So, two days ago, I peeled myself.
Yep. You heard me. I freekin’ PEELED myself.
I was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner, and the potato in my hand was somewhat small and unruly, and I was leaning over the trash can just working away at it, and next thing you know,
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!
That wasn’t the potato!
Immediately upon my hollering, everyone else started hollering.The girls were all: MOM!!!! ARE YOU OKAY????? and RegularDad was all: WHAT HAPPENED?????? Even the puppy started barking. (The cats, snoozing under a bed, were all: wha?… did someone say something?… no?… good… zzzzz…..)
And I’m already at the sink, cursing a bit, with my index finger under some cold water, yelling back: I’M ALL RIGHT!!! Because if they came in and saw me like that, they’d FREAK. Moms with bleeding hands are downright scary.
The thing is, it wasn’t all that bad. I could tell pretty much right away that it wouldn’t need stitches or anything. You know how you JUST KNOW? Yeah… it was like that. I just KNEW. It wasn’t too bad.
But there was a… well… a flap, if you know what I mean. And that’s just GROSS. Any way you slice it. (Ha ha ha… slice it… get it… yeah, okay. I’ll stop.) RegularDad came in and asked to see the injury. I already had it wrapped in a paper towel and I was all: no thanks. I’m fine. It’s fine. And he was all: why don’t you want me to see it? And I was all, well there’s a bit of a flap. And he was all: we really need to get under that and disinfect it, and I was all NO WAY DUDE. GET AWAY FROM ME WITH THOSE TWEEZERS.
I laced a BandAid with Neosporin ointment and wrapped it around my flap, and went on with my evening.
Yesterday afternoon, I figured I’d refresh the BandAid, maybe put some more Neosporin on it. No big deal, right? But when I took off the bandage, it looked a little gross. So when RegularDad got home I asked him to look at it, and he did, and at first he was all: I dunno. Maybe you should go in. And I was all: I really don’t think it’s necessary. So, he cleaned it all up (even under the flap) and sprayed everything down with Bactine and then we did another Neosporin-laced bandage, and that was that.
Except I obsessed all night long over it. Because of my neighbor.
My neighbor spent all last spring and most of last summer at home on disability because he got a splinter. That’s all. Just a splinter. He works construction. He got this splinter and then didn’t clean it out completely, and ended up hospitalized with a shunt in his neck so he could have super-strength antibiotic cocktails infused right into his cartoid artery. Because of a FREEKIN SPLINTER.
So, all last night, I sat around thinking: what if there’s an infection brewing right now? What if I wake up tomorrow and see red lines creeping up my arm, and I go in to the doctor and he says: “You really should have come in the day this happened.”
Or, what if I make an appointment and I go in there and the doctor says: “You know, this really isn’t anything to worry about at all. Just keep on using the Neosporin and some BandAids, and you’ll be fine.” Then he turns and scrawls “RAGING HYPOCHONDRIAC” on my file, and no one takes me seriously ever again.
Either way: I’m looking pretty foolish.
So, last night, I went to check in with some of my posse online, and they assured me that I was okay. That I could just do my own self-care and all would be well.
And I feel much better now. Although I haven’t looked underneath the bandage yet today. I can’t quite face it yet.
But still: Dudes…. I freekin’ PEELED myself.
It’s upsetting.
We’ll be eating potatoes with the skins on from now on. Hell, it’s healthier anyway.



