Jeremy Gets Stitches

With only a month left to see as much of Munich as we can, we can check the Klinikum in Schwabing off our list. Jeremy has come home from soccer practice with numerous medical issues in the past: black eyes, sprained ankles, gigantic bruises, oozing cuts, smelly shin gaurds. No seriously, they're so smelly it really ought to qualify as a medical issue. But this is the first time he's ever called me from an ambulance.

When I got to the ER, soccer players were well represented in the waiting room. One guy still had his cleats on while he was getting some kind of drip for a dislocated shoulder. I found Jeremy behind a mountain of gauze that obscured the whole top of his head and wrapped under his chin. Next to him was his identically Frankensteined friend Wolfgang with whom he had clunked heads. They both looked really nervous and had blood around their noses. It was awfully sad. 

But today, we trimmed Jeremy's bandage down to a quarter of its original size. 

And for the first time since Sunday night, he let me have a peek at it. And we were both pleasantly surprised. It looks more like three or four stitches rather than the six he thought he counted while they were sewing him up. And it's not as high as I thought it was, assuaging our worries that he would have a scar like Harry Potter's from Voldemort's failed attempt to kill him. 

He's still got some swelling in the corners of his eyes and some shiner action, but he's pretty chipper. He didn't even mind that I kept taking his picture during breakfast.