Looking At My Arms

As I was drinking coffee, I looked at my arms, noticed the scars, and thought about the ones I remember. There are many, and some came from interesting events.

Under my left arm, right below my wrist, is where I nicked my arm with a chainsaw blade I was changing. It was during a hard time in my life. I had been laid off, found another job, was trying to get ahead of my mortgage foreclosing, and had to work every hour I could. It was Winter, I was working on a rail crossing in a refinery, and to add insult to injury, I had the flu. I was miserable, but after it was all over, I kept my house, and made it through the hard time. The cut became infected, and some red streaks appeared around the wound. Not wanting to panic, I decided to wait until the next morning to go to a doctor I had no money for. The red streaks were gone that morning, the redness was receding, and the wound healed. 

On my right arm is a scar from catching it on a barbed wire fence. It was an ugly gash, but healed without problems. I probably could have used some stitches, but didn't go to a doctor. 

On my left middle finger is a scar from when I slipped, while placing some tin on a roof, and peeled the skin on the the top of my finger to the first joint. I went to a small hospital near, the doctor soaked it in betadine for a few minutes, then put a pressure bandage on the finger. It eventually healed, and a slight bump on that finger brought pain for over a year. 

On my left arm are five scars from a day at the beach. I was with in-laws, some people were walking their dogs on a leash, and they became too close. One of the large dogs, which was a big, friendly hound mix, lunged at the leash, and caught my arm with its front claws. That left some deep gashes, which didn't bleed much, but definitely hurt. 

On my right arm is my favorite scar. It was the result of a pissed off monkey that didn't want to go back to its cage. Up to that point, she was a bundle of love and sweet. When I went to return her to her cage, she bit, caught me with a canine, and ripped an L shaped gash. It didn't bleed hardly at all, but I could see tendons in the deep wound. I danced around after pouring peroxide in the wound, covered it with a gauze bandage, and let it heal without closing the wound. Animal bites can bring deep infections, and I wasn't going for stitches for that reason. As far as the monkey, it took all my strength to hold her arms, and tail, keep her head from biting, and getting her in the cage. 

I can still find a small scar from a piece of wood that stuck in my arm. I thought I had only scratched on a 2 x 4. It wasn't healing fast, and about a week later, I squeezed out a rather large piece of broken wood that remained after I brushed against the lumber.

I have a multitudes of small scars from years of using a burning torch and being burned by spattering slag. that, and the scars of three surgeries on my wrists included with the areas my doctor burned off pre-cancers. Looking back, my hands, and arms, caught the worst of it all. My aging skin shows them better, and with my now wearing long-sleeve shirts to keep out of the sun, they will remain unseen. My wounds of life will forever be unknown testaments to my experiences.