Aug 30 2011


Getting the 2nd Degree

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Burn, that is. CLUTZ. My middle name. Throw in dumbass for emphasis, if you please.  I am notorious for hurting myself. James doesn’t let me play with sharp objects for this very reason, but believe-u-me, I can still find a way to injure myself.

I had a hankering for some yummy 13 bean soup yesterday, after scoring a B-U-T-ful bag of soup mix at a heavenly little local bakery and bulk foods market here in Remington. So I went all culinary, mixed it up, and threw it in the crockpot (okay, so I only picked out a FEW lima beans. I’d rather eat chalk!) to cook all afternoon. I left the crock pot crocking on the counter, sitting on a couple of oven mitts because the legs are missing from our aged pot. The last time we used it on our shiny, new corian countertops, it friggin melted the corian. So come time for James to get home from work,and  guess what? My beans were still not done. Crap.

Out came the ingredients for a quick dinner of nachos. And since I had been nervous about leaving that hot crock pot on those cloth oven mitts, I decided to move the crock pot onto the wire rack of our stove top. (You too can prevent camper fires!) Me and my puny muscles hefted that crock pot up and over to the stove. Well, sort of. Half way there, hot water from the aluminum foil I have to use to seal the AGED crock pot lid dribbled onto my hand. And class, what happens when hot water hits the skin of a person with a healthy, intact neurological system? REFLEX. That’s right. My hand jerked in an effort to get away from that hot water. And when that hand jerked, guess what? The crock pot vomited BOILING HOT 13 bean soup all over the phalanges of both of my hands. And what did I do? I threw that puking, hot crock pot full of beans onto the stove. And sobbed like a baby over my scalded phalanges as I ran cold water over them for a little sweet relief from that horrible burning sensation that would have made me spew more cuss words than a sailor had I been able to utter a word between sobs and gasps for breath.

I sobbed and snotted over the sink for what seemed like an eternity. The pain lessened enough for me to find out what the first aid was for such a severe burn, as I could see my skin blistering as I sobbed. I managed to hold my trusty phone and peck in ‘first aid burns’ to see if I needed to go to the emergency room and meet that shiny new $3500 deductible. I managed to find out that cold water, antibiotic ointment, and pain relievers were really all that could be done for my newly identified 2nd degree burns on my fingers. Just as I finished reading, the severe pain came back with a vengeance. And continued for 8 FRIGGIN HOURS.

James came home to a sobbing, snotty wife. The only relief I could get was when my hands were under that stream of cold water and then slathered over and over with pain-relieving triple antibiotic ointment.

He finally felt so bad for me crying between soakings that he almost force-fed me a hydrocodone from my un-touched bottle that was my prize for enduring a root canal in February. (Root canal 5 on the pain scale. Burned phalanges – 9.5). And you know what? The hydrocodone made me drunker than a stoned skunk, and took the edge off, but it did not stop that kind of pain. Almost three hours later, and still stumbling back and forth to the sink to douse my finger-fire, James gives me another hydrocodone. So then, I was drunker than a stoned and inebriated skunk on a merry-g0-round. My phalanges still hurt, but I was more willing to consider self-amputation at that point. Seriously. I think cutting my fingers off would have hurt less. So I continued my trips back and forth to the sink until almost midnight, when I knew I either had to fall asleep, or I was really was going to start puking my toes out from the narcotics. I finally collapsed in the bed, and managed to pass out everytime my phalanges started flaming again.

Today those crispy critters mock me with their crunchy pants….    I am relieved that the burns aren’t worse than they are, and am hoping the skin doesn’t start peeling off of my crispier right thumb.

Time to eat some soup  . I think I earned it.

 

2 responses so far




2 Responses to “Getting the 2nd Degree”

  1.   Reneon 01 Sep 2011 at 4:33 pm     1

    Geezus I thought that pic of the beans was your hands! Glad it’s not.

    So sorry you got the burn. Damn that had to have hurt!!!!

  2.   Riley Pupon 02 Sep 2011 at 12:59 pm     2

    If those beans were my hands, amputation sure would have been the prescription!!! “OFF WITH HER HANDS”

    And it hurt like a mother, my friend!

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