Fentanyl, in my IV, makes me happy (John Denver tune)

Skin Peels Off and Chemistry, Hope for the Forehead Wrinkle

The cure all for nasty burns: silver sulfadiazine

(Plastic surgeon says I’ll look as good as new eventually. He also says he can stop the ‘craziness’ that is my forehead wrinkle. I think I love him.)

I’m sitting on the couch listening to a playlist inhabited by some of my favorite melancholy lyrical friends, alternately chatting with FB friends, importing contact lists into the company’s email client, perusing Pinterest pictures. A stray sugar wafer intermittently finds its way into my mouth. A week ago at this time, I was in the emergency room jacked up on VERY GOOD PAIN KILLERS to address the second degree burns I inflicted on myself with some scalding tea. (Note to self: probably you don’t need to BOIL the fucking water to get a decent cup of tea AND ALWAYS put the lid on.)

(Oh, how I want to post pics of the blisters. They were amazing from a cool, science ‘Hey watch my skin jiggle like a waterbed’ sort of way.)

I didn’t want to call 9-1-1 because I have no health insurance, remember? When I finally got a hold of my ex, he told me to call. It makes sense now: my descent into shock, trying to keep it together with my three kids starting to panic because I was crying and screaming ‘Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!!’ from the bathroom, the fact that the skin on my entire right thigh was melting off like some picture of a thermonuclear radiation burn. He came and got the kids and we’ve done of debriefing on how scary it was for them. My glorious and amazing sister came and joined me in the hospital and ran interference for me there. Her family helped me through the worst of the days–moral support if nothing else. My ex covered the kids to give me some time to heal.

There are surely better reasons to have the attention of that many good looking men in one’s bedroom (read that without me sounding like a raging nympho), a fact I may have mentioned to them all once the IV Fentanyl (?) kicked in.

I love Fentanyl. And Percocet, it turns out.

Fentanyl, in my IV, makes me happy (John Denver tune)

So one week later, I am wrapped in bandages. The blisters have subsided, and there is just a HUGE amount of exposed flesh that is tender. This tender flesh must be covered with silvadene, non adhesive bandages, gauze, and then something to hold these all to my un-creamy white thighs. Think here of a sugar cone. The big round part is my thigh. The covering on the cone slips down the cone if it isn’t glued on. These are my bandages.

The definitive answer here remains elusive. Self-adhesive rubber ace-like wrap is the best so far, but by the end of the day when I have to walk through Fred Meyer to buy toilet paper, my mind is completely obsessed with how to get back into the car before the whole shebang slips down to my ankles. Under the best of circumstances my thighs rub together: now add 16 layers.

** Quack, quack, waddle, waddle **

Oh, hell, this is not dignified. What is the most frustrating is that I was just starting to get on my feet financially. Not excess, but bills paid, semi-dependable employment. Now hospital bills, still no insurance. I guess if the lesson here is: learn to lose everything and live in a place of total vulnerability and still be okay with it, the opportunities present themselves in spades. However, I feel it is now time to move into the chapter entitled, “In Which It Goes Very Smoothly for Some Time and She Enjoys the Dynamic Rebuild.”

In a cool, science 'watch my skin jiggle like a waterbed' sort of way...



Day One: Nuclear Radiation Burn--or was it just really hot water?
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