Monday, August 28, 2006

I have seen the milky way

Almost forgot: After having having finished with the Tesco bags yesterday, relaxed some with Schmidts before hitting the road home again, when suddenly his wife, standing ouside of the house, remarked like, 'Nice sky tonight, many stars.'

Sure, in the small, stretched village in Oberammergau, the lovely part of Bavaria where they live, whith it's big natural natural preserve and rustical landscape, there's little light pollution, and also the moon was new and down. But still wasn't prepared to what I saw when also going out of the house, looking up.

Yup, there were lots and lots of stars, almost as many as I remember from being a kid one night at the base of the alps. Though my eyesight definitely lessened some since then, especially after the five years of bloody cortisone. Still could see a lot more than lately at home.

But there was also this other thing, lightly stretching across the sky from horizon to horizon. Couldn't actually believe it, had to ask the others first, 'Is this really the milky way I'm seeing?'

And it really was, as they reassured me. Just stepped out a bit more into the dark of the garden, standing there with the head put into my neck looking upward, awestruck by the sheer beauty of it, my eyes filling with tears.

Don't know how many years or decades since I've seen it the last time. Wasn't really sure I'd ever see it again in this life. While driving home, urged my mate to stop at a parking at the highwy, again borrowing his glasses. There were lots of clouds coming up now, but in the southern part of the sky, it was still there.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Rancid body parts, neatly packed in Tesco bags

Sat drove to Bavaria with my mate to visit author Helmut K. Schmid a.k.a. Ive Steen. In the late forties he had written a pulp series loosely related to the other one we're doing this delusion of grandeur style book project about, and that'll also be at the core of this course we'll be lecturing at the university. Actually he'll be part of that too, coming to zurich with his wife to be interviewed during a lesson, and also for a book premiere of our reprints of his series, something we're all really looking forward to.

Was really nice, and as usual also had unearthed some treasures from his attic, this time besides books and pamphlets by or related to his fellow author Paul Alfred M├╝ller of SUN KOH fame, even some unpublished manuscripts by himself of which we're about to publish one for the book premiere in November.

After having a delicious dinner, for my mate and me came the less tasty part, i.e. rinsing and desinfecting the infected lump. For the surgeon to be able having a weekend off and for us to do this little trip at all, he had instructed us to do the daily changing of dressing etc. ourselves and also handed and prescripted me the necessary gear like hypos, disinfecant, compresses and stuff.

So we washed our hands and sterilised them, laid out all the gear and went at it. Soon found out that we'll be doing a better job first squeezing the lump empty (well, as empty as possible) before incting the first round of hydrogen peroxide.

Stuff coming out still smelling awful. Since we were doing it for the first time, still practicing kind of, took quite a while, and we also wasted some gear till we finally succeeded in having all the rinses done, filling the lump one last time with betadine, cutting a drainage out of a part of the thumb of a sterile surgeon's glove and inserting it, plus bandaging everything, and then cleaning the bathroom up again.

In the end had a nice pile of ugly smelling waste (though admitteldy more from bodily fluids with only a small percentage of actual parts in it), which we definitely wanted to take with us to depose of in a waste bin on the road, but unfortunately had failed to bring something with us to put the whole mess in. Which was when the two Tesco bags buried at the bottom of my ruck just came in handy. Filled them both but good.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Trepanation might be fun ...

... but still think puncturing the lumps being already fun enough for my tastes, thanks.

Already had been to the surgeon 3 days earlier on Monday. Just for having the remains of the formerly dripping lump examined. Him quite pleased how small it had become (though actually in the meantime already started inflating again). Since in the meantime the wound had closed nicely, to my amazement said looked pretty ok and that there'd be nothing more to be done at the moment.

© Anger 2006

So only returned for the scheduled 2nd puncture Thursday. Big lump feeling quite stuffed and tense again. After having cut a small hole into it with his precious scissors, immediately yelled for the bowl he at first had figured could do without, remarking, 'A veritable fountain.'

Ok, at least didn't reek like the other one last Sunday. Again he said the smaller'd look just fine (though again having inflated some more). Really had to insist till he eventually reopened it. And surprise, surprise ... immediately wrinkled their noses, him going 'uh-oh', while the assistant quickly to open the window.

Not that I would've objected. Heck, stank even worse than Sunday morning. Suddenly surgeon also saying nothing more about 'looking well'. But rather stated 'infection', plus having another sample taken and sent to the lab for analysis. Plus no 2, going back to the beloved daily rinsing routine, again. Well, halleluia anyway.

At least reassured me the stitches on the side my hand looking fine, so hopefully no sh**ty scar like the one on my arm.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Back to school

University, that is. And a funny one, too. Cause after becoming famous (well, locally sort of) cause of the police raiding our house (erm, squat) and then having to appear before court etc. just cause we'd done this infamous little film, in the end my mate and me had ditched university despite our already indecently long stint there.

Not being too happy anyway with this really kinda restricted understanding of art and literature they were teaching there (not to mention expecting everybody to eagerly adapt yourself to). To put a long story short, in the end the only thing there I still frequented regularly had been the gym.

So besides feeling flattered, when we were asked to give a course next winter semester about one of the bookprojects we're doing in the meantime, we wer having quite a laugh. I mean imagine, at the very same uni (though at the newly shaped department of pupular cultures -- nice ring to it, doesn't it?).

Well, better be careful what you laugh at, cause only too often it may laugh back at you, haha.

Which is exactly as it went. I.e. while going a bit deeper into the preparations, being told we could graduate in this dept. more or less on the stuff we're doing anyway while editing this series, in the end went for it hook, line and sinker.

Still find it hard to belive sometimes, and as everything of course has pros and cons, namely being tied down longer periods, but all in all ...

Nice one, I'd say.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

And just because it'd been so lovely ... (Blood on the Dancefloor Pt. 3)

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2]

So I'd put on one of the latex gloves I'd requested at the hospital to protect my bandaged left hand, taped it waterproof to the arm and hit the shower. Washing down the rest of the sweat 'n' blood, relaxing some under the warm water. Though eventually having rinsed the detergent from my head and body, suddenly wrinkling my nose like, now what's that, didn't I just wash myself behind the ears just for the second time in less than 24 hours or not, so what's that smell?

Actually should've gotten pretty suspicious just then, but obviously didn't dare thinking of the obvious. So instead just went into , gave the head another rub with detergent, pleased that the smell finally vanished, rinsed again and reached for the towel, drying myself.

Which was when the obvious hit back. Cause already there was that smell again, or rather having evolved into a solid stench now. Then I discoverd this kinda rencid mayo smeared onto the towel, and yes, just smelling like 5 years of unwashed living rot behind the ears, and finally it started dawning on me. I mean, not too many places where that could've been coming from, now couldn't it?!

A quick look into the mirror, and suddenly even sank in. Cause yes, of course was one of the punctured lumps, aw f**k! And even plenty more to come! Argh! Gross! Yuck!

Only the small one sactually, though being the one with the bigger puncture wound, and of course from out of there that all that stuff had come. Rather incredible, the sheer quantity of it, just how could this all've been hidden inside?

Just kept on squeezing and squeezing more or less gently, and the stuff just flowing and flowing. Only very blood, though. But plenty cyst juice, sebum, pus, lymph, you name it. True zit lover's delight, I guess.

(Something me too I've got some weakness for as I've to admit, though not really to that extent I'm afraid. Plus the reek of it not exactly smelling trusty neither.)

At least in the end there literally wasn't too much left of the lump anymore, except for the now empty skin bag. Just cleaned it thoroughly with Cutasept, then poured another good gush over it, drenched a compress dripping well in the same, and with a little help by my mate taped it firm on top of the remains lump with the rest of the medical tape I still got left from last surgery, sent the surgeon a txt with a description of the problem, and eventually hit the train to the birthday party of my sister's younger kid.

Though no more playing with lumpy lumps today, I'm afraid.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Drip, drip, spurt, spill (Blood on the Dancefloor Pt. 2)

[Pt. 1]

Just kept going berserk, defending my place in front of the speaker, as usual making fun of yelling 'Drop it NOW!' etc. to the DJs just before they'd bring the beat back or producing sort of a drum roll to the same extent on whatever would resonate well enough when I'd hit it with my fists or the like, still kinda wondering I hadn't dropped hours ago. Just felt so good.

Well, actually was about as good as it would get this night, cause from then on just went downstream and steady.

First didn't notice myself at all, only the way some people around started gawping at me even more shocked like. Plus staring at my chest, and not the head. So eventually looked down on myself, and woa, hey, what's that? My T-shirt just turning red with huge stains of familiarly looking red, though not seeming torn or anything.

Well, found the source soon enough, juice literally flowing from my left hand. Drip, drip, drip, spurt, splish, splosh. Spilling not only on my shirt but also on my trousers, shoes and on the floor etc. as well (which finally brings us back to the overall title, by the way).

First thought it being plain funny. This time even being indolent for real. Guess no wonder after all the working out, going berserk, drinking etc., plus obviously the shock. Also definitely didn't want to leave the party.

But examining the hand closer, noticed this rather ugly gash at the side of my hand. At least 2 inches long, kinda deep looking. Must've come from this part of a broken bottle on the wooden stage beside me, having slammed it into the side of my hand for good when hammering to the beat there with my fist. Actually looking far too big and deep to just leave it be (not to mention the still ongoing generous donation).

So I decided to ask to have it dressed provisionally and then going straight to the hospital for some stitches. At first the people were a bit shocked cause I had loads of red also on my face (as I discovered later in the mirror), only calming down after I'd washed it away at the sink. Also while going up, remember this dog running along, sniffing and looking at me with this big begging eyes, me trying not dripping too much.

Fortunately they had all the necessary gear upstairs, this guy doing a nice job with the bandage. Even gave me some cash behind the bar for the tram when I asked, only to discover outside still being an hour early for that.

So in the end it was fastest and easiest just going by bike. Can't remember ever having cursed that much and loud while cycling before.

At the hospital they were nice enough after I'd filled out all the necessary forms etc., though didn't seem feeling inclined to believe I actually got this from dancing. Didn't take too much of a telepath taking a peak inside their heads, them thinking 'brawl' with an exclamation mark or two.

Concerning the slash, looks like I'm being lucky not having cut any tendons, important nerves or other delicate stuff, just a good old fashioned flesh wound.

Eventually this doctor rolled my bed to the operating theatre, him reassuring me he'll do narrow nice stitches so I won't have too much of an ugly scar and definitely not like on my other arm, as I'd been asking for repeatedly.

Still was a 100% indolent, but he nonetheless insisted injecting me an anaestethic anyway. Which I didn't feel as well, though it usually burns fairly well enough at first before turning numb. Was funny being able to see him going at it for a change, cause when getting the head done there's no such a chance.

Eventually rolled me back to emergency, where this other nurse from before injected me an tetanus vaccination, and off again I was.

Unfortunately, when I came back the party was already over, so eventually went home by tram 'n' bus for a shower plus some more protein, considering me having had enough adventure and not to mention trouble for the night and going for a kip just after.

Well, little did I know ...

(to be concluded)

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Blood on the dancefloor

And I mean literally. And plenty, too. But let's start at the beginning.

Two weeks after surgery finally was allowed to do some exercises again. And to my surprise even went quite well. Also on the track.

Even the better, same when I came back to the woods two days later! Of course was a bit harsher, but still was able pulling it off, doing all my exercises at full strenght and even my usual ridiculous amount of rounds on the sawdust. Despite there had been a tree cut down by the storm a day earlier, still laying across the track, and not to mention the weather. Cause of course, as soon as I was up, just started raining cats and dogs for good, again. Well, guess this and the likes is what I bought this raingear for in the end.

Even better, after having showered, cut my hair etc., plus doing a little doping (i.e. swallowing a healthy dose of my trusty mixture of orange juice, water and plenty glucose and guarana), still felt fit enough cycling to this drum'n'bass party at Kalkbreite. Sound was cool, DJanes dropping it nicely, no fussing around with too many bloody intros etc. Uplifting hedonistic beats, as it should be always, and from there just on and on.

To my surprise just went off full throttle myself right from the start, and just kept going, having another almost or literally free pint every 40 minutes or so. Even losing the cap rather quickly so I could wear it again for work next evening instead of having to put it straight back into the laundry cause of being too soaked in sweat.

This time being another crowd than at the metal nite I wrote about earlier, kinda less cool, i.e. mostly goggle-eyed etc. Business as usual I guess, though somehow this time most people seem to ask my mate about the inevitable while sparing me. Remember this one girl calling me 'Mongo'. But just smiled at her and and blinked my eyelids (am I not too nice? -- ok, perhaps also rolling them heavenwards some). And this other one coming over saying, 'Respect for having the bottle going on the street like this.'

Erm, uh, well, yeah.

(to be continued)

Saturday, August 19, 2006

'Feels like an angel dreaming of you' (Body Fascist Pt. 7)

Was visiting my sis, getting some books n stuff I'm still stashing in their attic. Having a juice in the kitchen before going upstairs, as usual their two and a half year little one wanting me to play 'Up' with him, i.e. me lifting him at the hands, feet or shoulders as high as I can, cause he knows I'm game at that.

After a while I got a bit worn out and just carried him piggyback or had him sitting on my arm in front of me. Which of course gets him bored rather quickly, so he decided to go for my cap for a change. Cause the wound being still a bit sore and I'm wearing the lose XL one, he's taking it off easily enough.

His eyes already widening at the kinda unexpected result, me automatically thinking, 'Uh-oh, how am I going to break it to him gently so he's not gonna be afraid?'

Which was when it happened. Something I hadn't dared imagining in my wildest dreams, and which I'll carry inside my heart forever.

Cause his eyes were widening, ok, and his mouth opening too -- so far, so common. But not the way like alla the other's, no. Getting really big them eyes, yes, but instead of looking at me with the usual only too well known expressions of contempt, disgust, horror, frowning and you name it -- lightening up, and his mouth starting to smile, till he beamed all over his face, giggling as he wholeheartedly went after the remaining lumps with his wee little fingers, like them being a most delightful new toy, which for him they obviously were.

So much unlike the various strangers grabbing at them like some kind of courage test, approaching their fingertips slowly, touching quickly, recoiling immediately while drawing in a short hissing breath. Not to mention virtually any women I've been with since I'd cut my hair, exposing them to the world to see (and, uh, feel).

Felt like this song by Sonic Youth, kinda, that always used to make me cry:

'It feels like a wish, coming true
It feel like an angel, dreaming of you
Feels like heaven, forgiving and getting ...'

I'm so glad having experienced this before having them all removed. Probably the closest to absolution and redemption I will ever get.

And though also myself I felt so touched and forgiven by his reaction, that's not actually what I'm going on about.

I am talking bout the bloody human race.

(continued ...)

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

'Too female' (Beyond Pain Pt. 4)

Recently in Beyond Pain: 'the secret nature of pain' in (Pt. 1 & Pt. 2) However, concerning my recent surgery, what really hurt, was when it didn't hurt anymore, but just went numb forever - luckily only at the back of my head ... (Pt. 3).

I mean, ok, I know and do consider, what happened to the back of my head was a mishap, not really being typical for the average process. But also every other surgical scars I have, whether botched up royally like these on my arm, ok like e.g. the one down at the side of my belly, or even state of the art like the ones down on my throat where he'd harvested the skin for grafting, fact is, they're all not as sensitive as they were and the whole parts also don't feel like they used to anymore.

Especially concerning the more, erm, delicate aspects of perception.

Now, besides the aforementioned lips, just one more example of another relatively innocent body part often submitted to plastic surgery. I mean, at least in my humble opinion, what the feck's the use of a small, sleek, elegant nose, when it's no more fun doing the good ole Innuit game anymore? (I.e. nose-kissing, in case you didn't know.)

Anybody can fill me in?

(Ok, at least partly only a rhetorical question of course, hinting at 'our' culture's predominance of the visual sense, while at the same time denying touch as a mere 'mild collisions of flesh', as Jim Morrison once put it in 'Eyes'. Not to mention the many people, mostly women I'm afraid, though not only, for whom sex is just a necessary evil to marry a guy or girl with lotsa cash, so probably they're better off numb anyway.)

Cause, as you all might've guessed or, despite this being a topic usually not too much talked about in public, even do positively know from one source or another, there's also loads and loads of less 'innocent' parts and cases suffering from 'side effects' of plastic surgery (and just by the way, cesarians as well).

A rather drastic example probably being this one recently reported in in brief by a local Sunday tabloid about 'Switzerlands most well-known trans-sexual', having undergone 14 surgeries to become a woman:

'For eight years, I didn't have an orgasm anymore', Nadia Broennimann complains, 'when still being a man, at least I could help myself ...' The many surgeries had destroyed the genital nerves. 'It's enough to make you weep, cause no doctor can help me.'

Now, even though there may be plenty other, way less castration related (but still perhaps even worse) cases where you could say the same:

If that's not buggered but good, then what is?

(No further comment by the way concerning the short article's original title: 'Too female' ...)

Monday, August 14, 2006

'Got pills?'

Still couldn't resist going to this party in the end. Pikey as usual, this time even with an official guest badge, whoa. Open air goa thing, course raining like buckets, so settled for the 2nd floor within a circus tent (right up in front of the subwoofers in case you didn't guess).

Actually felt more than just a little bit outta shape. Also still had to be careful not swinging around my head too wildly so as not to lose my bandage or even some skin. So I kept in low gear, also intoxicationwise. Which means besides a little weedstuff I only had one pint of beer (though for obvious reasons didn't smoke the earlier), and only could feel the wound wee bit once.

Lots of the other folks doing pills, though. Ok by me, it's just like don't feel the need of doing so myself, also without the sore head. Give me a decently hedonistic beat, solid sound pressure at the lower end of the frequency spectrum and I'm off then as wild and crazy as I'll ever be without anything in addition. Besides I have this thing, when I'm among people being high on whatever I just kinda am on it too anyway. Funny, but that's how it is.

Problem is, no one seems to believe, obviously even when I'm actually restraining myself on the floor. So, as long as I go with full gear incl. compulsory camo, there's still the other inevitable question I never seem to be able escaping from.

They'd come on to the floor, look around a bit, and then they'd come up straight to me and ask, 'Hey, got pills? Don't know anybody who does?' And when I reply, 'Sorry, no, don't do, don't know,' they look at me frowning like I'd be taking the mickey.

There was even this guy once, tapping at my shoulder, looking into my face, insisting, 'I want exactly the pill you had,' and when I said I didn't he absolutely wouldn't believe.

Now I'm aware I'm getting big pupils many times for reasons I still can't exactly figure, and yes, I like going berserk as you might know, even hey, as someone once told me, maybe I'm really being a bit stuck on a good trip since I-don't-know-anmore.

But the rest, really beats me.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Out of the fridge, back into the garbage can ...

My spare body parts, that is. Just got the message when having the stitches pulled out. Skin being too thick to be grafted later, at least without asking for trouble. Says the surgeon, having consulted the Centre for Burns concerning the date of expiry. So it's gonna be Plan B as usual.

Rest almost to good to be true. Wound still healing up nice and cool. How nice for a change. At least when looking straight into the mirror, nothing visible at all. Sideways and the rest, though ... same old, same old.

Am already itching going back on the sawdust track soon, but he says I'll have to wait another week before indulging in any real physical excess, just to make sure the skin growing on really well. Yes, please do.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Victims of Plastic Surgery unite! (Beyond Pain Pt. 3)

Previously in Beyond Pain: After discussing 'the secret nature of pain' in Pt. 1 and giving some examples, stated that, however bad the post-surgery physical pain I experienced so far might've felt, contrary to some other effects it's nothing I wouldn't get over soon enough (Pt. 2).

To me, what was really frightening, was e.g. the part about the surgeon asking 'Can you feel this?' and then clipping the dead wound lips off without me noticing anything! Not to mention the handsome necrotic part at the back of my head. Or, after finally having it cut off too, but without replacing it yet by another skin graft, me walking round for a week with this huge hole under the bandage and still feeling nothing really at all.

(As already linked here, and below again.)

Now, that's what I call creepy.

Well, guess them nerves just having transmitted about all of the pain they were capable of before eventually quitting, so at least on this front not really too much to complain about. Plus, parts dying on an else alive and aware body having had a specially terrifying meaning in my life for decades (but into which, of course, I won't go further here and now). Still, what really keeps buggerin' me is this:

Though my grafted parts seem to regain some minimal sense of touch, they're by worlds not as sensitive as before. And while this probably still being perfectly ok to warn me from incoming damage, they're just nearly incapable of transporting anything nice, if you know what I mean.

So far, so bad (though actually not to be expected much differently, I guess).

And even the parts that recovered rsp. didn't die on me too in the end, though mostly even growing some hair back again, still feel kinda numb almost like the grafted parts and didn't improve again really.

Which is what I do call a bummer.

Am sure you e.g. know this special way of kissing, holding each other only softly at the back of the head with the fingertips. (Of course there's other nice things, too, but still nothing quite like it.)

Always really enjoyed this way of being touched. Well, not so much anymore, actually. At least not behind my right ear.

Though, guess all in all still have to consider myself lucky. Like always, could be much worse, now couldn't it?

Well, definitely. Like e.g. having no more feeling in my lips, I'd say. (The ones of my mouth, I mean.)

(to be continued)

Friday, August 04, 2006

What's wrong?

Everybody's complaining bout the weather, being rather coldish for the season, temperatures down by 15 degrees compared to last week. Just in time. Might've been just a wee bit difficult not being allowed to sweat at 34°, I'd say.

Surgeon still happy when changing the bandages the day after. Me too. Originally intended thaving another painkiller later before going to bed, just to make sure, but in the end simply forgot doing so.

Going for the first walk in the woods again the next day, saw this lassie standing at the corner. Looking just like, mmh, what the doctor might've prescribed me for let's say next week or so. Flashing me a smile to remember.

Smiling back, suddenly couldn't help asking myself like, 'Erm, what's wrong?'

'Whatever happened to goggle-eyes, yikes, yuck n all?'

Only then realising, 'Got the hood on, stoopid.'

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Spare body parts out of the garbage can

Now, that was more like a walk in the park. Or maybe I'm just getting used to it. Even my pulse rate remained quite average, and just after the surgery was down as low as it ever gets.

Ok, been a good boy, doing my exercises n stuff every second day till Sunday, not to mention getting decent sleep and almost plenty of it nearly every day, including some extra hours the night before the night before (on the eve itself probably will always be less cause of my wicked rhythm, usually working all night and therefore sleeping way into the day or even afternoon).

5 days to go:
The obligatory pre-surgery shot

© Anger 2006

Amongst other things, also managed delivering all of the layouted pages I had promised, erm, about 5 o'clock a.m. today. The Prof in NY with whom we're doing this project even mailed back they'd look 'very appealing' (without blowing my trumpet too much, like of most of the others too also think they're actually not so bad myself, not to mention they better be, considering all the hours, days, weeks, months etc. I poured into them), so I hope at least he'll forgive me a tiny little bit for how bloody long it took and still takes till the whole thing will be in print. Though far from being all my fault nor responsability, still feel so embarrrassed about.

Surgery itself went rather smooth, too. Mysteriously, after shoving in the implants, the lump on my right side (which is, or in the meantime more accurately was, the one on the list for today) started shrivelling considerably, though the surgeon said it hadn't been affected directly by the surgery. Which actually was cool, cause once the pressure being off, some of the skin at it's base even recovered some and started growing hair again. So he also punctured the remaining ones on top (which on the other hand had kept growing bloody fast during the last few months), hoping for a similar effect.

Instead of Quasimodo -- Frankenstein
© Anger 2006

Concerning the one to be removed, he went for another technique, i.e. peeling it out and then using the still good parts of the skin to pull over the wound. Which worked particularly well so far, despite the peeling out part for him actually not really being a picnic. But in the end got alla the stuff out and could close the hole without another skin graft. Even the better, as he had hoped, had some ok spare skin left to put into the fridge and hopefully use later on the remaining ones.

Showed me a photo of the stitched wound, looks quite allright, actually a lot nicer than the back of my head, howgh. Also put in a small passive drainage just in case. Cool.

As usual had donated quite a bit of the red juice, so in the end there was a huge pile of soaked towels, not to mention the floor needing the obligatory additional cleaning, again. Guess he's getting used to that, too, at least didn't even mention it, only his assistant stated me having thin blood while cleaning up the mess afterwards.

'The filth took me with 'em!'
Won't even need to to change
my favourite taking the mickey
© Anger 2006

One funny thing was, especially after just having written about the minor mishap while removing the drip during my stay in hospital some 35 years ago, today's anaestesist, contrary to the nurse from then being quite on the ball, removing the needle very carefully, explicitly remarking, 'You've got big veins, so we'll put on a big bandage, too.'

The other rather odd incident being the assistant in the heat of the moment throwing away the spare skin with the rest of the mess, and then having to get it back from out of the garbage can (yuck!) in order to get it soaked in saline solution and put into the fridge.