Relative Something

Why did I disregard the training I received long ago, and not take serious action to treat the puncture wound I received on Monday evening? I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I had stepped into a wooden thorn protruding from the bark of a downed tree. It bothered me at work yesterday, and I complained to a coworker about it. She asked if I had done anything about it. I washed it when I took a shower. Other than that, no. I received the “typical man” reply.

After work yesterday, Cyndie and I dove into the chore of clearing the trees off the rise behind the barn where we will be creating a new driving lane. As I was stumbling through the tangle of downed limbs (again, wearing shorts instead of long pants) my legs were suffering new abuses. I, again, complained about the pain from Monday’s thorn. Cyndie asked if I had done anything to treat it.

“No, I didn’t probe the wound, rooting around in search of any leftover thorn fragment.” She offered to disinfect it for me.

As I stepped into the shower, I spotted the inflamed area around the tiny puncture hole.

I guess I should have given this more attention at the time of the incident, like I was trained to do.

If there is any leftover thorn in there, it’s turned to mush now. I did my wimpy, timid best to see if I could get a hold of anything with a tweezers, but to no avail. I resorted to pressing and squeezing around the wound to drain pus. We tried some Hydrogen peroxide, a little rubbing alcohol, and then, an antibiotic ointment.

Luckily, we are not so remote that I can’t just hop in the car and quickly arrive at an urgent care facility. But, that is not an excuse for being nonchalant about caring for wounds that are often considered insignificant. I know better. I intend to use this as a lesson to renew my diligence about giving every assault on my protective shell, proper attention, regardless the perceived seriousness.