I Guess You Could Call It Irony

Because the day that I changed my tagline to, "Do you believe in love, like I believe in pain," my commitment was challenged just a wee bit. A co-worker of mine turned fifty (freaking) years old on the fourth of July, but since she was on vacation, we've been celebrating her birthday this week. I decided that I would make her chocolate cupcakes, and I don't often use my oven at the apartment because I am a HUGE fan of the toaster oven. It's rare that I need the cubic space of the family-size oven. So, as I continued to check on the progress of my culinary talents and lift the treats from the oven, I also lifted my forearm to the top of the three-hundred-fifty-degree oven. Smart move on my part as I ended up with a second-degree burn.

The odd thing was, it didn't really hurt. It stung just a bit. I ended up talking to my mother within a few minutes of the injury, and of course she told me to apply ice. I argued that the damage was done and that there wasn't much that ice could offer. She responded that the ice would lessen the damage. I obliged her request for about eleven seconds, and then said, "Ok, it was applied. It feels no different." Though I noticed my skin was beginning to turn a grayish color.

The next morning my skin had blistered in the nice shape of a leech and turned a bit blacker. I gently pressed the blister and noticed it just felt airy. I decided not to touch it and take my shower. But in the drying-off process, I accidentally forgot about the injury and slid the towel right over it. I then noticed a portion of the black skin had folded back and another section of it lying on the floor of my tub. I "eeeweeed" at myself.

When I got to work and showed my co-worker her breakfast treat, I quickly pointed out what I had done to myself for her birthday. She sneered and said that I should have covered it up. "I thought you were supposed to air burns out or something," I responded. She assured me that in the environment we work in, I should most definitely cover it up as she offered me some Neosporin® cream and a bandage. I removed the bandage a few times during the day to check on the progress of my wound. Later that night, I removed it once more and noticed what I thought was an excess of Neosporin® cream, but as I investigated further, I realized I was looking at a mass of goo that my body created. I quickly shoved my forearm under cold, running water. I pulled it back and realized it was still lumpy, gooey, and a wee bit greenish in color. It kind of turned my stomach to look at it. Still kind of turns my stomach to say it, really. (How are you holding up?) I ended up having to wash the burn with soap, where I had to turn my head to keep from grossing myself out from myself. I let the burn breathe during the night, and it looked much, much better, expect for the small fold of black skin that I have yet to remove. I tried to lift it, and it looked gooey underneath, and when I see goo, I think "ewe," and my tummy threatens to turn against me.

I have had a bad habit of burning myself. In high school, many of my school mates taunted me with the name, "Pyro." I would tend to play with fire in chemistry class. I'd light matches for no reason but to watch them burn. Once, as a child, I turned off my bedroom lamp and then decided with NO THOUGHT OF CONSEQUENCE, to just palm the hot bulb. A few days later, my hand started peeling and it took me quite some time to backtrack as to why that was happening. I can also recall a time where my mother left me in the car while running some errand. I started to play with the cigarette lighter. When it popped back out, I looked the orange, glowing light with awe, and again, I decided to stick it to the inside of my hand. I clutched my mother's water bottle for the remainder of that day. When I was old enough to know better, but still too stubborn to ever follow directions, I tried to steam my skirt while wearing it. I ended up with a burn of four dots across my thigh. For some years, I had scars across my left wrist where it looked like I had attempted suicide because I would reach across the iron and burn myself.

The thing is, burnt skin grosses me out. It's the one thing I would question when taking marriage vows. In sickness and in health, but if you burn your body, I get to use my get-out-of-jail-free card because I cannot handle melted skin. Yet, it seems I am determined to melt my own.


Blogger albert said...


Neosporin, Neosporin, Neosporin..

Can't say enough of it.

p.s. To think, this is by far the most grossest thing I've heard you talk about. Take care of yourself, please.

6:07 AM  
Blogger Pioneer Woman said...

Can you imagine the unbearable pain suffered by burn patients, when 90% or more of their body is burned? I can't even fathom it.

3:55 PM  
Blogger Jeni said...

No, I can't!

I can sit through a lot things in the movies, but burned skin...that's a tough one for me. It's almost up there with my totally irrational fear of bugs.

4:40 PM  
Blogger Kuntry Konfession said...

aloe vera magic! and if u don't want a scar(though scars are cool) keep it away from the sun until about a year when the skin pigment is healed.

7:01 PM  
Blogger Jeni said...

I shall try to remember that. Thanks!

9:50 PM  

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