Removing the stitches

Six weeks later, a small knot of string, the external portion of the internal dissolving stitches, was still extruding from my body. When I sneezed or yawned or even laughed hard, I could feel material inside my neck. Maybe some of it was simply the stiff gash of scar tissue (still very red and noticeable), but at least some of it was string inside my neck.

So Anne, my nurse, took a look at it. She reached out, touching the knot.

“Does that hurt?”

“Ow, yes.”

“Huh.” She quickly grabbed the knot and yanked it, pulling out a pink string about three inches long. “That wasn’t going to dissolve.”

All that stands between me and a career in medicine is a larger streak of sadism.

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