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44 staples later...
Each time a staple came out, I would tense up. The nurse, a nice woman and very gentle, would push the special staple removal tool just under the staple, digging into the scar and making me wince. The lovely trainee philipino nurse would wince in sympathy as the tool clicked shut, bending the staple in the middle and pulling the tiny pins from my skin. Each pinprick would well up with dark red blood that formed a small sphere before the nurse wiped it off with a cylindrical block of tissue. Although it has been two weeks since I was sliced open, the nurse (and I) was worried that perhaps the wounds would split open as she removed the stitches. I could just imagine it: a quiet plink as she drops the staple on the pile of others, then a tearing as my leg splits wide open.
But I was OK. Of course, the tramadol kicks in after I have sat back down the in the reception with my coffee.
Maybe more later...