Thought I'd chase better pictures of Fairy Martins collecting mud for nests in nearby culverts at Town Common Conservation Park, Townsville, this morning.
And probably would have. Until clumsy bicycle dismount ended in bloody mess. Bloody as in gaping fold of skin open below left calf. Running (limping actually) repairs with hanky and plastic bag. Find some lost US Marines on wrong side of airport fence. But no first aid kit. Also, no sense of direction!
Cycle home for rough and ready cleanup. Nearest Sunday morn open surgery in CBD - conveniently under library which wanted three books back tomorrow. Job done.
The real job took bit longer. Some rather painful local injections. Doc prods for numbness. Begins painless stitching. Stitches. And stitches. Still stitching. Tissue-paper skin keeps giving way. Think he is fussier than me. How does it look, he asks. Lying on my stomach and barely able to twist head to see wound, I reply 'Great', fearing we might soon be into skin grafting. After all, what's to worry about a hole at the back of the leg?
Well, infection, that's what. Cue scrip for seven days of microbiome disaster. Although maybe that's better than an infected lower leg rotting away and falling off. And the left is my good leg. Finally, lots and lots of wrapping up and down leg. Which must stay dry, dry, dry before inspection next Friday. The 13th. How's that for a cheerful omen! And keep leg elevated while staying off it as much as possible. Tried that, have you? But will do my best.
Meanwhile I offer those who've got through above mini-med-drama a couple of better pictures. Scant reward, I know, but best I can do.
Young Brush Cuckoo, lacking tail because steel gate rail is in the way.
Golden-headed Cisticola, conveniently perched close by where the Martins were taking mud.
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