Hematoma is a good word. Hematoma. I like to say it. Hematoma. Hematoma.
I have a Hematoma. It's a bruise, really. So there I was, for real, today -- slamming my hand between two immesurably hard things (things very probably measurably hard -- but my hand was immeasurably softer). Lo! In about 5 hot seconds, there was a lovely shade of -- what was it? Something between lilac and Tyrian Purple with a touch of magenta about the edges -- spreading visibly across the palm, heel and thumb of my hand. Also, it swelled up like a cow's udder, quickly becoming cushiony -- even a bit spongy and doughy.
Hematoma. Hematoma. Hematoma.
It would appear that I have not suffered a traditional bruise -- the smashing and mashing of various surface vascular midgets, resulting in subcutaneous capillarial sanguination. Nor did I enjoy the cool ooze of veinous drippage. I believe this is none other than a traumatized Ulner or even branch thereof. Yes, pretties. Arterial.
Hematoma. Hematoma. Hematoma.
Shantih Shantih Shantih
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I seem to remember Grandpa having a hematoma at some point. I remember what it looked like, and I remember him calling it a hematoma, but I don't remember when or how he got it. It is one of those looks-scarier-than-it-is things. I remember it looking pretty scary.
Post a Comment