You never forget your first. It's something special because there can only ever be one. Rather than be romantic though, I'm going to talk about my first cauliflower ear.
What's a cauliflower ear? I hear no one ask. Well, considering you're on the internet to begin with, have you tried google? If you're still reading then I'll assume you haven't. Thanks for staying on this page. A cauliflower ear is when the skin separates from the cartilage of the ear and blood, along with one or two other fluids, gush into this newly acquired space. If this blood clot isn't removed in a little over a week, then you run the risk of greater damage to the ear. With the skin separated from it, the cartilage is deprived of nutrients and it will eventually die, meaning that nothing is in place to keep the ear in shape and causes the ear to shrivel. Also, apart from turning your ear into vegetable, there's always a chance of infection, which is another reason to get it fixed. Fixing it is a simple matter; drain the blood and apply pressure. Get the hematoma out of your ear, so the cartilage won't die, and apply pressure by wrapping it up, stopping anybody else from moving in before it heals.
There are two possible ways for you to get a cauliflower; you either get smacked in the ear or there's alot of friction on the ear. Despite my sub-par boxing skills, it was the latter for me. Simply pulling my head out of a guillotine choke in training is what did it. Something I've done before and definitely something I'll have to do again, only this time, as I pulled my head out, I felt a burning sensation in my ear. The minute I finished sparring I reached up and found a bubble of skin just above my right ear lobe. "Well, at least I'm starting to look more like a wrestler now," I thought. After finishing up the session I'm not having too much of a problem, but that was just the start of it. I had two more days of training and a match on the weekend. I couldn't afford to get it fixed before my match because you're suppose to allow the ear to recover for a week after draining it, so my only choice was to grin and bear it, and it got a little worse each day. Before my match on the weekend, it had doubled in size from training. I managed to make it through my match without it popping or causing too much damage, although a headlock prompted the quickiest counter I think I've ever performed.
Now it needed fixing.
I grabbed a few books I'd been meaning to read and checked myself into A and E (accidents and emergencies). After getting through a short book or two, I was called in to get my egg shaped ear deflated. Now here comes the part I'd been fearing, needles. I hate needles. They're the second worst thing in the world. I know no one likes needles, but let me reaffirm, I hate them. I think it stems from my childhood, because everything that's wrong with a person is usually blamed on something from their childhood. Anyway, I knew that the ear was either going to be lanced or drained with a syringe, then stitched, which means I was going to get at least one injection. Turns out, you get more than one. I got about four. From the bottom of my ear to the top, little injections intended to numb the whole thing. Despite what the doctor told me, it felt like more than a sting. After my nerve ends were out for the count, I lay on my side and had my ear sliced open. I didn't dare look over my shoulder and see what they were doing, because I'd had a week of dealing with that ear and I knew how much blood it had in it. I left with stitches in my ear, pain killers, and an order to comeback next week and have the stitches taken out. The annoying thing was I was told not to exercise too heavily in the coming week, for fear that the ear would fill back up with blood, or simply go for the more direct approach and bleed. My gym has showers, but I don't think they'd take too kindly to me spilling blood all over them. So I had to take the week off.
Over the week I had to take anti-biotics to make sure that the ear didn't become infected. I wasn't told that the painkillers would be necessary, so they were given as a precaution. They were deffinitely needed. After I came home from the hospital, and the ear started to gain some feeling in it again, it started the throb. Not from the newly acquired scar running across it, instead behind my ear, where they'd injected the anesthetic, was on fire, meaning if I wanted a good nights sleep I needed to rely on medication for a few days. That's another thing I hate, putting loads of foreign chemicals into my body. I don't mind protein shakes, or supplements like omega 3 oils and glutamene, because they're isolations of things you can find in food. Something that numbs your pain receptors isn't really something I get from eating fish. Anyway, that might just be me.
So a week passes and I'm back at the hospital. I'm sat in a new room with the same doctor, who's taking the thin threads out of my ear. He inspects my ear and after a brief pause says "your going to hate me in a mintue." I think I know where this is going (nowhere sexy you dirty buggers), my ear is going to need draining again. This time it's not getting cut open, but it does require a whole new set of stitches, and a whole new set of stitches means a brand new series of injections. So they take another needle to my ear and drain the remaining blood from it, numb it, stitch it, and tell me to come back in a week. This is where I'm starting to get a little worried. I had a match the next week. I was due to wrestle for Grand Pro Wrestling (GPW) in Wigan, who primarily run their shows on a Friday. I was getting my stitches out on Friday, which ment I had one of two options; the first was ring the promoter and tell him I won't be able to compete because of my ear, the second was getting my stitches out, get on a train, and wrestle the same night. I'm an fool, so I chose the second option.
Luckily, as my ear had healed a significant amount from the first week, I was allowed to exercise a little more intensely, and, although I was not allowed to push myself as much as I would've liked, it did mean I could stay in good enough shape for the show. Another stroke of luck came mid-week when I realised that, for the first time in years, GPW were running a show on a Saturday. What a difference a day makes to your nerves. I would've had the stitches out for a whole twenty four hours longer than I originally thought. That calmed me a little, but then the next thought in my mind was "Oh god, what if they look at it again and it still needs further draining and stitching?" I hadn't mentioned to the promoter that I could've potentially missed the show and now it was so close I didn't want to panic the man over maybe having to replace me at the last minute just because of my paranoia playing up.
Friday comes around and the stitches are out. There's a quick inspection of my ear and it passes the test. I 'm given a good bill of health and sent on my way.
"Oh, and avoid contact spots for about six week," says the docter as I get up to leave.
"Okay, no problem, but I can still exercise and stuff?"
"Sure, just no rubbing or impact on the ear or it'll fill up all over again."
"Alright, thankyou," I say, trying to sound as unguilty as possible. "It's alright, you can exercise. All you have to do is keep moving and avoid any chancerys, headlocks, and general punching of the ear," I thought to myself. As I did so that bubbling feeling in my stomach started; the feeling that tells me what I'm about to do should be thought out more, but if you did that you probably wouldn't do it. In other words, I knew this wasn't the best plan.
This is where the story concludes because, although the ear recieved a little bit more physical attention than I would've liked, I didn't get smacked in and it didn't decide to fill back up. Somehow I got through twenty or so minutes of wrestling fine and dandy. Then again I doubt this will be the last time I'll have to deal with this problem. Although, as much of an annoyance as it was, I realised in those few healing weeks that even if I never do anything else in wrestling, I've got at least one trophy.
