Sick Sense Of Fun


I haven’t had a job since last June, when Grandma told Mom and I to move to take care of her.  So, it’s been a while since I have worked.  And then, Mom had her seizer, so she couldn’t work.  I was the one who had to get a job and start bringing money into the house.

And you know what?  I did…for two weeks.

I got a job at the nearest gas station’s deli.  It wasn’t bad, not compared to my last job.  I actually rather enjoyed it.

Until Wednesday.

We (myself and the person I worked with) cleaned out one of the fryers.  They filled it up with water, and boiled it.  They drained it, and as we hauled the heavy pan thing full of approximately 212 degree water outside…

Splash. All over my feet.

Did I cry? No. Did I yell and scream in pain? Nope. Did it hurt? Oh yea.

I stood there, letting myself feel the burn that my feet were enduring. After a while, it subsided, and we walked back inside. I quickly, or as fast as my feet would allow, walked over to a stool and took a seat. My feet…oh my goodness. I looked at the clock. I can last three more hours. Really I can. I took a look at a small part of my foot to see a blister. I knew I was going to have one, I was just burned like I had never been burned before.

After an hour I told the person I worked with that I had a blister, and they told me to take off my shoes and socks. What I saw was not what I was expecting. It’s too gross to show you, that’s why I didn’t. A huge blister had formed from one side of my foot to the other, horizontally. So gross. The shift manager told me to go home, so I did.

The pain. The. Pain. A seven, maybe even an eight on my pain scale. After I bandaged it and took an Advil the pain went away, but oh my goodness, never again.

So now, I have a huge blister on my left foot (only a small one by my right big toe), and I have to sleep in a chair because I don’t want to roll over on my foot and pop that nasty looking thing… No.

It’s funny, when my Grandma was alive and had her PEG tube, we got loads of gauze and tape for her wound. When she died, we had all of this stuff left over. Who knew I’d need it for this, six months later?

I won’t be going back to work for a while. It was hard enough getting my pants off with these second degree burns. I can’t even wear a shoe.

I don’t know if I can even go back. I don’t know how long I’ll be out. Do I even wantto go back? I might have to. I can drive, there’s nothing wrong with my right foot. But I can’t do much else.

So, I’m not working. Again. BUT! On the bright side, I can:
Finish my short story
Beta read a story for a friend
Try to finish another story that I wanted to finish since I got here
And whatever else I’m supposed to do…

My mother is being a fantastic nurse. She’s a real trooper. It’s not like I can’t get up and walk, but it’s hard. I’m not as fast as her now, so she just gets up and does stuff for me. It’s different, I’m always the one taking care of her.

I don’t know, you guys. Life is pretty interesting right now.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

P.S. This is my 100th post!

5 thoughts on “Sick Sense Of Fun

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