Pain as metaphor

Thursday, either from some cleaning agent or from cooking, I got a pretty painful chemical or steam burn on the pads of my thumbs and index and middle fingers. It hurt something awful, much more than a typical burn, which feels better after 10 minutes of ice and a dab of goo. I tried aloe on one hand and neosporin on the other -- nothing like running experiments on one's own body -- which made my fingers throb and sting even worse, so I washed them off and just submerged them in a bowl of ice until I went to bed and, once in bed, dabbed a wet towel into the ice bowl periodically for a refresher. (In the dark I could hear the cats routing in the bowl -- meow! fresh water hole! -- and pushing ice cubes around. Too bad Theo's tongue didn't stick to one like an icicle.) Eli was worried but reassured me that I would probably feel much better the next day. You know what? I woke up Friday and it was as if it never happened! My thumbs were a little dried out, but that was it. And it really fucking hurt the night before.

I have decided that this was an exercise for labor. I have instructed Eli that his mantra for me is that it will all be better tomorrow.