Time to summarize some of the circus of my domestic life in recent weeks. I start with least complex: the skin biopsies, which reached a kind of resolution today.
The story began on 10/2, with an dermatologist’s appointment. As usual, she did a thorough examination of my body, from the top of my head down to my toes, finding an amazing assortment of benign growths and moles and what-not, but also two possible problems — on my left thigh and under my left pectoral muscle. She cut out both for biopsying (and also excised a huge annoying skintag from the pec site while she was in the neighborhood).
Leaving me with three wound sites that needed regular cleaning and bandaging. All in spots my disabled hands can’t get to, so it fell to Opal Armstrong Zwicky (my grand-child) to come by regularly for wound care. We developed a routine, and Opal was very good at it. (My contribution was to find the right bandages for the job and cause them to be delivered to my house — no mean feat.) We made a good team, and Opal is, in any case, good company. (Meanwhile, the wounds itched like crazy, which meant they were healing, but that was maddening and made sleep difficult.)
