Saturday, September 29, 2012

The Soup Fiasco

So, for those of you who don't know, last Sunday I went to the emergency room for burns on my hands. Here's the full story.

After waiting until the last minute to take my lunch break at work, I went over to safeway and bought a bowl of baked potato soup. I then spent most of my break standing in line waiting to pay for the damn thing.  By the time I got back to work, my soup was warm, but not hot.  For me, this is unacceptable. I love my soups piping hot, like lava.  Sure, I may burn my tongue a bit, but that's part of the magic of soup, right?

Hello, delicious.

So, I took my soup to the breakroom and put it in the microwave (set to the "lava" setting) for a few minutes.  While I waited for my soup, I joked around with one of the therapists about how we both need our foods to be super hot (that's the only way to eat food, really.  Except for ice cream.), and before I knew it, the soup was done. Huzzah!

I grabbed the container from the microwave and I could see the soup was still bubbling (perfection); the container was hot, so I set it down quickly to grab some paper towels to put between the container and my fingers. And then I slowly moved my way towards the door, container in both hands.  As I reached for the handle with my pinkie (remember, I'm holding the soup container with both hands), one of the therapists pushes the door from the other side.

You can probably see where this is going.



The soup (which was filled almost to the top of the container) spills over onto my hands-- this hot, starchy soup that only seconds before was bubbling, fresh out of the microwave, like lava in a bowl-- and I dropped the container, soup splashing across the floor and on my clothes. I don't remember screaming, but apparently I did, probably from the shock of it.  I ran to the sink to get the soup off of my hands, running them under the tap, and I realized then that I was crying. I tried to stop, but the tears kept falling and I continued to attempt to stifle my sobs before I realized that my hands REALLY hurt. I looked at them and they were a deep red, and it felt like they were on fire.  I've never been burned before, so I didn't know it would hurt so bad!

The time between being burned and being picked up by my mother is a bit of a blur of tears and ice packs, but suffice it to say that I lost my shit a little.  There was some child-like sobbing and sorry attempts to self-soothe via deep breathing, but it took a good 15 minutes for me to calm down, as freaked out as I was.  I had to have a coworker call my mother to pick me up (I don't have a car, or a license) and at some point one of the therapists convinced me to go to the hospital. SO, with ice packs tied to both hands, I ended up in the ER, hands now tolerably numb, as a douche-bag male nurse called my burns an "owie" and told me that the pain I was experiencing was actually not a big deal, just like a sunburn.  Tell that to my hands, dude.

After 3 hours in the ER, they gave me a topical cream, bandaged up my hands, and gave me a prescription for Vicodin (which I promptly discarded-- I'm not big on prescription drugs and much preferred the ice packs).  I spent the next 4 days with my hands wrapped, changing the gauze and adding more cream daily.  I looked like a cage fighter.  The current status of my hands: in good condition.  The pain is gone, there was no infection, and although I still have some discoloration, it's fading, and will probably be gone in the next week or so. My skin heals remarkably fast, so I'm not too worried.

Post-ER.
And in case you were wondering, I did eventually get to eat some soup. And it was delicious.

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