I just managed to burn both of my hands with boiling water. How?
I was making pasta, a simple enough task. ...But sometimes, with my arms the way they are, my hands give up and I drop things. This time, that "thing" happened to be a pot of boiling hot water. I effectively poured it all over my left hand, made a horrible noise, then tried to catch it (I don't know why) and wound up pouring the rest on my other hand and wrist.
...Ow my fuck nuts.
It's particularly uncomfortable because I managed to hit my RIGHT wrist... The one I use for writing and drawing... The one that is already in worse deformity-related shape than the left... Yeah. That wrist.
On the other hand, it hit my fingers, which sucks, but sucks the most on my ring finger. This is my derpy finger. The top joint can straighten, but not on its own (meaning you can push it straight, but it'll limp back to crooked) and will actually ache to the point of me feeling nauseous if the top joint gets bent too much.
Fingers bent:
Fingers straight:
...YAAAYYY lets make something icky that much worse with FIRE WATER.
Of course, as it turns out, I can still pick things up just fine. That's how screwed up my hands are normally.
I'm going to take this as "Yay, I have super powers" rather than "WOW I'm so broken."
This morning wasn't much better. I finally got whatever my boyfriend had.
Last night, my hip was killing me, but I figured that's kind of normal, as I need to see a chiropractor for that.
...But then around 2:30AM, the pain shifted to my stomach, and I vomited everything ever, on and off, for three hours.
I also managed to stab myself in the right wrist with a knife from the dish rack, attempting to put shit away. ...Again.
So, good morning!
...
It served to remind me that when I'm sick enough, all dignity goes out the window and I tend to just stop caring who or what sees me vomit and/or shit myself. I'm sure my mother has some allergy related horror stories involving me.
Which leads me to the following memory to tell you now:
I was in a hospital getting some oral surgery done. ...I don't remember which surgery it was, as I've had so many that most of them just kind of blend together now.
I think of this as a very good thing.
It may have been the posts for the dental implants? I don't know. Doesn't matter.
Either way, I was terrified, and I always respond really horribly to laughing gas. It makes me flip my shit and start crying hysterically, feeling like I'm about to die. Instant panic attack.
Mind you, when going under, I'm not that much better.
There's a famous story about when I was getting my eyeteeth taken out and my canines dragged with a chain in their place, where just as I was about to go under, I begged to see my family one last time. I wanted to tell them that I wasn't angry for having me go through this horrible, scary procedure. Unfortunately, they popped in just as the drugs to put me under took hold, so all I said was "I hate you! I hate you all!" while sobbing, right before conking out.
...So! Back to the other surgery.
Again, none of these were THAT bad that I couldn't have just been numbed up, but with my anxiety issues and paranoia and severe nightmares...
Just knock me the Hell out, okay??
So, after this particular (something front teeth related) surgery, I was flat on my back on the gurney, still pumping sedatives through my blood, and woke up to my own moaning, gasping for air. Had I been more conscious, I would have said, "Hey, could one of you nurses please prop my head up a little? I'm having some serious trouble breathing and it's scaring me."
Instead, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak from being all drugged and numb, and so I just continued moaning.
Instead of saying, "Oh shit! She needs assistance! I'm so sorry!" The nurses yelled at me to shut the Hell up. Niiiiiice bedside manner, bitches.
So, at this point, someone a bit nicer comes over after hearing the commotion, helps me out by putting a pillow under my head, and tells me my parents want to see me.
...In my brain this happened right after I got yelled at, like she had come to rescue me. It was apparently a long time after the bitches went away. Oh well.
In any case, instead of saying "I want to see my parents", I just kept on asking for my at-the-time-boyfriend.
I imagine that would suck for a parent.
I was in and out for a while. I briefly remember seeing my boyfriend of the time and my parents. ...Then, I was told to get up, and a nice lady was helping me. The problem was that I was in a little hospital gown and the curtain to separate my side of the room from the creepy old man next to me was pushed open.
I attempted to grunt that I wanted it closed or that my ass should be covered in some way or that in general I was just exposed and helpless and everything was horrible...
I failed.
Now, in order to let me leave, they had to know that I had peed to some extent.
...Hooo boy this was complicated for my tiny drug addled brain.
See, she put this thin rope in my right hand, and I'm right handed, and the toilet paper was on the right side of my body. She told me that if I dropped the rope, she'd know I'd keeled over and she'd come in to make sure I was okay.
...Well, I wasn't about to fall over or die, but I sure as Hell couldn't figure out how to get that rope into my left hand, or how to reach over to get the toilet paper.
So, I dropped the string and happily touched the toilet paper. I distinctly recall feeling proud that I had made it so far, like I had solved some very intricate puzzle.
Well, thinking I had fallen and couldn't get back up, Super Nurse came in to rescue me.
She looked at me.
I looked at her, confused.
She put the rope back into my hand.
I looked at it, then attempted to explain the problem to her, but she was already gone.
I'm not sure what happened next. I must have done something that was close to peeing by myself, as they let me out... but I don't really remember anything between that and going home.
What's upsetting is that I have a lot of stories like these.
