Vignettes from the last three weeks of my life, or, The Catch-Up Post

So, I thought I was being nice. I was trying to be a good granddaughter. On the way home from work, I called my grandmother. We were having a lovely conversation, so I didn’t hang up once I actually opened the door to my empty townhouse. Ashley and Sarah were out shopping, and I’d told them I would make eggplant parmesan for dinner. I was looking forward to the evening catharsis that cooking provides me, as it had been a long day.

Chatting away with grandma, I cut the eggplant and prepared the sauce, the breading. Then I realized the pans I needed were in the broiler. I rolled my eyes because I, planning ahead or so I thought, had already turned the oven on a good fifteen minutes before. Grabbing a potholder, I opened the broiler. Almost predictably, the pans fell behind the broiler shelf as I pulled it out. Instinctively, I reached to retrieve the pans with my right hand – the one with the potholder. I managed to wrestle them out while carrying on conversation.

It wasn’t until the pans were out of the broiler I’d realized I’d laid the side of my hand on the broiler itself. The burn consisted of half exposed flesh where the skin had burned off, and the other half was already beginning to blister. I quickly realized I’d never burned myself quite so badly before. This is where multitasking inevitably leads.

A few days later, I asked a coworker, who worked in an emergency room many moons ago, if it was healing up alright. In his deep southern accent, he pronounced the verdict.

“Yeah, that’s al’ight. If it was infected, yer hand would be half falling off.”

As I begin to question my sanity at asking him for medical advice, he asked, “what the #$%^’d you do, stick yer hand in an oven?”

No comment.

Since then, I have been amazed at our bodies’ ability to heal themselves. My hand isn’t completely back to normal yet, but I no longer need to wear a band aid to avoid the constant question of “what happened to your hand?” Can you imagine if you had a visible scar for every scrape, scratch, pimple, or cut we accumulated throughout out lives? Some of us (myself included) wouldn’t be allowed to go out in public. Healing is a beautiful thing.

***

Since the adventure of the broiler apparently did not teach me that my lack of attentiveness can have permanent consequences, however, there was the adventure of the chili cookoff a few days later. We are a rather culinarily inclined office, so having a universally acclaimed entry is something to be proud of – so you have to understand how seriously I was taking this cookoff.

After simmering overnight, my entry was now en route to its final destination. I placed the crock pot next to me in the back of Ashley’s brand new Corolla and promptly went about my usual task once I get in the car on the way to work: touching up my makeup. That was all well and good until we turned (and I mean turned) onto the HOV lane. I was preoccupied with eye shadow, but my priorities quickly changed as I watched the crock pot tip over in seeming slow motion. Now, the back seat of Ashley’s brand new Corolla looked more like a Civil War-era amputation table.

We pulled over, and Ashley and Sarah – both infinitely quicker on their feet than I – started scooping chili out with plastic bags. I was petrified, silently lamenting as I watched my hard work pouring onto the side of 395.

It got really rich when a state trooper pulled on the other side of the HOV lane and asked over his loudspeaker, “Is everything okay?” Ashley and Sarah responded in the affirmative, and he was on his way. If you wonder why he didn’t investigate further, simply consider what steaming piles of chili (it was thirty degrees or so) on the side of the road most closely resembles.

Since Ashley the Resourceful keeps bottled water in her trunk, we worked hard to keep the stain moist for the rest of the drive. Upon getting to work, she went to CVS and liberally applied a bottle of stain remover to her car’s carpeting. Thankfully (for her, and me), the stain appears to have come out completely. The car doesn’t even smell like cumin. Therefore, it is now just a rather amusing story – and according to Ashley, justification for her in the event that she spills something on my wedding dress. The Corolla-wedding analogy is lost on me, but that’s fine. I’m just glad we can laugh about it.

However, to add insult to injury, what was left of my chili came in third place.

***

I was just getting ready to tell another story – the one about my laptop crashing – but realized it sounds like I am simply cataloging all the lousy stuff that has happened in the last few weeks. I would hate to leave you, dear reader, with that impression. For all their difficulties, recent weeks have been good, too. It’s snowed a couple times. I got a new cubicle, one by the window, and a new title (Legislative Aide). Not really a promotion so much as a “what, you’re still here?”, but that’s fine by me. I was able to see Kelly, Kate, and Weebix (check out the Sauer-to-be’s blog here) a few weeks ago, which was fantastic. That same weekend, I make the trek to Purcellville and had a good time reminiscing, and, I think, healing.

I’ve also discovered that, despite no one really knowing what the 90s were all about, that decade produced a surprising amount of good music. If you don’t believe me, check out my new favorite Internet radio station – AccuRadio’s Magic Sunny 90s & Today. I’m also finally getting around to tasks way overdue – like organizing my closet so it looks like I’m sticking around for more than a week (since I’ve been here over two years), making dentist and optometrist appointments, and scrapbooking (the last event I did was Felicity and Chris’ wedding – over a year ago. Eek).

Sarah and Ashley and I have also been taking one another to task in some good ways in recent weeks. It’s awesome to see how God can use people to be “iron sharpening iron” if they are only willing. And it’s sort of shocking to see that when we pray, God acts. Try it lately if you haven’t – praying for something, I mean. I know it’d been a while for me. Since I’m not trying for a specific job or grad school or anything and many of my concerns are long term, I’d not been in the habit of praying for specifics – just “bless this, bless that.” And there’s nothing wrong with that. But it is also refreshing to see God give you what you ask for, when you ask in His will. I think sometimes we forget that He does actually answer… whether within an hour, a week, or fifty years.

***

Finally, for something completely different, there was yesterday.

Something happened yesterday that has never happened before and will probably never happen again. I will spare you the many details, but to make a long story short, there was a chance that I might be able to attend a much-hyped event officially known as the Health Policy Ball. We call it Health Prom. Yes, I am acutely aware of how stupid that sounds. But you also have to understand that for nearly the last two years, I have been immersed in all things healthcare – to the point that being able to attend this event would be really special to me. Plus, it was a chance to wear my inaugural ball dress again, and I don’t know when I will ever have that opportunity.

As I was on the phone with my connection to the prospective ticket, another Hill staffer who is a friend of my office. Well aware of what was going on, my guys started going bezerk at the prospect of Leeann going on a date (which, by the way, not what it would’ve been at all, but that’s part of what makes this so funny). After loud cat calls and absurd jokes, they started singing “Stand By Me” in unison at the top of their lungs, to the point that I had to put the poor guy on hold so I could run to the boss’ office to get details on the situation.

It didn’t work out, as the ticket ended up being needed for someone probably more important in healthcare than I will ever be. But the whole ordeal was worth it just to hear the guys sing - and they were actually pretty good, for a bunch of policy wonks.