Chapter 3
Shame and Hiding
Mornings were a real bitch for me.
Feeling unwelcome was only part of it even though it was only in my head, not
in reality. My parents did their best to make me feel as comfortable as possible but somehow I still
felt out of place, like I didn't belong. I will go into more detail about that
later in this book.
Crawling from bed proved to be a
real hassle due to the persistent infection in my leg that still required
attention several times a day. I spent nearly a half an hour each morning
taking care of the leg so the infection would go away completely. This required
putting on latex gloves and using sterile gauze pads to dip into a jar of
special anti-bacteria ointment which also included antibiotics. Each time I
applied a film of the cream I had to use a new gauze pad so the remaining cream
in the jar would remain sterile and pure. It usually took five or six pads per
session.
After the cream was applied, my mom
insisted on looking at the infection and she would usually call my dad into the
bathroom to inspect it as well. This took its toll on my ego. I really don’t
know why, it just seemed like I was once again being treated like a child.
After all, I had just came off the streets, so to speak, and when I was on my
own, I was somewhat forced into taking the Rambo
approach on things of this nature. What I mean is; Do it or die, Buckwheat, you’re on your own. I had nobody, really,
to take care of me; it was strictly dog-eat-dog.
After the parental inspection was
complete, on came a new pair of latex gloves to cut medical tape and cover the
infected and treated area with a bandage and several strips of tape. After that
was applied I wrapped another layer of a different type of tape all the way
around my let for further protection. There really wasn't any pain involved,
which was surprising. Looking at that leg with that God-awful infection was
enough to make a goat puke but it really didn’t hurt. It just looked disgustingly
terrible.
When that job was completed and I
cleaned up the mess, washed my hands and brushed my teeth. It was then time to
hobble out and pour myself a cup of coffee. Most mornings I would yell, “Anybody
need more coffee?” My dad would usually grab his cup and chug whatever was left
and yell, “Yes!” That became a joke between us for several years. It happened
almost every morning. It was sort of one of those; I really don’t know what to say so let’s just keep the conversation at
this level, sort of things. You know what I mean; we've all been there
before
More next week
Kirk Toncray
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