Gimp Hands

Hello all,

Thanks for tuning in again.  As you know, I am a baller.  During moments when I don't feel super baller, I take Barney Stinson's advice: "Whenever I'm sad, I stop feeling sad and be awesome instead."  Result: return to baller status.  However, the tumble I took while running last week has really tested my abilities to remain at the height of my baller-ness....

So last week I was doing mile two of my hill circuit, feeling AWESOME about myself, when my foot got caught and fell, my hands taking brunt of the fall and the subsequent skid.  No, I did not get distracted by a cute boy, as my friend Anisha's mother (whasssup) suggested, I simply tripped.  When I got home, I tried to clean myself up, but I'm really not used to lots of blood or pain and I ended up just hyperventilating and covering up my hands with really big band-aids. I called my grandma (hi Nan!) for some comfort, then figured I should go to the grocery store to buy gloves to cover my hands so I could shower.

I was really excited when I first bought the gloves, not only because they are pink, but also because they are textured.  THIS WAS GOING TO BE GREAT FOR EXFOLIATING!  So I began washing my face and exfoliating away, but I quickly realized that I was making my face smell like latex, so I stopped.

I had also planned a pizza dinner at my house that evening with friends, but it's hard to knead dough with bloody hands.  Plus, the pain.  My darling friend Eli offered to host dinner instead.  I made it to his house early with some frozen pizzas, only to learn that our other friends (bringing salad and appetizers) were going to be late.  During the twenty minutes in which we waited for them, the combination of pain and hunger really got to me.  It was not very baller.  My conversation with Eli during this time went something like this:

Me: "I'm going to kill someone.  Sorry.  No I'm not.  I'm just hungry. And my hands really hurt."
Eli: "Do you want a snack?"
Me: "No, that's ok, they'll be here soon.......................I'm going to kill someone."
Eli: "I have yogurt... and raw mushrooms."
Me: "No really, I'm fine .................. I'm going to kill someone."
Eli: "Are you sure you don't want some mushrooms?"

No doubt he thought that he would be the casualty that I was menacing, but upon further reflection, aside from providing supremely unpleasant company, he realized that there was nothing I could really do to him - considering that my hands were largely unusable.

The next day, my darling friend's darling boyfriend, Raph, who is a nurse (soins à domicile!) came to clean me up.  He called me about ten minutes before and told me that before his arrival I should wash my hands with warm water and soap.  "Okay, no problem!" I cheerfully told him.  Except ... problem.  I was really afraid and also did not want any more pain.  So instead of washing my hands, I turned on some distracting music (hip hop) and practiced my deep breathing and not crying.

Raph arrived and I told him that I was sorry, I was a bad patient, I had not washed my hands because I did not want to... I am sure that he thought I was a wimp but he was nice and instead just sat down and set up shop. After complimenting my job on bandaging from the night before (woohoo!!!) he took off the band aids and immediately remarked, "Oh wow... you did a number on yourself!  These are bad."  We had to take a break in between cleaning each hand because I started hyperventilating again but I didn't faint and I only cried minimally, so I considered it a success. Raph was really helpful, advising me what I needed to buy (vaseline-soaked gauze because my skin needed to heal the way 2nd-degree burns need to heal) and even changing the bandages again for me the following day.

Since then, my life has been largely hilarious.  My friends call me the bear (and reference my paws), and any tasks involving water become fifty times more difficult.  Thank goodness for my angelfriends Nicole and Amanda who have helped me do dishes and fix my hair as well as provided much-needed emotional support when I have to change my bandages.  (Nan told me I needed to be tougher about that....working on it).  Also, I have tan lines on my hands from the band-aids.  On the bright side, this means that I'm getting tan (a shade that most people call "very pale", but I take what I can get) and another bright side is that my manicure has been quite long-lasting.  Word.

Things are going better and I can now change my bandages independently, and I think scabs are beginning to form.

Here are some photos for your LOLz:

Attempt at thumbs-up

....yep, still BALLER

xoxo
Sam