When last we met I had just had my burns scraped down and was finally brought to my room, a lovely private space in the Westchester Burn Unit. I had a TV and an adjustable bed. I also was given a regimen of pain medication every 4 hours. I don't remember what they gave me but certain injections had a much more profound impact than did others. They would sometimes tell me what they were giving me and other times they just lit me up. But then sometimes they only gave me pills and I couldn't figure out why. I know at one point I inquired about the meds but I was so spaced out by then I couldn't remember one conversation from the next.
What I do remember quite clearly was that the Unit was completely devoid of life.
The windows are kept closed and the air is kept sterile in an attempt to keep the burns from getting infected. At night the temperature vaccilates between hot and cold and this torture is enhanced by my inability to regulate body temperature due to the damage to my sweat glands.
For two days I lie back in a constant stupor as Television shows all blend in to one running commentary that I can only describe by the image in my mind of a young adult sinking to his death in polluted quicksand while hysterically grabbing at Pizza Hut Bread sticks? (A reasonable metaphor for America's public life I think).
Through the haze of pain medication I feel a continuous, searing sensation around and over my bandaged arms, torso and chest.
Finally, I am prepared for surgery.
The Doctors have told me they won't know whether they will be grafting skin until they get me under the knife. Then, they will cut into my skin, layer by layer. If the skin does not bleed at the first layer or two, it is a sure sign that the skin is dead and new skin must be grafted. If they graft, they will use something akin to a cheese slicer and take off a thin layer of skin the whole circumference of the right leg from the knee up to the top of the thigh. This skin will be put through a mesh system that flattens it to so as to allow it to cover three times as much area. The skin will then be put as one large piece over the entire torso/chest area, and other pieces over the relevant portions of the arms, and then stapled in place.
Needless to say, I didn't bleed and therefore had the skin graft placed from my waist to just below my nipples. Somehow, my belly-button did not get burned and somehow my nipples did not get burned (thank God for small miracles!).
When I awake from surgery I no longer feel the painful burning sensation under my bandages! I am quite amazed. The staples hurt a bit, but aside from that I feel very little in the way of burn pain. Apparently, the skin graft was a success!!! But remember that saying about taking from Peter to pay Paul.
I begin to sense a new and unusual pain. It takes me a minute to locate the source. I feel around below the sheets and then on my right leg I notice a bandage surrounding my knee and thigh. Then I remember that my leg is where they were going to graft the skin from. This is a wholey new pain that I have only felt on a tiny level once when I scraped my knuckle. But now the scrape covers the entire area of my right leg. The top layer of my right leg is gone. When I try to stand up I can only let out a moan and cry that becomes a muffled scream as I bite down on the bed sheet I am holding.
But the fact that my leg feels this painful isn't what worries me. What really worries me is when I find out that the leg has to be washed daily. How in the hell can you possibly put anything on this wound, I wonder? The feel of a slight wind blowing over it, let alone water and soap, makes me want to puke. Well, you can do it yourself or they'll do it for you. Either way it's going to be the worst pain I've ever felt, next to the emotional humiliation of crying, nude, in front of a nurse every time she has to wash me.
"it will go away eventually," she keeps telling me.
xxx
