When we last saw our heroine, she was making the acquaintance of the wicked witch of the west masquerading as the school nurse.
After about a week of going to see the nurse for the cleaning and bandaging of my wound during which she always had a snide remark about having to use the hydrogen peroxide and gauze I provided instead of alcohol and cotton like she wanted to, I walked in that morning to find her she holding a bottle of alcohol and a wad of cotton in her hand. My dad’s instructions for the wound where as follows: hydrogen peroxide would be poured into the wound and once the bubbles dissipated, fresh bandages could be applied using gauze. Alcohol was not to be used as it was too harsh for such a deep wound and cotton might leave fibers in the wound causing another infection. My dad is a huge proponent of letting things work at their own pace (His cure for headaches is sleep. The cure for fevers is a shower. Menstrual cramps? Do some housework.) and I believe that was his intention for my injury. Apparently, the nurse was tired of this routine and the following conversation ensued. Do allow me creative freedom as to the exact nature of said conversation for this conversation happened over 10 years ago.
Me: Excuse me, what are you about to do?
Nurse: I am going to clean your wound.
Me: I’m sorry, those were not my father’s instructions.
Nurse: Who is your father? (This is a common method of insult like saying your father does not matter, his opinion is inconsequential.)
Me: My father is a Surgeon.
Nurse: I am the school nurse, he does not run this facility.
Me: That may be the case, but he gave strict instructions on how to clean the wound and alcohol or cotton swab were not involved.
Nurse: Who is your father? I have practicing nursing for over 10 years.
Me: My father is a well respected surgeon in one the top hospitals in this country, he attended a well renowned school in the US you have probably never heard of and has been practicing medicine for over 20 years! (Ok, I probably did not say the italized portion but I was thinking it.
Nurse: So what? I have sewn a vehicular accident injury from ankle to thigh (those were her exact words) and have worked in hospitals all over the province. You know what? I am tired of you telling me what your father said to do about this wound. I am the nurse in this school and tomorrow you better come prepared because I am going to sew up the wound!
Me: (Looking at her like she had just lost her mind.) My father said under no circumstances was this wound to be sewed back up!
Nurse: Where is your father? Tell him to come here and tell me to my face. Tomorrow, I am sewing it up!
There was not much I could do but stare at her in horror as she smiled evilly at me. She knew she had won. My school was a 5 hour drive from my parents, this was before the internet and mobile phones and even if they were in use at the time, I would probably not have had access to one.
I walked out of the nursing station deflated and defeated. I could not stand another botch job on my knee. I still had the scars from the quack at the maternity hospital and I did not want to let his woman use my knee as practice. However, I had little options; I was just going to have to grin and bear it. As I walked back to class, I could barely hold back the tears as I began to mourn for my knees. My mother already called them “catholic knees” as they were very dark and she had been threatening to ask the Reverend sisters’ to give me a reprieve from kneeling in church so as to allow the darkening to fade. Don’t worry about them now mother, I thought to my self, Edwina Scissorhands is about to make catholic knees look like a blessing compared to what she is going to do to me to in the morning. And then a lightbulb went off! I had a secret weapon I had forgotten all about with the shock of Edwina’s annoucement!…
Stay tuned for the conclusion.