“Eyes are a Window to the Soul,” they say. But Windows Break…
Playing voyeur to the mess of a flesh wound does not sit comfortably with me. I know my limits. Which is why, when hubby asked, “Wanna look at the photo?”… I declined. As first aid go-to at his workplace – a primary school – he sees the odd broken bone or gravel rash. No sweat. But I could see that the grisly injury sustained on a schoolboy’s leg – resulting in a trip to the hospital and many stitches – rattled him more than most. I listened as he explained the wound to a nurse friend. Stirred my tea. Tried not to put pictures to the words: skin, fat, muscle, blood, stitches, pain. “Are you sure you don’t want to see it?” he looked up at my – surely blanched – face. “No.” Thin smile. “Thanks.” My eyes are sensitive to the sun’s glare. Someone once told me it’s because they are light blue – an eye colour native to places that have less hours of sunlight in a typical day. Maybe there’s truth in it. I think …
