Andrew is still eating and he has learned to make a good pasta carbonara when I’m away, but I am still the designated chef!
Unfortunately, my vacations seem to be cursed and this summer was no exception. The experience is still a little too close to calmly devise a compelling narrative, so I’ll just give you the facts.
We had an amazing opportunity to stay in a cabin at 10,000 feet above the world in a remote section of Utah this summer. Unfortunately, soon after arriving, my left index finger was attacked by a wild hand-immersion blender (that sometimes sounds much like a bear in some retellings of this story or a trampling moose in others). My finger was cut badly and required a seamstress to put it back together.
Of course, I was by myself when this happened. I had dropped Andrew and two friends staying with us at a lake to fish, and I took some deserved down time to relax and fix dinner. When the attack occurred, I had to figure out how to get myself to the ER, get the boys picked up, close up the cabin, secure the dogs, close down the kitchen, etc. You will be happy to know that between wrapping my hand and driving 20 minutes to the ER, I was able to call my mom to pick up the boys and explain to her how to clean the blood and body parts from the mashed potatoes, spread them on top of the casserole, and bake for 20 minutes at 375! The casserole was either bear or moose pot pie… just depends on the day I’m telling the story. They tell me it was really good.
The summer vacation curse, being what it is, couldn’t leave bad enough alone, and a few days later the pump in the cabin went out. Again, the boys were fishing and I was left with my bandaged hand to clean up the flooded pump room with floating mice and debris from 10 years of empty cabin.
Yes, you’ve already guessed it; by evening the finger was infected from little splashes of dirty water that soaked into my bandages. I stopped into the ER for some antibiotics and ended up with a pic line and six days of aggressive antibiotic treatment.
The attending nurse reassured and comforted me. While looking at the kinds of antibiotics and dosages I was receiving she said, “Well, you sure aren’t going to die from the finger infection, but with all this antibiotic something else is going to kill you!”
I attributed her pleasent bed side manner to high altitude sickness (hers, not mine) and wide eyed, tried to relax while the antibiotics flowed for the next 4 hours into my veins and twice a day for the next 4 days.
Damned if she wasn’t on to something. I’m now battling some other infection that nobody can figure out, but according to my mom and the internet it has the same early symptoms of Hanta virus, West Nile, Lyme Disease, Staph, Mono, Hepatitis, Herpes, Syphilis, and AIDS. I’ve been single for so long that I think I can rule out the last three!
Well, it’s not all as bad as it sounds and my finger is on the mend. I was able to type for the first time yesterday and I’m hopeful the good doctors of Cedars Sinai will find the infectious culprit soon. I’m tired of seeing a clean stovetop and am ready to get out of the fire and into the frying pan. I really do mean that as a metaphor for cooking and writing again, if the Gods of Irony are listening!