This morning I did a very stupid thing. I tested the iron with my finger to see if it was hot. I KNOW! that was a really dumb thing to do! You don’t have to affirm my stupidity. I guess I could file a lawsuit against the manufacturer, but that would be ridiculous. I know better than to touch a hot iron, so the burn is well deserved. I honestly do not know what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t quite awake yet. Of course after burning my finger, I certainly woke up.
With the immediate onset of pain, my lungs ballooned insisting on more oxygen. I rushed to rinse my finger under cold water for several minutes, gently glazed on some neosporin and protected it with a bandage. After a couple hours the pain really started to surge and I found myself gripping my hand and inhaling deep for relief. It felt like my finger was fused to the hot iron and I couldn’t pull away. A relentless burning sensation, I was ready to buckle over and cry, but I was at work.
Although the burn on my finger is a very minuscule and unworthy taste of what Christian martyrs burned at the stake would’ve endured for the sake of the Gospel, I couldn’t help but think of their testimony to the Faith. It is a humbling thought. At least it shut me up about the pain.
My brilliant co-worker asked me “why don’t you take pain killers?” Honestly I did think of that but for some reason I didn’t think that would help. I take pain-killers for menstural cramps or headaches. I never took it for burns before. (Isn’t that the classic trigger on a new idea–listen to me rationalizing like a stubborn old fart!)
I immediatly took my co-worker’s advice. And yes, it does work. What a difference. Clearly I am not the sharpest tool in the shed, least of all today.