That One Stitch

Two things I learned yesterday:

1) When the German nurses tell you the remaining stitch is just “a little one” … do not believe them.

2) If you want to freak out your husband, show him the six inches of surgical “fishing wire” you tugged out of your naval because you were sick of it getting snagged on your clothing.

Little stitch, my ass.

“Calm down, Martin. They performed amputations in the Civil War in far worse conditions. This was nothing.”

Fortunately, no knots. I assumed it was similar to the stitches I received from American doctors … dissolvable and/or easily removed with a pair of tweezers when the time came. This one showed no sign of going anywhere, so I figured it just wasn’t dissolving and that I could easily remove it.

Because I had been told it was “just a little stitch.”

Imagine my surprise when it kept going … and going … and going … I could feel it pulling away from the other side of my naval. Took a few moments to collect my composure, and then pulled it the rest of the way thinking of that guy who sawed off his hand to escape from underneath a rock.

Expert stitch-remover will soon be added on my official resume.