Like a melting candle
So Bob's first baseball game was on Saturday. When we left the house it looked like rain; in fact, there were even a few drops on the windshield. As the first game of the season it was a big event; a parade around the field, an opening game ceremony and other festivities.
By the time the game actually got started -- more than an hour and a half after we got there -- the clouds had blown away and it was a bright, cool, New England spring day. Blustery and a bit biting when the wind blew, but all together pleasant.
I didn't wear a hat. Totally forgot. Didn't realize I'd be standing in direct sunlight for a couple of hours, either.
Managed to twist my ankle, too. In the farm league, which Bob's a part of, the adults pitch and catch, and the kids focus on fielding and batting. Coach Coyne asked me if I'd catch, which I obliged -- only the third pitch or so I managed to fall and mess up my right ankle.
Every few years since I was an adolescent, nature has reminded me I'm totally melanin-deprived and burns the living hell out of me just for spite. Saturday was one of those days.
By the time I got home, the stinging and tightening on my scalp let me know that I'd gotten burned, and pretty badly. We had to go out again to church to drop Bob off for his first communion practice, which was the following day, and I'd taken Bonnie and the other two kids out for ice cream while he was doing that.
When I get burned that badly, my skin gets hypersenstive to any additional sunlight, and as soon as I stepped from the car I could feel my scalp pulsing as the sun beat down on it. I didn't dare put on a hat at this point, because I knew it would do horrible damage to my already ravaged skin. So I just made it a point to dance my way through as much shade as I could.
By Saturday night I could feel the heat coming off my skin and felt the blisters raising. I felt disturbingly like the infamous roasted pig's head I'd seen M. Dubiard, the chef de cuisine of the BBC reality series Manor House, serve the Olliff-Coopers, much to the family's chagrin, it seemed.
I woke up in the middle of the night and the right side of my jaw was throbbing. I'd been unconsciously grinding my teeth because of the discomfort on my scalp, totally unable to find a comfortable way to lie. I guess it would have been helpful if I'd had one of those neck-braces the ancient Egyptians used instead of pillows.
By Sunday morning my scalp was a seething mass of angry, running blisters, which would crack every so often. So not only am I burnt to the point of disfigurement, but it looks like someone's been dripping hot candle wax on my scalp too.
Then, during the first communion mass on Sunday, Bonnie managed to hammer the foot of the padded kneeling bar of our pew into the big toe on my left foot.
It figures that all of this happens a week before E3, one of those weeks when it really pays off to be in top mental and physical condition. Bah.