Le monde de fromage de Kate

Yesterday. Right ankle. WAS NOT MY FAULT – there was a rug and I was discarding a doggy “pee pad” (which the poor geriatric dog had partially MISSED – thus there was a PUDDLE, too) and all factors colluded against me to twist one of my weak ankles and cause me to collapse to the floor (fortuitously AWAY from the urine). It was the more common “inversion injury”:

I don’t expect sympathy at this point. Oh no. I just thought that I’d take this opportunity to selflessly educate others through my pain.

For the second time in a few short months, I recognized that I did retain a few USEFUL facts from the myriad quizzes I took while working in health care (even though I resented them as I worked in an office setting and they were primarily about clinical issues – you know – don’t stand in a puddle of blood* and whatnot). I wrote the following comment on Terry’s site when I was noting that symptoms for heart attack are often VERY DIFFERENT in men and women:

Realizing I learned SOMETHING from the stupid certification tests they made us take when I worked for a hospital that I bitched about because I did “office work” and didn’t want to know what the “gray area” meant in case of a catastrophic disaster (DON’T GO THERE, THEY MEANS THEY ARE JUST GOING TO LET YOU DIE).

What came back to me upon this special occasion was the mnemonic device/acronym “R.I.C.E.” to be used in the treatment of sprains or strains. And what is “R.I.C.E.”, one may ask (other than the staple food of myriad countries)? I will impart this wisdom forthwith.

If you strain or sprain a limb (and you KNOW it’s a sprain or strain because there are no bones sticking out of your flesh or a number of other clues that you can look up YOURSELF that might denote something OTHER than a sprain), do the following:

• R – Rest the affected limb. No swing dancing. No line dancing. No Lamabada: The forbidden dance.
• I – Apply Ice to the area. You can use a cold pack (one that comes with a cover – MY favourite – or improvise with a towel so you don’t inadvertently play “Antarctica”) or a bag of frozen peas.

  Okay – pardonnez-moi – but what is it with the whole “pea” thing? They always say frozen peas. I understand that they are often handy – right there in your own home, and because they are small and spherical the bag is flexible and can conform to your injury. And they ARE my favourite vegetable. But what about CORN (or, as some people call it, “Maize”)? Are we being all “anti-starch” even for EXTERNAL applications?

  Don’t leave ice on the sprain for more than thirty minutes (or less) at a time. Like I said, don’t accidentally play “Arctic frostbite.” You can continue periodic use of ice for seventy-two hours.

• C – Compression wraps or bandages can help support the injury and prevent further swelling. Be careful not to cut off your blood supply to the extremity. You don’t want to unintentionally play “amputee.” Compression wraps – and afterwards even a brace of some sort (I’d leave Popsicle sticks out of this one) – can be helpful for three days or longer (especially the brace).
• E – Elevate the injured area. This also helps reduce or prevent swelling.

  I must confess that I initially forgot what the “e” stood for (Exorcism? Eroticism? Ebonics?). But I remembered all by myself. My Parents are very proud. They didn’t assist me with my Kolege edjukation for NUTHIN. And they know how important a degree in music is when it comes to first aid.

If you take the aforementioned steps as soon as possible after the injury you will heal faster. Post haste, I say! Over-the-counter pain relievers can be comforting (and stronger pain relievers MIND-BOGGLING). Avoid any medication that makes you want to dance or undulate or writhe uncontrollably. Oh – and rent crutches and milk it for all it’s worth, Baby!

Now you cannot say I never told you SOMETHING educational. And no, I’m not a doctor, nor have I ever played one on TV. Well, this one time I did play a woman in an “industrial” film who was exceedingly concerned about the fact that her friend’s child seemed to be running a temperature. I believe one of my lines was, “Shouldn’t we call a doctor???!!!!” Ah, the leaning in closer to her and the furrowed brow and the perfect emphasis on the word “doctor” – not too much, not too little – OOOHHHHHH the pathos. And it was all ME.

*I kid you not – someone said this to us at an orientation session during a “safety” lecture (I think he even further clarified that it was worse to stand in a puddle of blood while touching electronic equipment). He was a nurse. Admittedly, I NEVER – not even once – stood in a puddle of blood while I worked in health care.

[The furious, cacophonous racket and din of Kate constructing her Brilliant Time Machine.]*

[The whizzing, whirring of the Brilliant Time Machine in use.]

[Kate arrives fortuitously into an earlier portion of the day.]

[The phone rings: Monkey to Maaaaan!!!! Monkey to Man.....] “‘Allo, Msr. Pants,” says Kate. [Now she listens intently, not "riffing" or interrupting with any garrulous non-sequiturs.]

The Departed? I’d love to! I’ll meet you there. Ciao!

*For those “not in the know,” if it’s in these brackets – [ ] – they are stage directions.

I just thought give you an update on my first day teaching music hour for Leif’s Kindergarten class (from which he was ABSENT today – Janet claims strep throat, but I think she just wants him to have as little of my influence as possible). As I’d mentioned in the comments to the previous entry, I couldn’t “WAIT to terrify a bunch of five-year-olds with slightly tenuous control of their bladders.”

Fortuitously, several friends came through with some excellent suggestions. Zina suggested:

You should tell the kids that that’s what happens to you when you do drugs.

Yes, INDEED. Though I’m not sure I’d know how to explain dangerous TOPICAL chemicals, such as thioglycolate, to that age group (even though I also ended up with the more (theoretically) sophisticated first-grade class as well – only TEN kids – private school ROCKS).

Jenny was MOST helpful:

Just wear a neckerchief over the lower half of your face and sing cowboy songs or “She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain” or something like that. Use the little sand-paper blocks for the train sounds, and dowels to make the horsey clip-clop noises and let them gallop around the room. And ALWAYS pass out some sort of sweets at the end. The point is to draw as much attention away from your grossly, appallingly disfigured visage as possible.

…I’m afraid that if you don’t create a major distraction the entire class will spend all of “music time” staring at your big ol’ sores with their mouths hanging open and glazed, half-horrified/ half-fascinated looks on their faces.

NOTE: I have expurgated her self-deprecating remarks (here, anyway) because she has not SEEN my current facial situation, and she has the visage of an angel, damn it.

Here’s an irony: I’d actually considered (okay – WISHFULLY imagined) using some kind of stereotypical “far east” face veil. You know – those mysterious ones that obscure the bottom of your face. AND, as in the movies, you must make bedroom eyes while wearing one and cast ostensibly bashful sidelong glances (surreptitiously imbued with unadulterated LUST and SEX) at attractive males. Oh – and you have to wear “harem” pants.

While I do have zils, I do NOT have a face veil nor harem pants. Moreover, I don’t know any old Turkish music (circa the Ottoman Empire). Okay – I don’t know any NEW Turkish music either. Nor do I have any ancient Persian songs in my repertoire.

I do, however, own a bandanna, as well as an instrument that makes a train whistle sound, claves, AND sandpaper and wooden blocks and I can ACTUALLY REMEMBER THE LYRICS to She’s Comin’ Around the Mountain. I can also gallop. So why didn’t this much more LOGICAL option occur to me?

Well, it’s because, as I recently explained to someone, “Kate Logic” has half the fat of “regular” logic. And logic “lite” (I’m not especially fond of that spelling/term, but it seemed apropos here) has all the TASTE of “regular” logic, but substitutions have been made in the ingredients for the sake of the health-conscious. OR, the product has been whipped and whipped so that it contains many tiny air pockets, therefore rendering a serving lower in calories. “Kate Logic” is like that, too.

But, getting back to the music class, playing “cowgirl” today would have been a rather inappropriate choice, as it turns out that today was “Native American” day. They’d been learning all about Native American culture and history, and when I arrived they were all decked out in headbands, “leather” vests made of brown grocery sacks, and strings of beads. Their endeavor to be multicultural and P.C. might have made “Kate the Cowgirl” seem insensitive.

In the end, I started the class by introducing myself, and then promptly acknowledging that that they were probably curious about my face, as I would have been, and that I’d had an allergic reaction to some cream I’d used and it had made sores on my face. I added that it was NOT contagious, no one could “catch it” from me.

Their response was less than “Ho Hum,” it was non-existent; they couldn’t have cared less. Instead, someone immediately wanted to know if I could do magic tricks (alas, not in my skill set) and said something to the effect of “wouldn’t it be cool if I could make something disappear.” (OOOOH! Like my HIDEOUS FACIAL LESIONS or my PERSONAL DEBT or my DEBILITATING DEPRESSION or – even better – WARFARE, POVERTY AND DISEASE THROUGHOUT THE WORLD? Of course he meant like a coin or a rhythm shaker…) And they ALL were desperate to know what was in the egg shakers I’d brought. For those who have not seen me perform with breathtaking skill utilizing my vast rhythm egg collection, they usually look something like this:

I made them patiently wait to find out. You’d have thought their little lives depended on knowing about those silly eggs. Ah – that age before you are jaded, cynical and world-weary; I long for the time in my life when simple pleasures were enjoyed so effortlessly.

Oh – P.S. We had a great deal of fun. The children were delightful.

I thought I should try to explain why I HAD this potentially hazardous product (as though it somehow mitigates the imprudent circumstances under which I injured myself with it). When Sarah was between rounds of chemo, she’d grow head stubble (because her hair, like I said, has magic beanstalk properties). The fuzz irritated her to no end. Because she had a Central Broviac® Catheter, she was not supposed to shave or use scissors or brandish a cleaver at herself, so I saw ran across this product in the store and thought it might be a solution to her problems:

Here’s the product endorsement:

VEET® FACIAL CREAM KIT

Specially formulated for smoothness and long-lasting results, the new VEET® Facial Cream Kit has a gentle depilatory cream and moisturizing cream which are clinically proven to minimize irritation.

Both creams condition your skin with rich shea butter. The kit also includes the VEET® Perfect Touch Hair Removal Spatula for easy application and removal. It’s designed for easy, mess-free use, with smooth edges that protect delicate facial skin.

Take the sensitivity out of facial hair – in more ways than one – with the new VEET® Facial Cream Kit.

As is turns out, Shirleen broke the rules, and used her years of experience as a former dog groomer to gently and carefully shave Sarah’s head. So the “Facial Kit” has been in one of my bathroom drawers for ages.

It occurred to me that it might be the IDEAL product to take the essentially invisible peach fuzz off my face (Ladies, if you haven’t hit your mid twenties or later – just you wait – you’ll get more furry, I assure you). It sounded like using this product was as easy and soothing as gently caressing wondrously soft wee sleeping kittens on your face and then smoothing on sumptuous cream that gave you a visage rivaling the finest and most luxurious silk.

Is it redundant to say I really should know better?

I did read the instructions carefully. However, I disregarded the part about doing a patch test “in a small area and waiting 24 hours before using product to ensure you have no adverse skin reactions. Contains thioglycolate.*” Believe it or not, though I am Kate the Safety Dog, I don’t ever patch test or strand test – not with skin products, not with detergents and such (to see if they dissolve or discolour fabric OR cause fatal allergic reactions). I realize that this is incongruous, but in addition to being Kate the Safety Dog, I am wont to be EXTREMELY IMPATIENT at times

Thus, I jumped right on in. In accordance with the instructions, I spread a “thick coating” of the depilatory cream on clean, dry skin. I did NOT rub it in. Ah – a noticeable tingling stinging sensation…

That’s when things got dicey. I’d already disregarded the patch testing section under the “CAUTION” section on the box. I’d also read this “caution”:

If discomfort and irritation occurs during use, remove the product immediately and rinse area with cold water.

In most circumstances, the recommended length of time to allow the product to remain on your skin is UNDER five minutes, ten minutes maximum. I was aiming for the minimum. Regrettably, three to four minutes is not a long time to muse about what constitutes genuine “discomfort” and/or “irritation.” I clearly have a high tolerance for physical “irritation” and/or “discomfort” OR I rationalize to an absurd extent. Perhaps BOTH.

The next step was to remove the cream with the magic VEET® spatula.

The soft ends of the spatula gently glide over the contours of the face, ensuring that the hair is effectively removed.

How FUN; I just love tools! I started to “gently glide” over my face with the magic spatula. I knew instantaneously that I was in trouble. As I insinuated previously, I am NOT a wimp, but each stroke of the the spatula caused me to cry ALOUD with profound and horrific pain. It was something to the effect of, “Ouch, ouch, OWWWWW, OUCH, OUCH, [insert your choice of profanity here], OUCH OUCH OUCH, AHHHHHHHHHH, OUCH, [insert something so vulgar here that sailors all around the world blushed], OOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!.” It was like removing several layers of one’s epidermis with a butter knife.

THEN it was time to “wash off residue using cold water.” I was astonished to find that it was WORSE than scraping the cream off with the “gently gliding” spatula. This process, as you would expect, caused another loud burst of similar…oration as aforementioned.

After “patting” my face dry (believe it or not, I was still attempting to follow the directions), I applied the moisturizing cream. VEET® said, “Moisturizing Facial Cream is enriched with Vitamin E to leave your feeling beautifully soft and smooth.” Is that so? I believe, instead, that the opaque nature of this substance (at least when you first apply it) serves as a kind of spackle to hide the hideous sores and lesions that may have resulted from the treatment; then one doesn’t go into immediate shock. The cream hurt like hell, too.

I have learned SO MUCH (as usual, the hard way). Another caution from the package is, “After use, wait 24 hours before applying an antiperspirant, perfume or astringent lotion.” Believe me, there was NO CHANCE WHATSOEVER that I was going to apply “astringent lotion” to my face. If water and AIR hurt my face, anything astringent was RIGHT OUT. I am just not enough of a masochist as to splash gruesome sores with – say – isopropyl alcohol. Yes, call me “WIMPY” and while you’re at it put a hold on those bamboo splinters to shove under my fingernails.

The embarrassing thing (as usual) is that it was my fault. It says – IN BOLD – right on the package, “Failure to follow use directions and precautions may result in chemical burns.” They ain’t whistlin’ Dixie.

True enough, some people might choose to blame repulsive disfigurement on the product, but I believe the old adage, “A bad carpenter blames his tools.” Wait – or is that, “A crappy artist shouldn’t blame the paint.” No… Maybe it’s, “Blame YOURSELF, not your TOOL, Guys.” You get the idea.

Here’s a case in point. While I was searching for an image of the VEET® Facial Cream Kit I ran across a complaint registered with the Consumer Complaints Division of the U. S. Department of Health and Human Services, U. S. Food and Drug Administration, Center for Food Safety and Applied Nutrition, Office of Cosmetics and Colors. There, in a table of adverse reactions to various products, was a complaint for THIS VERY PRODUCT. They have numbers indicating the “Code Injury Complaint” and the “Code Body Part.” These were the two “Code Injury Complaint” i.d.’s indicated:

14 Dermatitis (to include rash, redness, swelling, blisters, sores, weeping, lumps, inflammation, sunburn, chemical burn, and irritation)

19 Pain (to include itching, stinging, burning, soreness, and tingling)

Sounds about right. EXCEPT, when I found out which “Code Body Part” designated, any sympathy I might have felt for the complainant evaporated. They had put the product all over their LEGS. Mind you, though this product (theoretically) shouldn’t cause a problem with leg hair, it is intended to be used on relatively small areas at one time (hence “facial”). There’s no WAY you could apply it to your legs and remove it within the recommended period of time. Moreover, I sincerely doubt that they patch tested. What an idiot.

After my wanton disregard of the aforementioned cautions, I thought it best to continue to follow all cautions TO THE LETTER. And, since the package said, “If irritation persists consult a physician or call a Poison Control Center,” I called my doctor today (I mean yesterday). Luckily, I communicated with her THROUGH her nurse. I’ve suffered enough recent humiliations with my doctor – and I just love her – with a combination of stupid things that I did and with some potentially serious issues that I injudiciously let slide until they got to a point that they still might have some serious ramifications. And that’s all I’m saying about THAT, as the select few who HAVE heard about these issues have heard enough for the WHOLE WORLD (besides, the partially self-inflicted papule on my left breast has healed, and despite the temptation some days to do so, I am NOT going to blog about my nether regions. At least not right now).

My physician suggested cortisone cream, which I’m sure will help eventually, and I’m currently having some luck with “first aid & burn cream” (it has antiseptic to prevent infection AND it has Lidocaine, which is an analgesic).

Still, I had to spend the last two nights sleeping in a recliner with my head carefully positioned on my travel pillow so that my face didn’t have to touch anything. I am a side sleeper by preference, and finally today I fashioned a system with sterile, nonstick gauze (a great deal of it – to be safe – like my concept of how many napkins – that’s serviettes for the “foreigners” – I need to use) so that I could put the less severely burned portion of my face against a normal pillow and take a nap.

In conclusion, I have a list of a few of the critical things I’ve learned, as well as a few questions:

1. *Contains thioglycolate. ANY TIME that a chemical is mentioned in the DIRECTIONS and/or CAUTIONS (not just the ingredients) – even in such a casual way – that doesn’t bode well.

AND if they say even ONCE and especially if they mention MULTIPLE times a “Poison Control Center,” you are not dealing with something innocuous and mild like baby shampoo, “school” paste or whipped cream.

If you feel desperately compelled to mess with it, at least be judicious and resist the temptation to use industrial strength chemicals. Please avoid self-mutilation.

I felt like going all Phantom of the Opera and screaming, “Don’t LOOK at me! I’m a monster – a MONSTER I tell you!!!

I interrupt the intended disclosure of my Cunning Plan to bring you the following newsflash:

WOMAN WHO SKIPPED “PATCH TESTING” ENDS UP WITH DISFIGURING CHEMICAL BURNS COVERING THE BOTTOM HALF OF HER FACE. MORE AT 11:00.

For now I’ll merely say that I have something rather important to add to THIS list.

I have always considered myself a creative person. And feedback from others seems to support this conclusion. I suppose the possibility exists that I am told, “That’s very…creative,” when the subtext is, in fact, “That’s INSANE and I’m afraid to anger you with an honest response lest you go into a psychotic rage.”

Either way, my imagination (if I, indeed, have one), seems to fail me when it comes to Halloween costumes. Either I cannot come up with a ANYTHING, or I conjure up an ensemble that completely and utterly baffles people.

Years ago, for instance, for the Genetic Research Halloween party, I printed a bunch of white business cards. Right the middle, in a small and (I thought) appropriately characteristic font, I printed the word “Ennui.” My acting chops were decent in those days, and I think I did a very fine interpretation of “Ennui.” No one (with the exception of my dear friend, Boom Boom) understood it AT ALL.

Then there was the last Halloween costume I created (prior to this Halloween, I should say). I was Antarctica. I took a very large white sheet, cut a hole for my head, and donned it over a white turtleneck. This created an excellent and vast white continental expanse. Then I added the indigenous fauna. For this I did RESEARCH. Then I purchased a number of little plush penguins and two varieties of seals, which I safety-pinned onto the sheet in an area which I though seemed like the “coastline.” I skipped the lice and midges, etc. I also skipped the flora entirely (you know – lichens, algae, moss). I didn’t want to interrupt the whole characteristic “ice-storm” and barren vastness impression. I was pleased to have come up with what I presumed was rather a unique design.

I went to a party in this garb. No one got it. I even tried to MAKE some people guess what I was. It was a painful process that took many broad hints to elicit ANY success. Humiliating.

I wondered, in retrospect, if some very tiny research stations and a few minuscule people trekking with little sleds across the most immense and “barren” portion of the continent would have made things more clear. Probably not. And they certainly would have made it uncomfortable to sit down.

So, this year I did not have any high hopes for Halloween inspiration, nor did I have plans that made a costume mandatory. However, I was expecting some of my most FAVOURITE trick-or-treaters. And, because I thought it might be fun for them (?), I actually concocted something. I’ll elaborate in a further entry, because I want to prepare the appropriate accompanying pictures.

Unfortunately, my back and my neck were feeling especially wonky on Halloween (that IS the very scientific medical term, in case you were wondering, and I would know because I’ve worked in the industry). It’s not unusual for my back and neck to BE wonky, but my usual tricks weren’t seeming to improve the…wonkiness. I realized that the symptoms had worsened since – YES – I fell down on Sunday (and NO, I will not discuss how I fell UP the stairs rather than down and the resultant bruises are not up for debate).

I worked throughout the day to improve my range of motion. Finally, at about 5:30 I decided to direct a hot shower onto the area. I should mention that, as I was to be the sole guardian of the trick-or-treat treats and answering the door, I had not only left the porch light off, I was keeping the entire front of the house DARK. When I was young, Halloween had RULES. And these statutes were very clear.

If the porch light was off, you DID NOT ring the doorbell or knock on the door. This was because:

1. The residents were not planning to be home.
2. The residents were Jehovah’s Witnesses and did not observe Halloween.
3. The residents hated children and despised anything that might induce merriment amongst young people.
4. All of the above or any combination thereof.

Obviously, some percentage of new-fangled, “modern” children have not been schooled in proper Halloween etiquette. Thus, as I stepped from the guest room shower and put on a towel that somewhat LACKED in the complete coverage department (my Kingdom for one of my BATH SHEETS), I heard the doorbell ringing. And ringing. And ringing some more. Then I heard fearsome knocking.

On the off-chance that it was some of my most FAVOURITE trick-or-treaters, I thought I’d check the peep-hole; if it was them, I could crack the door, tell them to give me thirty seconds to leave and go get a robe and that they could come on in (when I’d disappeared). As I should have suspected, the porch was covered with COMPLETE STRANGERS (I NEVER should go to the door in completely or semi-inappropriate attire – it’s NEVER the people I’m expecting). In the moments I squinted through the peep-hole trying (IN THE DARKNESS, CHILDREN) to discern who it was, I heard them make the following comments:

UUUHHH! Why don’t they answer the door? What are they doing? Whey aren’t they getting the door? What is the deal? What’s their problem?? THEY ARE WASTING OUR TRICK-OUR-TREAT TIME!!!

It was that last comment that emboldened me. HEAVEN FORBID I should waste their valuable trick-or-treat time, even if they were recklessly and WANTONLY flaunting the rules of appropriate Halloween decorum. So I thought I’d, perhaps, SCARE them.

I grabbed the scary papier-maché pumpkin head containing the “treats,” ensconced myself behind the door, opened it and thrust the pumpkin outside (it really is a rather frightening serving implement; you have to stick your hand into the gaping maw of a this hideous faux gourd and pull the treats from it’s dark interior WHERE ITS GUTS SHOULD BE). I mumbled something about how I’d been in the process of “fixing my back”; I’m sure they couldn’t have cared less. One girl did say, “You probably should get dressed before the next people come.” Hmmm – really? DUH!!! I did feel that at this time I should probably allay their fear that I was behind the door COMPLETEY NAKED. “I’m wearing a TOWEL,” I said defensively. One of the other kids responded, “It’s your costume – ha ha.” As they exited the scene in record time considering there were about seventeen of them and they all had to get their candy THEMSELVES, I attempted some droll comment about my “lady just out of the shower” costume. They did not hear this witty remark, as they were already sprinting towards the next abode, which, I hope, had a darkened porch light so that they wasted MORE precious “trick-or-treat” time in a futile attempt to get someone to the door, when, in their ignorance, they were needlessly flouting the sacred laws of Halloween.

I did successfully resist the temptation to lecture them on CORRECT Halloween protocol. Moreover, I also refrained from sqandering even MORE of their valuable “trick-or-treat” time by giving them a lecture on the origins of Halloween and holding them hostage until they’d identified at least ONE other tradition “related” to Halloween that is currently practiced on or near them same day (I would have accepted All Saint’s Day, All Soul’s Day (or even All Hallow’s Eve as an alternate to either of those), Dia De Los Muertos, Samhain, or even Guy Fawkes Night*). I wouldn’t have considered the fact that I had previously seen a “Halloween” special on The History Channel a few days earlier, bolstering my recollection of many facts and adding some festive new tidbits, at ALL inequitable, taking into consideration that these children were infringing on respectful Halloween customs, AND I WAS BASICALLY NAKED.

Tomorrow I will elaborate on my second and intentional 2006 Halloween costume (which was not without malfunctions and FAILURES).

*Perhaps, in honour of the fairly large percentage of my Euro-Mutt heritage originating in the British Isles, I will from now on just skip Halloween and ho
ld out for Guy Fawkes Night. Burning a straw man in effigy sounds like LOADS of fun. And I believe that with the correct precautions that even I could perform this ritual without harm to myself or others. Probably.

Almost from the beginning, I have regaled reader(s) with stories of my various falls, mishaps and the resultant bruises. But, since I ALWAYS have bruises (more than a dozen at the moment – just on my legs), I suppose it would be rather boring to mention them at all.

HOWEVER, I got a really striking (no pun intended) contusion last week. I barked my shin on something and thought, “That’s going to leave a mark.” This is, I suppose, a very common reflection of mine. But when I saw the resulting bruise, I have to admit that even I was impressed. It wasn’t so much the size (at it’s largest points, 4 1/2 inches wide and 2 5/8 inches long), but its remarkable likeness of something… I mused a while and then it struck me: I had South America on my leg. I’ve said before that my bruises resembled land masses, but never, so accurately and vividly, such a big ol’ continent.

It inspired me, in fact, to memorialize this injury, for all posterity, in an artistic fashion. In order to fit it on the page (and to precisely show the startling resemblance to South America), I had to flip the outline from horizontal to vertical (90° counter-clockwise, to be exact). And here it is:

I stuck to the outline, as I didn’t think I could capture the subtleties of the ever-changing hues and textures. Now, if you have a good memory, you may wonder why I would choose to render this important objet d’art with a Sharpie®, considering a particular incident in my past. Well, it was time to “get back on the horse,” so to speak. Besides, it’s PERMANENT marker (so I can preserve my contusion for time immemorial) and I used it on PLAIN PAPER.

Oh – by the way, I, Queen of Bruising OF THE WORLD, have found a great substance that actually helps bruises fade more quickly. It’s also supposed to help with pain, but I can’t really comment objectively on that, as I find that bruises mostly hurt when you poke them, and I haven’t done the necessary scientific pre- and post-medicinal poking of my bruises to give my opinion.

It’s Arnica (Arnica montana), also known as leopard’s bane. My favorite brand is Boiron Arnica Gel. It’s light and non-greasy (like it advertises – imagine that), and it doesn’t have a lot of extraneous junk in it.:

Arnica gel is also supposed to help with general bodily aches and stiffness. I haven’t tried it in this capacity. For muscle ache and such I like Tiger Balm:

It’s titillating yet soothing. And – BOY – nothing will keep people at least ten feet away from you like the mighty “tang” (or “stench” – a matter of opinion) of Ultra-Strength Tiger Balm.

I once had a roommate who requested my help in performing a bleach intervention. This otherwise incredibly elegant, poised woman was incapable of doing the laundry without ruining some dark-coloured item of clothing by splattering chlorine bleach on it. She said, “TAKE THE BLEACH AWAY!” So I did.

I am now wondering for the very first time if there is any connection to this and the fact that one of the VERY few Spanish phrases I know means “non-chlorinated bleach” (blanqueo sin cloro – and evidently I couldn’t even get this one correct – I was double-checking myself and I was adding a couple of festive rhyming syllables – blanqueadoro sin cloro – which, evidently, means “blanqueadoro without chlorine”). Hmmm. Food for thought.

But, SURPISE, that’s not the point. It’s just that I got to thinking that perhaps – just PERHAPS – it was time that I asked for similar assistance. Unfortunately, there is a whole list of items in my life that require intervention. In other words, if you see me with any of these implements, wielding them in a [self-] threatening manner as though I may ACTUALLY USE THEM, please have pity on me and wrest them from my grip (gently – I WILL hurt myself and upon occasion the random unsuspecting bystander). These objects include, but are not limited to:

• The “freeze-away” type of wart remover. Though I have, in the past, successfully used this item “as directed,” I got a little over-zealous recently and made, well, holes in several of my extremities. I suppose they mean it when they warn against “serious burns and permanent scarring.”

• The so-called “foot cutter” or “callous shaver.” I told the story of this particular debacle here. Perhaps I should enlarge the scope of this point and simply include any tool that has a “sharp long lasting blade made in Germany.” I still have this implement – MWAH HA HA HA HA HA (and other maniacal laughter). Don’t make my feet mad. (?)

• Ah, yes, more “personal hygiene” items. If ever people have wondered why I have, for the most part, embraced a very “natural” look, read what I can do with “beautification” devices and wonder no longer. Someone should DEFINITELY take the “eyebrow waxing” stickers away from me. Again, I have successfully utilized them in the past, but get me in a determined mood and I will harm myself. Several months ago an enthusiastic session with these handy little doo-dads left me with two large scabs where my eyelids once were. True, you won’t BURN yourself with wax that’s too hot, but you can LITERALLY rip the skin right off your face. I tell you, I should have left my eyebrows the HELL ALONE. I addressed other eyebrow issues here and here.

• And in case you were wondering, ignorance IS bliss (or at least protection of sorts). There’s yet another cosmetic device that I recently had the misfortune of identifying. No, I had not known what that thing was (therefore had not deigned to injure myself with it), that little thing in the manicure/pedicure kits that looks like a cross between a shrimp de-veiner, a teeny-tiny grapefruit spoon and some sort of zester. Sadly, I came across something that classified it as a “cuticle remover.” My feet would have no doubt shrieked in terror and run away from me (that sounds really odd – I guess I could have USED my feet to run away from the very sharp little thing but my BRAIN didn’t know any better) if only they had wee mouths. Or big ones. (?) With the first toe, I was very impressed at how swiftly it just sliced away the ugly cuticle. Alas, as you can imagine, with anything sharp that incises (and me), bleeding is the end result.

• Okay, SCREW beauty (it’s safer) and lets talk “home improvement.” I should certainly be restricted in my use of the Mr. Clean™ Magic Eraser™ to situations involving soap scum or tire rub. Same ol’ story, really; a little zeal goes a LONG way. Read about my abuse of this truly fine gizmo here and here. Heaven shield us if I ever get my hands on the Mr. Clean™ Magic Eraser™ Extra Power. It’s very tempting…

• And diamond drill bits. Thank goodness I opted for proper safety goggles (GO, Kate the Safety Dog!). As it was, burning red-hot metal shards that fly willy-nilly through the air – still NOT A GOOD THING.

• Here’s one in which I did have the good-willed intervention of co-workers. When I worked in Genetic Research I really liked drinking my coffee out of the Smurf mug. Alas, I must interrupt this program to say to you, as I repeated ad nauseum to many “inquiring minds” at the time, NO, they cannot CLONE YOU or, for that matter, your HORSE, nor can they put the horse’s DNA on a “CARD” and read it in a few seconds – However, if you suffer from a number of ailments which they are, at the moment, studying, a study coordinator, who may or may not be a very poor phlebotomist, can take your blood and ask you lots and lots of endless questions about the disorder. And they might LOOK AT YOUR BONES or have you BREATHE INTO A MACHINE.

  As for the Smurf mug, I don’t know where it came from (we had quite the collection of random, abandoned mugs, BUT YOU WERE NOT TO TOUCH THE FROG MUG BECAUSE IT BELONGED TO MANAGEMENT). I just thought it was festive – you know – I smurfed my coffee every smurfing day with a smurf and a SMURF and, unfortunately, upon many occasions I spilled and/or hurled the smurfing coffee upon myself and/or important study documents. Smurf. I received, as a thoughtful (and protective) gift, a lovely TWIN set of coffee mugs with safety tops from my co-workers. I kept forgetting to bring these containers to my last job. That was BAD. Anyhoo, if you see my drinking a beverage (especially a hot one) out of a vessel that is not hermetically sealed, I (and possibly anyone nearby) am in imminent danger.

• For your OWN protection, I’ll add the following warnings:
  1. If, perchance, you are ever with me at the movies and we decide to have communal popcorn, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT let me put the salt on it. Let’s just say I like a lot of salt on my movie popcorn. A LOT. I’d probably toss the contents of the bucket with salt licks if it were feasible. Sometimes I actually remember to bring my own little Tupperware salt shaker, but I usually forget…
  2. DO NOT start a conversation (especially a phone conversation) with me if I seem tired. If you think I am the Queen of nonsequiturs and tacit segues HERE… HAH! You must HANG UP IMMEDIATELY (or tell me GO AWAY, PLEASE GO AWAY). I’m tired quite a bit, unfortunately, so there are days it’s just best if I SHUT UP.
  3. When the oxygen masks fall from the ceiling of the airplane always put the mask on YOURSELF before you assist your children (they are smaller and breathe less air, evidently) or prior to assisting the aged and/or infirm (they’re probably sucking down on oxygen anyway). And if if they do not have those tiny little life jackets that look like water wings you are welcome to comfort yourself with the idea that the seat cushion can act as a flotation device (don’t you know they make ALL the finest ocean liners out of the same sub-standard upholstery material because it’s so BUOYANT).

  Oh. And DO NOT run with scissors, as you may be mistaken for a beautician and asked to cut people’s hair WHENEVER.

  I, personally, have NEVER attempted to cut ANYONE’S hair. I have no doubt this is a wise choice. When I was very, VERY young I did cut Shirleen’s eyelashes off with cuticle scissors (DAMN those cosmetic implements!). Oh, CHILL – it was just ONE eye and she let me. The result was disturbing, apparently, though subtle. My Mother just stared at her trying to figure out what was wrong. See? Good thing I was not RUNNING with those little scissors…

Last night, as I was reaching for something from the counter (I almost said “cupboard,” and a little voice in my head said – “You mean counter, don’t you,” – curses on YOU – and you know who YOU are…) AND talking at the same time, and I somehow lost my balance (go back and look at my theory of the invisible people who push me), fell backwards, and landed right on my substantial tookus (or “tokhes” if we want to be especially Yiddish about it). It HURT. That’s impressive, because, as I’ve explained before, my arse is well-padded, to say the least, so I have to hit HARD to impact my pelvic bones. I sat there for a moment, lamenting my ill-fated endeavor to be more savant-like (in other words, trying to walk AND talk AT THE SAME TIME) and saying, “Ouch, ouch, ouch, etc.” Shirleen and Sarah were in the next room. This is how Shirleen responded to my moaning over my aches and (no doubt) potential bruises:

You know, today at the yard sale there was a “Kate.”

Sarah retorted:

So-and-so (I can’t remember this “Kate’s” name) doesn’t fall down THAT much.

I have SURPASSED the eliciting of sympathy for my frequent spills and mishaps. In their defense, I suppose they knew I wasn’t hurt seriously (or FATALLY), because I didn’t STOP TALKING…

Question: If you drive for miles and MILES down the freeway in a snowstorm behind a car with vanity plates reading, “Tropic,” can you blame the snowfall on Universal Irony? Or, better yet, can you blame the drivers of the “Tropic” car?

Confession: Yesterday I did a three’fer. First, in walking the five feet from one room to the adjoining one (in the dark, I grant you – but it was only five feet – RIGHT?) I hit the door-frame with my left cheekbone. I iced that one for a while (I try to keep the bruising OFF of my face as much as possible). It hurt.

Afterward, I had a doctor’s appointment, and I was going to be late (come on, one can FEIGN amazement), so I was running up the stairs from the basement. On the fourth or fifth stair, I somehow tackled BeBe. I, in truth, LANDED ON HER. Now, I’ve stepped on my share of cats (ACCIDENTLY – they DO stand right under your feet sometimes – and they get there so quietly – with “catlike tread,” you know), and have even squashed the wee paws of my own Kitten Children with my clogs that have huge solid wood platform bottoms. They have, thus far, survived without injury. BeBe, however, did not respond well to my substantial mass alighting directly upon her. She ran and hid under the bed in the guest room. In my defense, I must point out that BeBe is INVISIBLE in dim light (or, as one might logically conclude, in the dark), so I could NOT see her at all. I HAD to check and see if she had any serious injury, but she would NOT come out from under the bed. Usually, the rattling of tartar-control treats in a little Tupperware® container causes her to come running from ANY part of the house; if she’s beneath the bed she will pop out so fast you’d think there was a fire under there. But she was evidently too traumatized to respond even to the alluring clatter of TARTAR-CONTROL TREATS! I beseeched and entreated and cajoled, but she was having NONE of it. She’d eat a treat from my hand if I put it right in front of her (with a look on her face like she was doing me a HUGE favour) but that was it. Finally, I had to DRAG her from under the bed to see if her small limbs were intact. After a very cursory examination she ran away so quickly that I was left with the impression that she had no critical wounds. But MY knee hurt.

Lastly, I was in an examination room at the doctor’s office, waiting for my physician to finish with her previous patient. I somehow FLUNG the contents of my largish water bottle to the ground. On its way, it managed to THOROUGHLY soak the chair and chair seat (and my generous posterior in the process), saturate the paperwork on the OTHER side of me, and make a huge puddle on the floor. I used about a bazillion paper towels in the process of soaking it up. When my doctor came in, the floor had a large area covered in spread-out paper towels and I was sitting on a paper towel “cushion.” Upon entering, she asked, “How are YOU?” And I said, in a VERY tragic voice (as though announcing the heartrending deaths of EVERYONE related to me), “I just spilled my water all over.” I have a sneaking suspicion that I ended up with stronger medication than I might have if I hadn’t opened that way. (It was “medication assessment” visit – you know – where I go and say, “That didn’t really work either, but at least it didn’t make me want to hurt anyone or have overwhelming and obsessive thoughts of death.” That’s how it’s gone for the past four years, at any rate.)

Okay, SECRETLY I have one more question. Does this material really appeal to anyone’s perverse sense of amusement? At least then my hurts and wounds and STUPIDITY would have a purpose…