The painful truth about spring
George has severe seasonal allergies. It’s to the point where he has to wear a mask, a-la-Michael Jackson just to go outside this time of year. If not for facial coverings, he’d spend the evening wheezing, and stinging with a little apnea for good measure.
I have Epidermolysis Bullosa. Friction or consistent pressure on one area causes mild to severe blistering and pain.
Together, we have a home and at this home we own is a season called spring.
For the past several days, George and I have stood inside our home looking out at our very large yard gathering the courage to complete the first mow of the season. We’d think about it but then retreat back to the safety and comfort of our air-conditioned home, almost trembling in fear of what lurked outside.
When some of the grass reached 3 feet high, we could wait no longer. We had no choice but to do the lawn work yesterday. George dressed as a suspected bank robber from the old west and I armed myself with thick gloves.
George did the edging and weed wacking.
Truth is, I actually rarely get more than just a little sure after mowing the lawn. I’m one of the lucky ones. Most people with EB can’t even rake the lawn, much less push a mower around half an acre for four hours.
But, as unpredictable as EB can sometimes be, the first mow of the year was the one where my hands decided to swell up like balloons. My left hand turned a deep dark red from dozens of teeny tiny blisters. My right hand carried the brunt of the damage by developing one large dark purple blister that spreads from the junction of my middle finger straight down to my wrist. The pain is pretty excruciating and it’s (as I call it) a 3-Advil day.
As I’m right handed, I employed my eight-year-old for a little EB Bandaging 101 this afternoon. She did splendidly and was quite impressed with herself.
After all was said and done, she said “Hey mom, give me a high five!!”. Then, she winked in her “Just kidding” way. Bless her heart.
I’ll be alright. It’s par for my course. I’ll just tell everyone I just came from boxing class who stares at my hands. I obviously can type. Opening doors, however, is a challenge and I won’t be doing this much yard work for a while.