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Thursday, May 26, 2011

Not For The Faint of Heart (graphic pics)

The events herein described happened on Tuesday, May 24, 2011

I don't think I will ever forget that morning. I might forget the exact date as time goes on but I won't readily forget the events that unfolded. I woke up in good spirits because I had gotten a good night's rest. I woke up with the intentions of spending some time with my oldest daughter. Getting some exercise and going to the library to play on the computer for a while and also to
handle some business. One thing I wanted to do at the library was to get a pass to the museum. The passes allow you to visit certain museums and the admission fee is free. I wanted to go with my daughter and my sisters on that following Wednesday.

So I got up, took my shower, made some coffee and urged my daughter to do the same because it
was getting close to the time to go to the library. But I was hungry and wanted us to eat first. So I took some chicken tenderloins from the freezer and set them out to thaw in water while I did some other things. I figured we could have chicken and pancakes (waffles would have worked better but we had none) but then realized we had no syrup. But that didn't matter much. I could still use the pancakes as I would bread for a sandwich.

And so once the chicken was thawed, I seasoned it and put the oil on to heat up. All is still well at this point. The oil was heated at the optimal temperature, I delicately placed the four chicken tenderloins in the hot oil. No splatters, the chicken was frying beautifully. I had accomplished to fry the chicken to a lovely golden brown and had taken all but one from the oil when it slipped from my handling utensil and plopped back into the hot oil.

Now I'm not sure how to describe what happened next but I will try. When you know that you
are dealing with something extremely hot with the ability to cause serious harm you do as much as you can to get away from it. But in the case of cooking and splattering hot oil with a very limited range in which to run, you have to decide pretty quickly what your exit strategy will be. Well, I knew for a fact that I did not want the oil to splash in my face so my first reaction was to turn away from it. Unfortunately, I couldn't turn or move away from the stove fast enough and I ended up with hot oil being showered onto my exposed left arm and also on my t-shirt and the floor where I stood some six inches away. I'm thankful that the oil didn't get into my eyes or on my face or neck. The pictures below show the full gravity of the experience more than my words can tell.

I told my daughter to get dressed quickly as we had to walk to the nearest clinic which was about a mile or so down the road. I took pictures along the way, I'm thinking out of curiosity of my own injuries and I'll admit, to share with others and gross a few out. Yes, I'm mean like that sometimes. ;-) The pain from the oil on my skin was as if a handful of bees had stung me. My reaction was to wipe the excess oil off myself and access the damage done. In hind sight, I probably shouldn't have wiped it with my hand as I did, but rather have dabbed the excess away. At first glance I could see where the oil had burned me, it stung and so I had to figure out what to put on it. I gingerly removed the remaining offending piece of chicken from the pot and turned off the burner. The sting intensified and so I turn on some cool water and gently splashed it over my forearm. As I did this I could see where the oil had melted my skin. With no butter (butter not margarine), cocoa butter, aloe vera or any other type of ointment, I assessed that I needed to get to a clinic as quickly as possible. Having been burned before I knew that this one was more serious than any others I had experienced.

To shorten this tale a bit, we made it to the clinic. I was questioned several times and looked at quite strangely when I had to tell how I got my burns. After all, how many people want fried chicken for breakfast. I was admonished to stay away from frying anything and to possibly consider cereal for breakfast. They couldn't have known that I prefer cereal as a late night snack. The nurse slathered my arm with ointment & wrapped it, then I was given a tetanus shot and given my return appointment date and a prescription for antibiotics & more ointment. We get back home and I don't try to go back into the kitchen right away. After all, I'm traumatized but when I decided to I could see oil splatters on the floor and over the stove. I had to clean that up before another incident occurred, like me slipping and breaking something.

Unknowingly, on our way home, my prescription had fallen out of my back pocket nearby the rail road tracks we had to cross along the way. I was informed of this the following morning when I called the docs office to tell them I had lost my script. Another patient of the same clinic had turned it in for me. That was very nice of them. I don't like to even, unintentionally litter. And so the story ends with me all bandaged up. Arm sore from the burns and a shot. And like the menace to society that I am, I sent picture messages from my phone and the next day posted pics of my battle scars on FB for friends and family to see so that they would take pity on me.

My sister and friends have offered to fry me chicken the next time I'm in the mood for eating some. You can believe that I will take them up on their offers. I never could fry foods that well. I've been warned to stay out of the kitchen. My dear husband asked me if I could get him a glass of water. Of course, I love him and want him to stay hydrated, but he had jokes. While I'm on my way to get water for us both he says to me, "Be careful. Don't burn yourself getting the water." And so many other comments from family and friends. I have a good sense of humor and have even poked fun at myself.

I've tried many times over the years to make the perfect fried foods. I was proud of how my chicken looked that morning and for all the trouble it caused me it still wasn't seasoned that well. I ended up adding BBQ sauce to it because there's no way I was going through all that pain and not eating it. My husband will have to forgive me because if we don't buy chicken already fried from some place else, he'll have to cook it for us. My frying days are done!