When Adulthood Gets Real



I tend to eschew using utensils when toasting tortillas and bread. I turn on the broiler, throw the bread/tortilla on a rack, flip it occasionally, all is good. Usually. Except for last Saturday.

In all my gracefulness, I reached in, flipped one piece of toast, picked up the second, slammed my hand against the 500 degree Fahrenheit broiler burner, gently dropped the piece of bread and the door of the oven and started crying.

A reenactment.
I attempted to google what to do to bad burns, severe burns, all the words burns, until I finally came across a result that reminded me the phrase I was looking for was "third degree burns." Healthline.com says:
"There are three primary types of burns: first-, second-, and third-degree. Each degree is based on the severity of damage to the skin, with first degree being the most minor and third degree being the most severe. Damage includes:
  • first-degree burns: red, non-blistered skin
  • second-degree burns: blisters and some thickening of the skin
  • third-degree burns: widespread thickness with a white, leathery appearance
There is also technically a fourth-degree burn. In this type, the damage of third-degree burns extends beyond the skin into tendons and bones."
Umm, excuse me, what?? TO THE BONES? I digress.. From the description, I was certain I had a third-degree burn. I resisted the urge to stick my hand under cold water or in ice, as much as I wanted to, because I remembered reading somewhere that was ill-advised, but that was the extent right there of my keep-it-togetherness. I panicked.

And I called my mommy. I don't think anyone gets sick/hurt/all those panicky things without wanting to call mom. I've gotta hand it to her, she kept it together quite well. A scene:
Me: "Maaaaasdfalk eiojlk bue! rpas BURN lkjio! cmcuqp OW!" (like I said, I was a mess)
Mom: "Sarah, listen to me. Turn off the oven, get your keys, get in your car, and drive to an emergency room." 
Me: "But I'm not wearing pants and I haven't showered!" 
Her: "Sarah, it's an emergency room. They've seen worse. Turn off the oven, put on pants, get your keys, get in your car, and drive to an emergency room." 
I fumbled around and winced and whined about using my hand, but here's the thing: I actually wasn't in pain! I was just scared beyond belief. It looked ugly. It was white and gross and I'm 99% sure I burned off my nerves. Many millimeters of skin disintegrated on contact.

For the first time in my life, Siri came through for me. "Siri, find an emergency room," I barked as I tried not to trip down the stairs of my apartment. She immediately asked if she should dial the location or provide directions.. It was clutch. I'm proud.


The doctor said it was only a second-degree burn, and by some miracle, didn't charge me for the visit. My wallet is forever grateful.