Time To Scratch The Nails

For the last 35 years I have wanted long, beautiful nails that I can paint. No matter what I tried, they would break as soon as the were long enough to peek past my finger tip. Maybe 35 is the magical age for nails, because I have stopped trying and yet they are finally growing strong. In fact, I was just admiring them the other day while applying my new OPI “Don’t Know…Beets Me” shade of pink. Yes that is really the name. I love this brand mostly for their fun and random names.

I have been contemplating how to begin my story so that it is actually believable. It really is true that I scratched my face with my new, beautiful nails last Thursday. It was so small, it didn’t even bleed. No big deal, right? Well, by Friday night it began to hurt during the early Easter service we attended. I’m not sure why I still thought I could ignore it. It doesn’t take long to apply a little Polysporin (Neosporin can cause a serious rash). I woke up on Saturday morning with what looked like a giant zit on my face only ten times more disgusting! This little scratch refused to be ignored, so it took over half of my face. My lips were swollen and were drooping off. This made drinking my iced coffee with a straw almost impossible! My lymphoid began to protrude like a second chin. I immediately gave it my full attention in hopes of looking half way normal before the Easter party we were to attend the next day.

By the end of the night it was looking better, so I didn’t mind when my husband asked me to run to Chipotle for him. Though I didn’t expect it to be packed out. Immediately I became aware of the other patrons’ stares. I tried to keep my head down so as not to make eye contact. I learned form Austin (3 years old) that if I cover my eyes and can’t see you, than you can’t see me.

When I got home I made a new embarrassing discovery. I had walked through Chipotle with my zipper down! I told you this was going to be hard to believe. So now I wondered if people were staring at my wardrobe malfunction or the volcano on my face. I guess if I had looked up to find their eyes I could have known what part of me they were scrutinizing. But, I was “hiding”. Who knows, they were probably enthralled by the whole package and wondering why I was also so aloof.
Easter morning I awaken to find that the “egg” on my face is definitely not hiding! Trav brings me breakfast in bed. Oh how sweet, right? Until, he begins declaring, “What’s wrong with your face! You need to take better care of yourself. You look like a crazy person!” At that point I had to remind him that I would be writing a blog on my whole experience, so unless he wanted me to make him look like a crazy person, he better stop now! He tends to get really intense when his family is hurt and he can’t fix it. I get that, but in a few hours I was to meet the families for the first time of several of my friends. I didn’t want to be remembered by them as the “the crazy person”. I was feeling a bit sensitive.

Fortunately, the dinner went well. Children weren’t running away in horror from me or anything. I was just a little quiet in hopes of not being noticed.

My doctor is usually really good about getting me in asap on Monday morning if I have suffered all weekend. I had missed my work out sheerly out of pride. I couldn’t show up to an environment where we are all focusing on looking good and being healthy with this thing on my face. I knew people would think it was adult acne. So, I called the office as soon as they opened, but the doctor’s phone was not working! Oh the agony of being patient! I decide to take my chances in the waiting room. Austin and I arrive and are fortunate enough to get right in. Now the real fun begins. I was asked to pull my pants down so that a stranger could give me an antibiotic shot in my butt. This was painful and humiliating! I was then given instructions to take two more doses of antibiotics that day in pill form and for nine days after that which I dutifully began as soon as I left the office. No one said anything about a full stomach or waiting a couple hours after the shot. I had some kind of allergic reaction as I drove home sneezing all the way. By the time I got home I was shaking so bad that I could barely fix myself something to eat. The doctors office was closed for lunch and my heart was racing as I tried to call the doctor on call only to be abused by a condescending answering service representative.

The good news is this, when I woke up the next morning it was way better. I made it to Wednesday’s work out where I kept sweating my band aids off along with the rest of my pride and hopefully some fat too. It’s pretty much life as usual for me now. No more band aids, no more hiding.

I scratched myself again yesterday and immediately applied Polysporin.