Over the weekend, J and I finished the project we started on the day I burned my hand. I had been sterilizing jars so that we could make apple and pear cordials (liquour) when I poured a couple of cups of boiling water over my hand. Surprisingly, the next day, we proceeded with making the cordials while I was wearing the giant bandage I showed all of you. I even cut up apples and pears with my left hand, which was no small feat. This weekend, it was time to strain the fruit from the alcohol and filter the booze, so we finished that, and now we have a couple of gallons of cordials aging and ready to bottle up for the holidays.
I was surprised to find through this process how much of a fear I have developed of hot liquids. On Saturday, J was sterilizing some bottles for the cordials, and I had to leave the room. In fact, I found myself in tears for a moment when I realized how much this injury had impacted my psyche. I couldn’t take it. I was so angry with myself for letting that fear overtake me. Over the course of the weekend, though, I forced myself to deal safely with not only boiling water, but also hot pans, and even super-hot sugar syrup! I’m doing significantly better, but I feel a little ridiculous for fearing such average, everyday tasks that I have performed thousands of times without injury. I have to remind myself, It’s just a teakettle, not a demon-possessed object waiting to assault you.
This weekend marked the first couple of days that I was without my bandage most of the time. Since I last posted a photo, I had downgraded quite a bit to a smaller, more manageable, functional bandage, but now I’m not wearing one at all. My skin is doing this reptillian thing, peeling and flaking, and generally being disgusting. I’ve got brand new baby skin exposed to the air too, and I’m very protective of it and mesmerized by it all at once.
I’m glad to be moving on from this injury. It is interesting to see people’s reactions, though. As soon as people saw my bandage (my students especially), they became gentler, almost protective with soft voices and concerned eyes to match. Now they’re all back to their old ways, and a big part of me is happy to no longer be the object of everyone’s sympathies. I’m ready to forget this ever happened. Now if only my hand would too.