cables and cusswords — adventures in video production and other stuff

blood

Oozing

Serenaded into somnolence by the soothing sounds of bucolic Westchester — and the head-splitting grind of a 5600KW generator.  This was day three post-Irene with no power so I was distracted only by the screeching of the gas-powered generators that lined my block and the screeching of my children who couldn’t understand why no power also meant no video games and no wifi.  Time to go to school, innocent ones, so you can come back and explain this wifi nonsense to me in a few years.  Also distracted by the irrepressible desire to hack the skin of my arms and legs off with a dull steak knife — yes, the adventure in fence installation resulted in my annual outbreak of poison ivy, which only a 5-day cycle of steroids can abate.  So we packed up the family.  Went to Hershey Park, where I didn’t sleep (thanks, steroids) and instead wandered the halls of the Hotel Hershey at 4 am, gunning for a fight (thanks again, steroids).  I was ready to throw anyone down.  But there wasn’t anyone else.  So I went to the pool and scraped my limbs along the concrete.  Oozing blisters evolved into gaping wounds.  I felt better.  Until I realized that after I invested in my fence installation equipment, I had saved a massive $5.  Co-pay for steroid cycle: $15.  Sh*t.

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Let the healing begin

it’s getting better

so this is what it looks like today.. getting better and feeling better — or maybe I’m just so distracted by my latest mouth trauma.  I can’t figure out how the doc is going to find the stitches in order to take them out, but my mother, in her infinite wisdom, told me, “that’s their problem!”   I’ve got two vicodin left, won’t dare take them — I’m saving one for the removal of the finger stitches, the other for the removal of the mouth stitches.  I have no idea of how many stitches are in my mouth.  The doc told me “don’t worry, no charge for the additional frenulectomy I had to do.”  I would have liked to have said, “don’t worry, I won’t be suing you for not telling me you were going to do a surgical procedure before you did it!!!” But I couldn’t because I had a mouthful of metal instruments stuck down my gullet.  I’d post a pic of the mouth but I can’t open it  – if I see another container of yogurt, I might barf.  But I hope not, since I can’t open my mouth and….I just really grossed myself out.  Bleh.


a cotton candy machine ate me alive

Or tried to — who knew cotton candy could be dangerous?  Certainly not I, except that being 99% sugar and 1% various artificial and toxic non-foodstuffs, it will wreak havoc on my teeth, which is a sore spot already (for me, anyway).  My kids’ elementary school has an annual fund-raising spring fair.  I’ve been in charge of the fund-raising brochure the past few years, which consists of six months of begging friends, family and strangers for money to support the under-privileged children of Scarsdale NY.  Hmmm. 

So I abandoned fund-raising for one fun-filled day of making cotton candy — it’s pretty, pink and fluffy and my kids would be overjoyed at having an in at the cotton candy booth.

YUM!!!

1 1/2 hours into my 3 hour commitment and my husband peers into the machine and says, “you’d better be careful — I’m serious!”  Ha, ha, ha hubby!  you are so funny!   It’s a hot, sunny day, long line of kids waiting for their floaty confection, kids asking for change, someone else telling me about why she prefers soda in a can, etc, etc.  I spy a big glob of cotton candy at the bottom of the drum which is preventing me from creating the perfect cone of spun sugar joy, so I shove my hand in to pluck it out and AAAAAAAAA!!!!!

not yum

yeah — kids traumatized, cotton candy booth shut down, my finger nail ripped off (and then sewn back on), broken finger and nine stitches.   Best part: nurse on duty screaming louder than me — “I don’t do emergencies!!!!!!  I’m just supposed to treat kids with skinned knees!”

you're getting blood everywhere!

That was Saturday.  Today, Tuesday, I had phase two of my gum surgery — skin cut from my palate was grafted onto my lower gums.  About a thousand stitches in my mouth.  No pain killers to go.  I’ve got more stitches than a Raggedy Ann doll, plus all the nerve endings of an almost alive and kicking human being.  Good thing hubby bought a case of wine last week.

this will do