The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back

I've always been the type of girl that when life gets stressful or tiring, slowly but surely the pressure builds inside of me until an emotional outburst ensues. Not that I get angry or throw things...the outburst is always tear related: bawling and weeping and a lot of sup-supping and talking it out with the person that I trust most. One of the most dramatic cases of such an outburst was when I was in Ukraine for two weeks for a mission trip. I had left my 13 year old cat at home, prepared for the fact that when I returned, she would probably not be alive...she was in REALLY bad shape. I knew I wouldn't be devastated when she died because we had her for a long time and her death had been coming for a while, so for the first five days of the trip I was able to forget about her and really concentrate on what I was in Ukraine to do. It was day after day of early mornings, ridiculously late nights, tons of walking and physical activities, and deep conversations with people whose English was their second language. At the end of one of these days, as my group was on the subway on our way home to our dormitory, I was so exhausted I thought I might fall asleep and get left behind on the metro. Little stresses and "tragedies" had started snow balling in my heart, and I knew I needed to get back to my dormitory and pray it all out. My dad approached me on the subway and started a conversation like this:

"Hayley, you need to know that I spoke to Mom [back at home with my cat] today."

I started shaking my head violently, trying to communicate through head-wagging that I was in no position emotionally to be hearing the news I was about to bear. My dad didn't get the cue and continued.

"I have news about Nigel."

The water works started. And with me, with one of these exhausted, stressful emotional outbursts, once the tears start, they don't stop. And they tumble out faster and faster and continuously more violently. Even if I'm in a public metro.

My dad pulled me close and told me, "It's good news. She's taken a turn for the better and the vet expects a full recovery."

I was already bawling, and there was no stopping it. I was now bawling partly for happiness about the news of my cat, but mostly I was just releasing gallons of pent up emotion. My sweet daddy held me and comforted me about the cat, but my dear friend and roommate, Ruth, looked on and knew the real reason I was crying. I just needed a good cry. I was TIRED. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

The mention of Nigel was the straw that broke the camel's back.

You needed that descriptive narrative in order to understand the events that transpired two nights ago here in Heather's home.

So I've been helping my sister take care of the monkeys, maintain the house and cook for the family since Monday morning. I slept HORRIBLY the night before I got on the airplane (not being able to sleep for the two hours before I had to get out of bed at 4:45 am), I said goodbye to my husband, knowing I wouldn't see him or feel the warmth of his embrace for ten days, and then when I arrived in Seattle the duties started right away, and I was taken off guard with how little opportunity for rest there seemed to be.

PLEASE don't get me wrong... I LOVE being here. Georgie is a CONSTANT source of smiles and laughs, hanging out with my sis is and always will be a blast, and the little peanut of a baby, Olivia, is precious. It's such a privilege to be able to pick her up and snuggle her at any time of day.

It is, however, extremely tiring. Heather can back me up on this, especially because her job is ten times harder than mine has been for the past few days.

So last Thursday evening, as I started making chicken picatta for dinner, I was 1) exhausted, 2) missing Brent, 3) in back pain from stress and sleeping on the couch, 4) exhausted, and 5) missing Brent. I melted some butter and olive oil in a frying pan, and when it was nice and hot, I took a spatula, put it under a piece of breaded chicken, and flipped it over into the pan. A little bit of oil splattered up and out onto the stove. No harm, no foul. I slid the spatula under the second piece of chicken and flipped it over into the pan. A LOT of oil splattered up and ONTO ME. I cried out in pain, backed away and bent over, thoroughly confused as to why the pain was 1) not going away, and 2) getting worse. Heather asked me what had happened, and as I rushed to the bathroom to wash the hot oil off I told her that the oil splattered up on me. She commented that it was all over my shirt. I looked down, and sure enough, my t-shirt was covered in splattered oil. Who cared? I was in pain, a lot of it. I got to the bathroom, turned the water on and splashed water all over my face and neck, where the pain was. Eventually the pain started subsiding, but it was too late. The lump was in my throat and the tears were coming.

I did NOT want Heather to know I was crying, but I knew at this point that I needed a good cry. So I closed the bathroom door as nonchalantly as I could, and then I keeled over in tears. A few minutes of silent crying and splashing more water on the not-feeling-any-better burns, and I knew I needed to go back and check on the chicken. I dabbed my eyes with a wet towel to clear away the tear stains, told myself to STOP crying, and marched out of the bathroom to the kitchen without letting Heather see my face.

I got to the kitchen. Bad news. The chicken was smoking, burned to a crisp. Not salvageable, and it was the only chicken I had prepared to fry. I would have to start ALL over again. That, or not meet my duty to make dinner for my sister and Georgie. This time, the floodgates of tears and emotions burst open uncontrollably. I stood, frozen and trembling in the kitchen, the tears flowing out of my eyes like a high pressure hose.

Heather at once became all motherly with me. She came into the kitchen and did all she could to minimize the smoke in the house, all the while saying, "Hayley! Oh poor Hayley! It's ok!" At one point, she cried out, "Do you just HATE being here?" That made me feel rotten, because of course I LOVE being here, but what must it have looked like to Heather to have me trembling with tears over a cooking burn? I assured her that I love it here.

She asked if I was crying from the pain while worriedly eyeing the burns on my face and neck. I told her that it sure hurt, but I wasn't sure that's why I was crying. I let her know I was just exhausted. She got some nice salve and gently applied it to the burns, and then we decided that the big burn on my neck needed a bandage. Heather searched and searched for a bandage big enough for the burn, but didn't have one.

So, being the creative and resourceful sister that she is, she resorted to....

a.....

pad. Yes. A pad. She taped a pad on my neck. It did the trick.

Eventually the pain really subsided, but I was still unable to control my tears. My thoughts kept turning to Brent and the need to hear his voice and get his comfort, so I finally locked myself in Georgie's room and poured it all out over the phone to my sweet, understanding and comforting husband.

Talking to him sealed up the water works. I felt much better right away, though he was concerned at the sound of my burns.

The burns on my face were at that point raised blisters, and in no time the taped-on pad fell off my neck, revealing several more blisters and a large area of raised red skin with a hot tamale-shaped tight blister in it. It looked bad. I asked Heather if it was going to heal. With the most reassuring expression and voice ever, she said yes, yes of COURSE it was going to heal. Then, on the turn of a dime, her face turned doubtful and she said, "I think so..." We both doubled over in laughter at how ridiculous the entire situation was.

My sweet, caring and self-sacrificial sister told me to not worry about dinner, that she was going to go to Walmart to get me an air mattress to help with my back pain and she was going to come home with a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream for us to share while we chilled in front of The Office. It sounded heavenly and so relaxing.

For some reason she didn't buy big bandages while she was out, so I slept with another pad securely fastened to the burn on my neck. In the morning, I left a message with my primary care doctor, telling him what happened, describing the burns, and asking whether or not I needed to be seen for the burns.

When I got a call back, the voice on the other end of the line said, "You need to go to the ER."

I didn't want to. "Even if I'm not in pain anymore?"

"Yes. You need to go to the ER."

After lunch that day I drove over to urgent care - no WAY I was going to wait at the ER for my injury. The nurse examined my injuries and announced that they were 1st and 2nd degree burns. The doctor came in and examined me as well, and looked seriously concerned as she wondered out loud how she was going to care for me. Eventually she decided on releasing the blister on my neck because it looked as though it had the possibility of being infected. Praise God, it wasn't infected, but I'm so happy she released it for me because I would not have wanted to wait for it to pop on its own. She thoroughly washed the burns on my neck and applied antibiotic ointment to them, and I was thanking God that none of what she was doing hurt. At all. Oh, so thankful.

Next she examined the blisters on my face and determined that they did not need to be released, so she skipped to the step of thoroughly washing them and applying the ointment. She sent me home with a huge supply of burn wash and ointment with instructions to wash every 6 hours, and the recommendation to not wear facial make-up so that I won't have to use any soap to wash it off. In addition, I am to not wear necklaces or wear my hair down until the burns heal.

I really liked the doctor and I felt very well taken care of as I walked out of urgent care. She seemed to think that the burns are going to heal nicely.

That evening, as I prepared dinner again, I was singing in the kitchen, and I realized that the day had felt more relaxing than any previous day at the Hitzeroth's yet. It was because of the emotional release the night before. :)

Heather is now keeping an eye on me to make sure that I'm resting as often as I need it, and I'm trying to monitor myself as well. And I'm wanting to pour out my burdens to the Lord constantly, even if they're small burdens such as "I didn't sleep well last night, and Georgie woke up early this morning. "

And now, if you want, you can look at the burn on my neck, before the blister was popped. I had a picture of my face as well, but the camera settings were such that the blisters didn't show up, so all I have is my neck, the worst burn. If you want, scroll down, and there will be the gory image.
:)