The 'good stuff'

Yaaiy!

F********k!

Almost had forgotten, how much it can hurt. Only a much smaller area this time. Also the headache's gone now. But still.

Grafting went no problem, though the fresh cut in my throat is a bit longer than the other one.

The marked area where the skin will be removed for grafting.
© Soulless 2006

The stitched wound after the marked part having been removed.
Note the transparent string sticking out at both ends. Stitching is done below the skin, string is to dissolve within 4 months -- though sometimes, rather gets pushed out through the skin before doing so. By the way, this time the surgeon didn't clip the ends, so I did it after the bandage could be removed. Up to now, else no parts of the string coming out yet

© Soulless 2006

Even the graft seems to be more at the top of the head than I'd feared, while below there's only a cut. (Or at that's least how it feels.)

Partly even hurts in the same place like before, just when the 'miracle' started. First night after surgery even considerably; and after changing the dressing plus removing of the excess crust of coagulated blood two days later again some.

Just relied on the good stuff. Had still plenty drops left from before, almost the whole 2nd bottle. Fades most of the pain out and gives some peace of mind, too.

The rest of the nights only on the 'normal' painkiller, though. Got a rather stubborn policy on opiates, though not that stubborn as not to opt for the odd EXCEPTION. Only when it REALLY HURTS, of course.

JUST THIS ONCE! TONITE ONLY! ONE LAST TIME! And even more favourite excuses and lies (hey, everybody's just a little bit a junkie, too).

Learned about it when I was 13. After having read William Burroughs' NAKED LUNCH, that is. Especially the Appendices. Not to forget Uncle Bill's advice to have a close look at Junkie Road BEFORE travelling it down yourself.

Probably saved my life. Literally.

Like when couple of years later, despite most of the people I hung out with being junkies, never felt really tempted doing so myself.

Still appreciated them more than most 'normal' people. Like e.g. they never cared too much about how you look like. Don't expect you to hide the pain and smile. Much unlike the rest of the world I was confronted with.

Such a waste, seeing them wrecking their bodies and die. Losing teeth and limbs. Desperately trying to hit a burst vein, black and dead inside a dying arm. And other stuff making my recent medical problems look like peanuts.

Going down fast. Just like I felt inside already anyway.

'War on Drugs' a.k.a. The only good junkie is a dead one a.k.a. Who needs ovens, when you can just flood the neighbourhood and the problem solves itself, even generating profits?

Fortunately never worked with me.

Thanks, Uncle Bill!

(Guess people that have to tap me for blood or drips are grateful, too. Never a problem with my veins.)