Last Wednesday Jack and Will (neighbour's kids) were upstairs napping when I arrived to care for them for a few hours while their mother was out. I made myself comfortable on the olive green sofa for a few minutes and read a few pages of Catcher in the Rye before noticing I was feeling slightly frigid. I filled the electric kettle with water, picked out an herbal tea bag to plop into a mug and waited for it to boil. I heard the familiar 'click' sound that notifies me there's about 750ml of boiled water ready to meet the mug that would caress it. Seconds later my legs looked like this.
Initially I was planning on tending to this catastrophe myself but then the pain kicked in and it spread to my tummy and left thigh. I was screaming and crying and completely dumbfounded. I had no clue what to do. I called my step dad who said to call 9-1-1. I told him it seemed petty to call 9-1-1 over spilled water. I believe the screaming, crying, and barely distinguishable language coming out of my mouth were hints that yes, i really ought to call 9-1-1. I didn't want to though. I called Chris, the father of the kids sound asleep upstairs at 3:30 in the afternoon. He's a cop. He said, call 9-1-1. Okay, fine, I was convinced. I called 9-1-1. then I called the boyfriend while I waited for the paramedics to arrive because anytime I stopped talking the burning sensation got worse. I talked to him, if that's what you would call it. I cried and pleaded for my nerves to rot and die so I could breathe normally. Who knew freshly boiled water could cause such damage? Apparently a lot of people. Not me, though.
I was in a seated position when I poured the kettle of water into my lap instead of into the mug, my instinct was to stand up and strip. Leggings are tight. Panties are too but...not quite as much. So, my panties went with the leggings and when the paramedics showed up I was standing up in the kitchen crying a pantsless-pantyless cry. I looked like a total asshole. But I didn't care. I only cared about the fleshy gross body part that once looked like a leg and functioned like one too. It was throbbing. My tummy and left leg were mangled only half as badly, if that. The ride to the hospital felt like an eternity. The f word may have escaped my lips a few dozen times in the 20 minutes it took us to arrive.
That flannel covered man is the boyfriend, in case you were wondering why I had an audience.
He came to take care of me. met me at the hospital and stayed over a few days.
I have had three nurses over the last three days come in to change my bandages and now I've been trusted to do them myself, for myself.
here's what the leg looked like on day 3.
Taken with my iPhone so not as clear, but you get the idea. The point is I'm healing. Slowly, but healing nonetheless.
That's all for now.
Take a page from the good book of Steph: when pouring boiling water, make sure it reaches the dish.