Raindogblue

Expelled

 

For the last several weeks, my right leg,

Mr. Cranky, has been trying to expel scar tissue. 

Tonight, a small chunk, the size of a bb emerged.

After removing it, I cleaned the wound, shaved a circle around it,

and applied a bandage to limit the bleeding. 

 

 

Long Cardio

 

To help with work trauma, night terrors, and a lack of patience, I have been been going to the gym and engaging in long cardio sessions. It does not have to be at the gym, but I need 90-180 minutes of bi-lateral movement. Since I am over 50, elliptical machines are friendlier on the joints, but I prefer multi-hour walks on the beach. The result is a like a REM session mixed with a runner's high. 

 

 

Back

 

After being cleared by my doctor, I am back on the street. Last night, I spent six hours guarding a prisoner on hospital duty.

 

 

Ringing

 

At tonight's mostly peaceful protest a volley of mortars were leveled and launched at officers. One exploded six feet away from me. In my right ear, I lost partial hearing for an hour and a half. I still have ringing in the ear.   

 

In The Courtyard

 

Mandy's schizophrenic. She jumped out of a third floor window. The voices told her to. She landed on her feet and shattered her ankles. Her bones have broken her skin. As she lies on the ground, Wight and I each hold one of her hands, so she wound hit the EMTs working on her.

 

 

Just the Tip

 

 

Yesterday, doing yard work, Beach Boy cut the tip of his finger. 

I told him to stay home for at least two days. 

Today, he’s  in the locker room dressed and ready. 

 

What are you doing here?

I wanted to give it a try. 

You’re a dumb ass. Go home. 

He laughs me off. 

 

I see Potter.  Hey Potter, if you cut off the tip of your finger yesterday, would you can to work?

He says, “Uhh, no. I would stay home.”

 

I turn to Gator. 

Gator, what about you? If you cut the tip of your finger off yesterday, would you come to work?

He says, “No, I wouldn’t. “

 

The sergeant rounds the corner and gives me a look that says, ‘What are you talking about?’

Beach Boy cut off the tip of his finger yesterday and he showed up to work. He has a big band-aid on his finger. 

 

The sergeant turns around, chats with Beach Boy,  and persuades him to go home. 

 

 

 

Take 2

 

The firefighter trying to hold her right arm is being battered around. He face is green and looks like he wants to be anywhere other than where he is. 

I look at him.

Switch?

It is not a really a question. I am taking his spot. I'll be the muscle. He can use his medical skills.

I slide it his space. 

I say to her, Medical units are here. There's no hitting. I know it hurts. Squeeze my hand as hard as you can. You are going to be okay sweetie.

I can't believe I said sweetie.

I feel a dripping on my arm and look. It's from Carhartt, or rather is sleeve. It's soaked in blood up to his elbow, so is his other sleeve and his pants to his knees. Fat tissue and skin particles speckle his his uniform. His squatting in a blood. 

I nudge him, Just so you know, you're contaminated.

He nods as he leans over her body to help with the tourniquet. 

The cuffs of my sleeves a rimmed as well.

 

 

 

 

Severed

 

 

I'm holding her down by her right arm.

She screams from from her feral heart,

rent from pain, as two officers apply

a tourniquet above the remaining

four inches of her other arm. 

 

She had reached under a passing

freight train to grab a dropped bag.

 

We all left marked with her blood.

 

 

 

 

Updates

 

 

 I am feeling better. Friday was rough.

 Ice and Advil are my friends.

 

G is retiring on the 6th.

He has time to burn,

so he has three day

works weeks until 

his last day.

 

My brother, deputy dog,

is back in the saddle.

He has resigned

from the Liquor Commission

and has found a new pond

to work in. 

 

 

Sore

 

So sore.

My knee is swollen.

My cranky leg is stiff.

I have a weekend to heal.