Time Wounds All Heels?
As a kid, I hated tearing off band-aids. Absolutely dreaded it. To me, the pain – or, perhaps more accurately, the anticipation of the pain – of ripping a band-aid off was almost always worse than the original injury itself. When it was clearly time for a band-aid to go, when it was dirty and nasty and just couldn’t stay on my arm or leg for another day, I would start to ease it off slowly. I would pick at the edges, loosening the glue and tugging on one hair at a time, trying to minimize the pain. I would do this intermittently for hours, rubbing at the band-aid, doing whatever I could to avoid having to do the big pull.
I’m known to be a pretty squeamish person when it comes to medical things, and I’m like this with just about any medical procedure. I get anxiety attacks before going to the dentist. I am terrible at getting shots. Can’t handle the thought of an IV. One time, when I had stitches, I was so afraid of the pain of having them removed that I waited too long, and the skin started to grow around them. (Disgusting, I know!). As a result, this supposedly painless procedure was the single most painful thing I’ve ever gone through in my life. I still get goosebumps remembering the doctor pulling those stitches out of my skin.
In short, I am a big baby when it comes to pain.
I yanked off a metaphorical band-aid this weekend, despite my deeply ingrained instincts not to. I’d tried letting the wound heal, thinking the band-aid might just fall off. I’d tried picking around the edges of the band-aid, thinking I could minimize the hurt. I tried leaving the band-aid be…but in the end it was even too messy and awful for me to put up with. There was nothing to be done but rip it up.
And I found the pain was just as bad as I’d always imagined. Perhaps worse. Days later, I can still feel that excruciating pain, the burning heat, where I tore the skin of my soul. I can see the wound, and it’s still gaping. I want nothing more to dig that dirty band-aid out of the garbage, push it back down on my arm, rub it into my skin and pray that it sticks.
But there’s no putting a band-aid back on once you’ve tore it off. The adhesive is gone. Your choice has been made and the damage is irreparable. There’s nothing to be done but to find a new, clean band-aid and hope this one does the job.
But man, if I know anything about band-aids, it’s this…they don’t make them like they used to.
I’m known to be a pretty squeamish person when it comes to medical things, and I’m like this with just about any medical procedure. I get anxiety attacks before going to the dentist. I am terrible at getting shots. Can’t handle the thought of an IV. One time, when I had stitches, I was so afraid of the pain of having them removed that I waited too long, and the skin started to grow around them. (Disgusting, I know!). As a result, this supposedly painless procedure was the single most painful thing I’ve ever gone through in my life. I still get goosebumps remembering the doctor pulling those stitches out of my skin.
In short, I am a big baby when it comes to pain.
I yanked off a metaphorical band-aid this weekend, despite my deeply ingrained instincts not to. I’d tried letting the wound heal, thinking the band-aid might just fall off. I’d tried picking around the edges of the band-aid, thinking I could minimize the hurt. I tried leaving the band-aid be…but in the end it was even too messy and awful for me to put up with. There was nothing to be done but rip it up.
And I found the pain was just as bad as I’d always imagined. Perhaps worse. Days later, I can still feel that excruciating pain, the burning heat, where I tore the skin of my soul. I can see the wound, and it’s still gaping. I want nothing more to dig that dirty band-aid out of the garbage, push it back down on my arm, rub it into my skin and pray that it sticks.
But there’s no putting a band-aid back on once you’ve tore it off. The adhesive is gone. Your choice has been made and the damage is irreparable. There’s nothing to be done but to find a new, clean band-aid and hope this one does the job.
But man, if I know anything about band-aids, it’s this…they don’t make them like they used to.
posted by Melissa at 2:46 PM
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