My dear (ha) sweet (ha) little (ha) body is falling apart.
Last Wednesday, while making dinner for the group, I managed to steam burn my hand. I was pouring the tea water and the lid came off. Immediately, my hand started to feel the heat. I looked around for a place to put down the tea kettle and ended up dropping the massive thing on the ground in desperation.
The end result was a hand that burned for the next 12 hours. For the following four hours, I kept it in a pitcher of water - taking it out would make it feel like it was on fire. Throughout the night, I kept being awoken by the burning feeling. I would then get up, wrap it in a wet towel, and try to get back to sleep.
Over the next few days, blisters started to form. In time, those blisters popped, oozed, and caused my right hand grief, making it not-so-possible to scrawl out letters to folks like Melanie, Tucker, and Hannah.
Slowly, all of the toasted skin has been coming off (with the assistance of my trichotillomania) and I'm left with new, numb, pink skin. Old skin remains in thick, dead layers that feel odd to the touch.
Funny how tight people tend to squeeze your freshly burned hand when they first meet you. Funny how I let them, most of the time, because I don't feel like explaining to them that I burned my hand.
I was so excited about the moment. Liz was getting her hair cut by Tim and they were positioned in such a way that made me want to immortalize it. From the outside window, it looked like this:
Anyways, I went from sitting at the feet of Liz to skittering outdoors to nab my camera. In the process of opening the door and stepping out into the dark, my ankle gave way from underneath me and I crashed into a pile of shoes, doing a full sideways fall without any warning or way to make an attempt to catch myself. I just fell.
And my ankle hurt.
And I was not comfortable.
I yowled and folks came. Jessamy propped me up, backing me up with a cozy, soothing hug that I needed. I kept repeating the phrase, "I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated," because I was so, so frustrated. I've been twisting my ankle for years, now (my first major snap came on August 26, 2007 in Luzern, Switzerland). I know what happens. I know how it holds me back.
These past few months, I've been rejoicing in my capability to move and walk. I've done dance nights, dance weekends, and hikes! I've felt so thrilled to be able to move and not taking it for granted at all. I was grateful, last week, when I was able to climb Mount Gardner twice.
It was all over,
I didn't want to have a twisted ankle. I want to be able to move freely. So, in all of this, I was frustrated. It felt like a snap that was worse than the simple roll I have a few times a year that can heal within a few minutes or hours. I wasn't sure how long this one would take, but I hoped, more than anything in that moment, that it wouldn't require crutches.
To match the pain, my teeth wouldn't stop violently chattering for the next 10-15 minutes. It was the full chatter, the kind that inhibits communication and clear thoughts.
I'm not on the second day with my ankle. It rolled two nights ago. I'm trying to stay off it as much as possible. Honestly, it hurts quite a bit and I don't know what to make of it. I can't really do much with it. I mean, I can shuffle around and hobble from here to there, but it's not without pain.
I could stand the pain if I knew that going through it would bring healing, like with my burn. But I know that exasperating it, putting weight on it, will only inhibit the healing process.
Back inside, the community was super sweet. Emily handed me Mouse, Sofia got me ibuprofen and rubbed my head, and Tim wrapped up my ankle in ice and elevated it. Folks were really kind to me.
But, still -
The Blood Blister
This one is the least of all things I've done wrong to my body this week.
I was working on wrenching on Tobbit and got my finger stuck in the wrench. It turned into a giant bubble of blood. It's annoying, but very tolerable.