Walking wounded

My left hand is looking a little worse for wear these days: my middle finger still sporting singed hair from a burn blister while a gash on my thumb takes its sweet time to heal over. Its been a slow-motion process that I’ve been monitoring with patience and curiosity. Looking at my hand in the elevator today, I remembered a baffling commercial that used to air in Chicago when I was young. It was for a treatment center specializing in wounds that weren’t healing, which I never understood: what do you mean, ‘wounds that won’t heal’?

But I guess that would make sense coming from someone with a young body capable of repairing overnight nearly any damage I could inflict upon it. Maybe that would explain why all the patients in the clinic commercial were much older…

Healing is good, any which way you look at it.