Days Ten, Eleven, and Twelve--Life is What Happens

I should have known that as soon as I got loud about embracing my busy-ness, something would happen to stop me in my tracks. Actually, this was more like an unexpected speed bump that threw me into the air, causing me to plunge awkwardly to the ground before regaining my composure and continuing on my way. The car still works; I just feel a little silly for not being more careful.

Such is my story. It was Wednesday, day ten. Lunch was barely tolerable for me. Steve came to terms with it, but I just couldn't. I naively thought that capers and kalamata olives would be able to dress up packaged tuna enough to make it taste good; I was wrong. I've had to let go of that meal and move on. Working out helped. Dinner, on the other hand, was a miracle. I made my very first red Thai curry at home. It had the tender crunch of just-cooked yellow bell pepper, silky mushrooms, and rich coconut milk all balanced with the spice of the curry paste. Four bites from the end, I switched from chopsticks to a spoon so as not to leave a drop of the deliciousness in the bowl. After dinner, I got to work on Thursday's lunch. Feeling practically high on the success of dinner, I brazenly pulled out the mandolin my mother had given me to slice an eggplant into perfectly even slices. Ten seconds later, I was holding my bleeding thumb under a running tap.

In retrospect, I'm amused by the thought process that occurred immediately after this happened. It was strikingly similar to the five stages of grieving. 1) Denial: Nothing happened. I can take care of this. I'll just put this piece of my thumb (hereafter referred to as "the thing") in the trash, wrap up my hand, and move on with life. No one ever has to know. 2) Anger: I cannot believe I did this! (When I realized that I was bleeding very badly.) I AM SUCH AN IDIOT! WHO USES A MANDOLIN WITHOUT THE SAFETY THINGY?!?!?! 3) Bargaining: Lord, if you'll get me out of this mess without deformity, I promise I'll never cook again without using every safety tip I've ever heard in my life. 4) Depression: I'll be deformed for life! (After I finally screamed for Steve, who was just settling into bed to get plenty of rest for his 5 a.m. wake-up call.) How can you love me when part of my thumb is missing? Oh, God, I'm a freak of nature. My thumb is never going to stop bleeding... 5) Acceptance: Okay, drama queen. It's going to be fine. (After calling Momma in Louisiana, who called her hand surgeon friend at home, who called me and talked me off a ledge and told me to meet him in the emergency room.) So after picking the thing out of the trash and placing it in a baggy (poor, poor Steve), racing to the emergency room (did I mention that Steve was already medicated?), and paying the nice lady with the clipboard one hundred dollars (which hurt almost as badly as my newly-trimmed digit), we were headed back home with lots of bandages and thoughts only of sleep.

My predominant thought as I lay in bed (besides the constant replaying of that fateful moment) was that I have way too much to do for something like this to happen. I have to cook and work out and get my classroom and lessons ready. I tried to let it all go and just go to sleep. Unfortunately, I jammed my thumb about twenty times in the middle of the night, so what sleep I got was perpetually interrupted with internal cries of pain.

Thursday morning I woke up feeling beaten up. My thumb was throbbing, and my other arm felt like it had been punched repeatedly where the nurse had come up to me without a single word of warning and injected a tetanus vaccine. I grunted out of bed and went downstairs to figure out how I was going to tackle ordinary tasks. Until my thumb heals, I have to do everything with my right index and middle fingers. I'm right-handed, of course. I look like a lobster trying to use a knife and fork. I managed fairly well, though. In fact, I managed fairly well all day. I still had double pet duty after breakfast, then I had to meet my students who were at their leadership workshop. Each year, the SCA sponsor and a couple of other school officials are invited for a meeting and lunch during the week-long workshop. Of course they all wanted to know what had happened. I ended up telling the story about four times, the final version being, "I decided my thumb was a little too big." I took a two-hour nap when I finally got back home. (By the way, lunch was not exciting. Just lettuce with Italian dressing and a little bit of what they were calling barbecued beef brisket. Steve picked up a salad from Chick-fil-A.)

I am monumentally proud of dinner, though. I managed to make a really amazing skillet of coq a vin without my right thumb. I used wings instead of breasts for a little variety and sipped a glass of the cab franc that went into the skillet with the chicken as I tended to dinner. After forty-five minutes, I had this fragrant concoction of thick, herby sauce, fall-off-the-bone chicken, and tender vegetables. I made up my mind that if I could still do that, I could still do anything. After Steve went to bed and I had finished putting together the lunch that I was trying to finish the night before, I worked out. I subbed out the hour-long stretch routine for yoga because the yoga workout puts a lot of strain on the hands and arms, but I still did something.

Today, day twelve, I woke up with even more pain and a gigantic knot in my tetanus arm. Thankfully, today was much more relaxing than the rest of the week has been. After the pets were taken care of, I basically had an entire day of scheduled social activity: visit my friend Jeanette, whom I've known since high school and who just had her second baby, a quick stop at home to eat lunch (roasted eggplant slices rolled up with a heavenly cheese mixture, then topped with grilled shrimp and homemade red pepper pesto) and change into my swimsuit, then to the home of Susan, one of my favorite co-workers, to sit by her pool and catch up with her and Renee, another fabulous co-worker. Too soon I had to head back home to prepare for my brother's arrival for a dinner of grilled steaks, baked potatoes, and my favorite salad. Rob had a date tonight, and I wanted to help take the edge off. We had a couple of drinks (my Skinny Girl Margarita had an umbrella in it), watched a little baseball, and discussed dating strategy. I hope it's going well.

Despite the pain in my arm, I was determined to work out. After Rob headed to Ghent for his date and Steve went to a friend's for a little poker/fantasy football planning, I dragged myself upstairs, donned my workout wear, and sweated my butt off for the next hour. It's a small thing, but I'm really proud of myself for not missing a workout or a good meal. It reminds me that if I keep doing well with these little things, maybe one day I'll be entrusted with more.