These Hands

Sunday:  My hands have dried out.  Badly.  To the point where I have developed a large crack on the right thumb.  It bleeds, then dries, then bleeds again. 

Monday:  Whilst draining perogies, I fail to predict the path the boiling water will take.  I scald myself at the base of the left index finger.  More than 20 seconds off ice makes it hurt so bad I go snaky.  I find some old Tylenol 3s leftover from dear daughter’s birth a year and a half ago.  I am finally able to sleep.  The next morning, the whole hand feels strained, tired.

 Tuesday:  Within 20 minutes of each other, my children both “accidentally” assault my hands.  The boy takes the left one out, with a piece of dowling.  The girl is more subtle, and simply drops The Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on the right hand.  I cry as silently as possible. 

Today:  I am attempting to make fast food “baby-sized” at the food court of a mall.  As I tear apart a rather innocuous looking chicken nugget, I am rewarded with a rush of steam which removes all sensation from my fingertips.  Then, sensation returns in the form of searing/throbbing pain. 

I am sure there is some deeper meaning to all of this drama surrounding my hands. 

I don’t know what it is.

Any guesses?

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2 responses to “These Hands

  1. Ginny, I don’t know what you can do about all this hand abuse, but for the chapping problem, Neutrogena Norwegian formula hand cream is the only thing that works for me.

  2. You used to be a nurse, right, Kitty? You would know about dry hands, so I’ll have to grab some of that cream. Thanks!

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