I poured a pot of boiling water on my right hand
This entry was supposed to be entitled "pedoigies" and be filled with nostalgia and whimsy as I pondered why my family bastardized the word "pierogi" for this dish and how long it has been since I made them and how productive making them made me feel (GIRAFFE!), but I poured a pot of boiling water on my right hand in the process and I'm kind of letting that define the week.
I spent three hours on Monday with my hand in a baggie filled with cool water because removing it for more than two minutes made the skin feel like it might actually be cooking. By bedtime, I was able to get by with a cold compress. By morning, everything seemed okay...except my hand was pruney and the skin everywhere was dry but I was too scared to put any kind of cream on it in case -- I don't know -- it encouraged more skin cooking? Now the skin looks like it's thawing out from frostbite. A deep red with undertones of black. Necrotic. My hand is necrotic.
Good news: There appears to have been no permanent damage, or even blistering. I am a first aid wunderkind! Sign me up for med school.
Bad news: The hand still wants nothing to do with heat. I am out of clean dishes. Washing my hair with my left hand has shown me that I am the opposite of ambidextrous. I don't just have a preferred hand: when it comes to strength and coordination, my right hand might as well be my only hand. Which may explain why my left hand decided to dump a pot of boiling water on it.
I spent three hours on Monday with my hand in a baggie filled with cool water because removing it for more than two minutes made the skin feel like it might actually be cooking. By bedtime, I was able to get by with a cold compress. By morning, everything seemed okay...except my hand was pruney and the skin everywhere was dry but I was too scared to put any kind of cream on it in case -- I don't know -- it encouraged more skin cooking? Now the skin looks like it's thawing out from frostbite. A deep red with undertones of black. Necrotic. My hand is necrotic.
Good news: There appears to have been no permanent damage, or even blistering. I am a first aid wunderkind! Sign me up for med school.
Bad news: The hand still wants nothing to do with heat. I am out of clean dishes. Washing my hair with my left hand has shown me that I am the opposite of ambidextrous. I don't just have a preferred hand: when it comes to strength and coordination, my right hand might as well be my only hand. Which may explain why my left hand decided to dump a pot of boiling water on it.