Nearing the end of my stay, it was time for the industrial-sized staples holding my skin together to be removed. A young woman came into my room, claiming to be a nurse. She explained that it would not be painful, but would try to remove them with the tweezers she held in her hand that looked more like a tool she found in her garage.
I could say she seemed nervous, but I wasn’t going to question her ability. Perhaps she was just squeamish about doing such things. The medical team wouldn’t send in an incompetent without supervision.
As she pinched the first staple with the tweezers, she shifted it left to right, gently and slowly, attempting to slide it away from my skin.
I was extremely nervous myself that I clenched my hands over my mouth and held my breath. The staples seemed as wide and almost as thick as a nickel, so I thought for sure it would hurt as they left my skin.
During the process, she casually revealed, “It’s my first time doing this, so please be patient.”
What?! Why are they asking an inexperienced person to remove these huge staples that are preventing my skin from cracking open? My feelings of her uneasiness fell true. Fortunately, with little discomfort, she eventually removed them all. I let out a sigh of relief as my body began to relax. “Thank you.”
My “stomach” turns each time I read this part. I did a little internet search for medical staple sizes (to reinforce my memory of the large metal that dug into my belly) and instead got to see graphic pictures of stapled stomachs and open wounds. That’s when my nausea forced me to “turn the page.”
Do you get squeamish at the sight of blood and gory wounds?