While
cooking stuffed cabbage the other night for dinner, I stupidly took off my sweat
shirt to keep the long sleeves away from water as I washed and prepped the food.
I know most people just bunch their sleeves up to elbow height, but mine always
rebel, creep downward, and end up saturated. One careless second, and my
stomach grazed the edge of the hot pot. My pain threshold is as high as Mount
Everest. I quickly grabbed a piece of ice, slid it over the area, and forgot
about it until it stung with pain with my evening bath. I carefully rubbed
Neosporin on the spot, but left it uncovered during the night. The next morning
another layer of ointment soothed my skin and the loose pants and top I wore
didn’t contact the area at all. I blissfully went about my daily chores and ran
errands most of the evening.
Of
course, my neglect in not covering the section meant by nightfall the area
appeared redder than the previous day. Another round of antibiotic salve and a
loose gauze bandage prepped the burn for the night. This morning, I cut some
Aloe Vera to rub over the spot and found a large bandage to protect it through
today’s activities. Although it doesn’t look bad, I’ll check it multiple times
today to add whatever protection I think it needs to heal properly.
One
of the first signs that I’m stressed comes with some kind of self-inflicted
injury. My mind focuses on whatever’s troubling me and the result of
inattention turns into a cut finger, smashed toe, or a variety of scorched body
parts. On the surface, I don’t appear to be drowning in stress, but my wound
the other day comes wrapped in worry about what tomorrow, and the days after,
will bring to me and my family. We cancelled visiting my brother at Christmas
because of his bout with Norovirus a couple of weeks before left him too tired
for company. The flu snuck into our household, sickening my son for endlessly
long days. Fires and furies flame all around us, and I dread January 20th
and its poisonous potentials.
I
promised myself that I’d spend today bagging leaves that we raked into piles
the other day, even if today is my “No Chore Thursday”. But maybe I do need to
take the entire day off instead of finishing with the yard. Who knows what
clumsy move I could make while bending, gathering, twisting and hauling? Better
for me to stay safely inside with a pot of Earl Grey hot, a couple of chocolate
chip cookies, and my latest read Sapiens:
A Brief History of Humankind.
Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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