Tag: medicine

• Hidradenitis suppurativa

  

  First you notice a small 

  lump, and it’s always on your

  arse, or your inner thigh (a euphemism

  for right next to the balls) or 

  in your armpit. You’re tensed and 

  you hope it doesn’t grow. 

  Don’t touch it! You tell yourself, 

  but you have this incessant need

  to check if it’s getting bigger. 

  You hold it, caress it, squeeze it, 

  run to your mother and ask her 

  if it’s the same size. It should fade!

  You cry aloud. Please fade! I can’t 

  handle another surgery. 

  You wash, apply soup, maybe 

  even shampoo, and you sleep. 

  The next day it’s huge, red and 

  full of pus. You know you need an 

  I&D but you try antibiotics. 

  Soon it’s an antibioma —

  large, round, and fiery.

  It’s the size of a jawbreaker.

  A strawberry flavoured one. 

  Look, there’s another one on 

  the other side! 

  They wheel you into the OT, 

  use general anaesthesia

  which is better than spinal which

  makes you believe you’re paralysed. 

  And you have a few more holes in 

  your body that need dressing. 

  Betadine and saline; a gauze

  that makes it difficult to take a 

  shit. You parade your privates 

  for the nurses to see, 

  you honour the doctors with 

  the stink of unwashed wounds 

  in your armpit. 

  You lie down and pull off your

  pants. Flaunt those buttocks, 

  hold those balls so they get a better

  view. They say smoking did 

  this to you. You watch and wait now

  for the next lump, hoping it isn’t 

  wedged right in the arsehole. 

  For dVerse

  P.S. This is OP, and this my second offering for Open Link Night. This is my second blog. I’ve commented on your posts using my first blog.

  December 9, 2023

  creative writing, dark humour, disease, dVerse, medicine, poem, poetry, suffering, surgery

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