Awright, yes! I’m playing with words to pull you into this post.
Let me explain.
After a two-car collision, I was literally a bloody mess (no playing with words here). Had scrapes and lacerations over half my face. Nose split in two, right at the tip. Golf-ball size hole in my right knee.
At the public hospital, the emergency-room surgeons did an appalling job as they discussed dinner plans and chatted over me like my ears weren’t working. Stitches were drawn too tight, and some lacerations weren’t stitched at all, including the split in my nose and hole in my knee. They left me on the table and sent a timid intern to sew up the knee.
So I had to go under the knife, do scar revision surgery–four times. Let me share (jus’ a likkle bit) about the recovery after the surgeries on my face.
Couldn’t go in the sun.
Couldn’t eat, lie down or sleep comfortably.
Couldn’t laugh (because I didn’t want the stitches to buss up and fall out and then is more drama).
Pretended the reservoir bandaged to the side of my head (with pinkish fluid) didn’t look disturbingly Star Trek-ish.
Then, of course, there was adapting to the temporary changes in my features. My eyes were reduced to two slits, and my swollen face bore a striking resemblance to Yogi bear and Boo-Boo.
As caring and skillful and understanding as my plastic surgeon, Dr. Arscott, was, I couldn’t see myself going through surgeries like these for casual reasons. And this is coming from a woman who can stand up right whey she deh and see 50 staring at her from down the road.
And, with that, I segue way into today’s poetic snap.
It’s worth it.
It has to be worth it!
It’ll go with my newly tattooed eyebrows
and complement my perfectly toned body.
Three hours a day at the gym is no easy feat, especially after work.
But the results are worth it.
They have to be worth it.
Just like the hair extensions were worth every cent
and the hour and a half visit to the salon each weekend too.
Oh, the pain!
But in a few weeks, it will be gone and leave no memories.
I can endure pain.
After all, I braved it up for the bikini wax
and the tattoo on my shoulder.
I endured the nose-ring piercing
and the wretched four-inch heels, eight hours a day.
I wish they could see how much I take care of myself.
But they keep leaving!
And the last one left me for a nurse.
A nurse! A plain nurse
with no extensions, no tattoos,
comfy shoes and jiggly thighs.
He said, “She’s the one.”
He saw her, he says, and he knew.
What did she have over me?
But I know these new breasts are worth it.
My clothes will fit better.
And I will feel more confident.
. . . I think.
©Dionne Brown 2016
Catch yuh next time!
Peace and love,
Image “Doctor Using An Electronic Scalpel In A Surgery” is courtesy of David Castillo Dominici at FreeDigitalPhotos.net