operation. Ok, I had been putting it off with some self-help remedies, but ultimately conceded I had to go under the scalpel. Brushing off the fear of the unknown I headed off to the “Treatment Room”.
Installed in the “Treatment Bed” I eagerly listened to the discourse between the doctor and the nurse, hoping to catch any clue as to what was in store for me:
Dr: “I need a couple of scalpels XX mm thick and a syringe and needle xxx wide, the widest [or was that longest?] one you have.” 
Did I hear correctly? Was that really my doctor asking for the biggest freaking needle in medical history? Surely this was happening in some sort of parallel universe?
A mere ninety minutes later with the biggest needle in medical history having been used on my person, I was limping back home with instructions and pain killers in hand. Pain killers, hah! For wimps, hah! Throbbing? Pain? I have those for breakfast!
By 9pm that night, my inner wimp showed her true colours and was ultimately sated with the meds. My inner wimp thanked me for a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, with my inner wimp firmly back under control, I headed back to the Torture Treatment Room for a dressing change.
“Why good morning”, Nurse Ratchet, I didn’t expect you here!”
“Yoo vill sit on the bed, da. You had a toe operation yesterday, da?
“Da, I mean, yes”
“Ok ve vill take a look, da”
Nurse Ratched begins to unbind the bandages, with a great deal of speed and movement. Unfortunately the speed and movement translated to movement and pressure on my toe and I let out a yelp.
“Doz dis hurt?
[No I yelped because I actually wanted to test your hearing range, sheesh!] “Yes”
A nod of the head then ensued but no slowing of the unwrapping motion. Did she not just ask a very pertinent question and did I just not answer in the affirmative? Am I missing something here?
Without delving into the gory details of the dressing change, I can safely say the stars I saw that morning were not the twinkling ones in the sky, given that it was broad daylight and I was indoors. However, I am happy to report that my inner wimp managed to stay silent throughout and with newly pressed calluses on my hands after bearing down on the bed my toe was freshly and professionally “dressed” by Nurse Ratched.
The next day I went to work with my freshly and professionally dressed toe. I wore open toed shoes so as not to squeeze the wound. This is something that I never do, wear open toed shoes in a professional context, so I was self-conscious about my footwear. No-one needs to see toes in an office… well, certainly those of us who are not orthopedic surgeons, pedicurists or podiatrists. But the show had to go on despite my footwear prejudices.
I made it to the bus stop feeling fairly upbeat. My toe didn’t hurt, the toe dressing was still attached and fellow commuters walking towards me didn’t faint at the site of my exposed toes. This was good, I was on the down hill run……. to foot malfunction.
The bus pulled up to the stop and I stepped up onto it, saying hello to the bus driver. As an aside, I always say hello to bus drivers as an acknowledgment of my appreciation for the job that they do, hoping to make their day just that little bit brighter.
No sooner had I turned to my right to make my way to a seat, when the professionally applied dressing, which had grown in size since last time I had looked, flew off my toe and under some elderly gentlemen’s seat. There it was, the amazing shooting clown toe striking a fellow bus passenger! After excusing myself, I bent down to gingerly retrieve my professionally applied toe dressing from between this guy’s legs and as soon as Operation Retrieval was complete, I quickly took my seat.
As luck would have it, the only seat available was one behind a knee-high plastic partition with very little leg room between the seat and said partition. As luck would doubly have it, some young guy with earphones and a laptop came and sat next to me and there was no room for me to bend down and reapply the professionally applied dressing. So, I spent the entire 20 minute journey, clutching my once professionally applied dressing and trying not to look at my toe and the sutures that were in it. Thankfully, my fellow passengers were spared the spectacle of my technicoloured and bloodied toe due to the presence of the partition.
Having alighted the bus, I found a patch of footpath out of harm’s way and unprofessionally reapplied the formerly professionally applied dressing. I still had about a seven minute walk to get to the office. One step, two… it was holding!! Three steps, four…incredible shooting clown toe strikes again although missing any human targets this time. There was no way around it, the only way this sucker was going to stay on was if I walked with my toe pointing to the sky.
Once at the office, I reapplied the dressing, this time using fresh supplies that Nurse Ratched had provided. However, peace was not to be had, incredible shooting clown toe struck again at lunchtime this time shooting through a crowded railway concourse. It was clearly time to tie this sucker down with professional first aid tape purchased from the chemist. Which I did and it held for the next three days.
- Clown. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I suppose having an incredible shooting clown toe is one way of meeting people, but I prefer more conventional means, like possibly bumping into someone or starting a conversation at the supermarket checkout line.
As a postscript, I had the sutures taken out today. Nurse Ratched was nowhere to be seen and I am now longing for the day when I can once again wear closed toe shoes in my professional life. Ah, simple pleasures!
Have you ever had medical services professionally applied, which you have had to later fix? Do you say hello to your daily bus driver? Have you ever wanted to be a bus driver?
We have only had one primary school reunion in all those years and to be honest, it was a little bit like entering the twilight zone. Not sure what made me feel like this, perhaps it was the amount of time that had passed since graduation, perhaps it was the intervening high school years and the notion that high school generally brings more memories or meaningful experiences. Whatever it was, it felt somewhat bizarre seeing my primary school mates after more than twenty years and talking about marriage, kids, divorce and careers. Perhaps because there were no blunt ended scissors, glue, coloured pencils in the middle of the table or dangerously low hanging projects strung up by pegs hanging from the ceiling.
We watched as Sydney Olympic Park was developed, the main stadium, satellite stadiums built and Olympic infrastructure installed. We heard stories about the supposed crowds and traffic and people renting their house for the Olympic period for exorbitant sums. We were inundated with cheap travel offers to exotic destinations to tempt us out of the city. We watched as they painted the blue line for the marathon runners in the next suburb and we watched the torch relay as it swept through. We saved money, entered ballots and queued to obtain tickets. Leave the city during the Olympics? Not this girl! The world coming to our laid-back doorstep and the prospect of watching Olympic events at a reasonable time, rather than in the middle of the night was an opportunity too good to pass up.
Raising the Curtain 