Apply some Liquid Bandage.
It won’t rub off, & it will keep germs out.
Also, Iodine.
Just before you apply the Iodine, say something like: “Honey? Remember when I caught you looking at that girl when we were out?” Then comes the Iodine. 
She’s been dead ten years, which is long before AXE came out. And I don’t care what she’s wearing no; I didn’t like her much but still wouldn’t disrespect her so much as to dig her up to find out.
I just found out my BIL is going to have surgery on his leg, with subsequent skin grafts, as a result of a spider bite. It had caused some problems, but with care and antibiotics he thought it was healing. Then, Monday night, he said it turned into a Mt. St. Helen’s on his leg, oozing infection everywhere. There is a hole the size of a quarter on his leg, and my sister says if it is examined you can see tracks down into the leg where the “stuff” must have been hiding. But the BIL counts himself lucky, he will recover under doctor’s care. Said doctor told him in “the old days” before grafts and antibiotics, he’d have been looking at having part of his leg amputated.
Though I’ve never been a mother or a wife, I’ve had me some boyfriends. I have never, nor will I ever poke at someone else’s pimples or blackheads. It’s not just that I’m totally anti-damage, but that those are two bodily ‘products’ I have no desire to go hunting for.
Baker, your poor brother in law! Was it a seroma I wonder. I’ve had one of those after a surgery. It’s awful, you have to pack the opening and change it often. Gradually it heals and closes up. Mine did not. It was just a teeny hole but rather deep so I packed it, changed it, and after *three months * thought I had it almost healed. Then one evening I was changing the ribbon-like gauze they gave me. I’d use a long handled q-tip to place it properly down at the bottom. On that fateful evening, I either pushed a little too hard or it was finally time the build up let itself be known.
Extreme TMI alert! So there I am in front of the bathroom mirror, in my skivvies, since the seroma was close above the waist band of my underpants. In goes the q-tip, when a couple of seconds later a fountain of thick, opaque reddish-orange liquid comes out. It splashed on the counter, the sink and even managed to reach the faucet. It covered my hands completely, ran down my leg, and soaked the rug. Some managed to hit the tile around my other foot and I proceeded to slip around in the puddle of hellish pus. That’s when the smell hit me-- it was strongly fleshy, like raw hamburger gone slightly bad, with a side order of something faintly cheesy. I start fighting the desire to vomit with increased vigor, but it was beginging to seem a losing battle.
At that point, I’m light headed from shock since I’m not good about looking at my own stitches, much less a river of viscous slime that has decided to escape my body. I propped myself up against the counter and feebly tried to direct the tide into the sink, but some of it went over the left side and flowed onto the tp dispenser and then dripped into the waste basket. The volume of fluid slowed and was just running down my side at that point, but I could barely see anything what with the darkness around the edges of my vision closing in.
I managed to take a deep breath and reminded myself no one else was home and I couldn’t let myself pass out. No way was I going to be found in a curdled pool of pus, wearing only a pair of scanties. I take stock and notice the liquid is now much thinner and a sort of intense yellowy color, and much more clear. It flowed down my side while I grabbed a towel to catch the ooze until it stopped and/or I could determine whether a call to 911 was required.
Ten minutes and one pus drenched hand towel later I had cleaned up a bit and could switch to a triple layer of bandage gauze. The liquid was now lighter yellow and had streaks of blood decorating it, but production had slowed to a steady weeping. I cleaned a bit further and then called my doctor’s nurse. The answer service had her call me and she explained that I must have not gotten down far enough with the ribbon and a pocket was left underneath to accumulate fluids until they turned into a nightmare geyser of funk. The part I hated the most? Oddly, it was the fact that I was now back to the beginning. In the end I spent a total of half a year with an open hole in my side. TMI over
So Baker, I hope this isn’t what your BIL will have to go through. Because if it is a seroma, well, I think you can tell-- they are not fun things to have.
OMG, how long did it take to recover from that? I’ll ask my BIL if his affliction was given a particular name. Did you have to have more surgery? * Shudder*.
Six months, but it was three months the first time, then three months after the ‘setback.’