Cureless

My story about stumbling twice at different times while jogging on the way to Jollibee was an old story. So was the was the instance I almost got trampled on by a group of stampeding cadets due to a dress rehearsal (note: military). Only the ugly scars on my knees remain proofs of those silly times.

The first Jollibee incident happened almost a year ago. And the last was 6 months ago. And as if I was destined to be “marked” perennially. Today, something told me to look forward to an addition to my “precious” collection. And I believe so.

I had the stiches removed today. I was happy. No more sutures means I can sweat all I want. No limits. Jump joy joy. After almost 8 hours, I went back to the barracks to change. Pulling my pants down, a horrible sight appeared before my eyes. The wound re-opened.

I rushed to the hospital and requested for a wound dressing. The doctors were very “busy”. No one attended to me except for the interns who were waiting for their bosses’ authorization. And the sad thing was announced. My wound cannot be re-sutured anymore.

Now I’m waiting for another week for the wound to heal, expecting a new baby in my collection of scars.