The smallest thing happened. And it is driving me crazy.
I skinned my knee. At work. A week ago.
“Oh, no biggie,” I thought. I mean, I used to be a child. I’ve had my share of skinned knees. I figured it would scab in like a day and heal quickly.
1. It’s been a week.
2. It is so uncomfortable. I can’t stand fabric touching it. I can’t stand anything touching it. V resting her hand on my knee is enough to send a shockwave through my body. Every time I bend my knee, what has healed before tears just a little bit and reopens. It is excruciating.
3. It is still oozing, and super red around it. I’m pretty sure it’s infected. (So gross. I’m sorry.) The ooze sticks onto my clothes. Or it gets stuck to a bandage and like, fuses with it.
4. I thought, if we had a second kid, that I’d try the natural route this time for the delivery. (V was a scheduled c-section; I never even had a contraction.) Um, yeah, no. I have no pain tolerance! My co-worker cleaned it with alcohol and I was actually screaming! Absolutely not, no way.
5. This skinned knee is showing me a lot about how I handle unexpected, painful things.
And isn’t that what life does?
I have been bitching. And morning. I canceled my workout I do every Sunday morning, so I’ve had no time just for myself which means I’m grumpy.
And I’m super fixated on it. It’s popping into my mind at least every sixty seconds. I look at it every chance I get.
Isn’t this what I do with pain and uncertainty too?
So what’s the lesson from a skinned knee?
I really don’t know. I’ll have to tell you when it heals.