In That Place

The place that has no name, really. Transition doesn't really do it justice. I'm past that. Where I am is new - like my skin. I burned my right wrist recently while cooking. It hurt right at the moment. An eye opening ouch!

My skin bubbled up in reaction – puffy and pissed off. It took a week but slowly it started to scab over.

After a few more weeks, the scab started to peel away revealing a tender, soft new white underneath. A white that turned to pink as the remaining scab at my wrist began to catch on the sleeves of sweaters causing pain, reminding me I was still healing.

Then the scab completely fell off and my new skin, too soon really for prime-time was exposed to all the world and its unpredictable elements. For the first time since the initial burn, it really hurt. I hurt.

I understand this process because I am living it. I am developing a new skin and shedding my old one. Only sometimes this new skin feels so much more painful. It hasn’t toughened yet.

And only time will tell if I’ll have a scar from the process or this new skin will look virtually indistinguishable from the old. The only memory of it in my mind – in my experiences.

I suppose I should have rubbed some sort of lotion on it – some salve to prevent scarring. I, like always, am just trying to tough it out.