Well, this time I'm sitting in JFK. Just that much closer to Ann and the kids!
Before I left, I told Jim that I had one more story for the blog. I haven't put it up yet because I was debating on what the reaction would be. I told him he was going to have to read it, but I eventually caved and filled him in. He laughed himself silly. If that is the general reaction to this blog, GREAT! If not, pretend you never read it. I'm going from the angle that this could be a learning experience for the visiting nurses. I, rather, my friend, knew better, but once we got hot water at the Guest House, Jim said it best. "We got fat and lazy."
So, I have this friend...
OK, it's really me. As pictured above, the shower stall has this spikit on the wall just below the hot and cold water valves. For the time being, let's not think about the condition of the faucet, and whether it is clean. Trust me, it's not.
When I stepped in the shower this morning, I was happy to be able to take yet another hot shower before sitting on various planes for 24 hours. I closed my eyes as I turned the hot and cold knobs, and breathed a heavy sigh thinking of my arrival home. Sadly, those thoughts were interupted by silence. I opened one eye in disbelief. As I gained the courage to look up at the shower head, I saw.... nothing. As my shoulders shrank, I turned the spickets off, thinking that this would somehow make the water magically appear. Nope. I am obviously not David Copperfield. The drought had caught up to us. It was then that I peered down at the blue basin that each room is supplied with. Traditionally, you would fill this with water in the event that no water was availaible. Sadly, we had become what Jim calls, "fat and lazy." We got used to a seemingly endless supply of water, and hot water to boot! After the 5th day, I stopped considering filling the basin with water, so the empty basin stared back at me as if to say, "Gotcha!"
I threw on some shorts and a t-shirt, actually thinking that I'd be able to find water. Where was I going to find a dividing rod? When I opened the door and turned left, I saw large 5 gallon buckets sitting outside of some of the other rooms. Nope. No buckets outside mine or Jim's.
After considering sneaking away with one, I go to see Daniel, the equivalent of a "front desk manager," who immediatley says, "We're having trouble with the water." No kidding. He brings a couple buckets of water for me. I get back to the shower and proceed to fill the still snickering basin. Now, do I keep my back to the wall that doesn't have any objects protruding from it? No, I squat in front of the basin with my back to the spikit. Now I am, very much aware of the "quality" of the water in this area. I don't shave when I'm there for fear of cutting myself and getting a really nasty infection. I've made several trips to Kenya without incident. Until now. And it had nothing to do with a razor.
After taking the equivalent of an inverted shower, I dump out the basin filled with soapy water, and fill it with the bacteria laden clean water to rinse myself off. Normally, you just begin to pour it over yourself until all the soap is gone. Piece of cake. Nope, agian. When I stand up, I forget that this nasty little spickit is behind me, and the spickit takes a 1/2" swath about 2" long out of my backside. Well, it was a little closer to the small of my back, and thankfully bellow my belt line. You get the picture.
Now, I am silently screaming bloody murder, because I can't yell out loud, despite my deepest desire to. Fortunately, I'm tall enough that I can look in the mirror at and angle great enough to be able to see the damage. Nice... blood is bright red, and flowing pretty nicely. The cut looks like ... well, if you had a wrapped Christmas present in front of you, and you took a fingernail and ran it across the paper, that's what it looked like. The skin was kind of wrinkled and gathered at the base of the cut. At this point, he had two thoughts.
1. How do I clean this out?
2. How do I put a band-aid on this thing?
Fortunately, there was a bottle of drinking water nearby, so I cleaned it out with that. Then came question two. Every time I wiped the blood away, it started almost immediately. At this point, I laughed to myself as I VERY briefly thought of a scenario where I knock on Jim's door and say, "Jim, I need some help." Oh my God, that made me laugh. It made Jim laugh, too, when I told him the story.
I spray the cut with Neosporin, but it may as well have been battery acid. OK there is where I inform all my loyal readers that I'm not a good patient. Andrea already knows. I managed to get a couple of Band-Aids on before the bleeding gets to bad, and have to make a couple of adjustments because they weren't on straight. I'm tall enough to see the cut, but I'm not the Armenian Rubber Boy. I can't bend myself like a pretzel so that I can stare straight at the cut.
12 Hours later, as I sit in the airport, I'm afraid to see what it looks like. I'm in the cafeteria area, so I won't look now, but I'm sure it is now nicely bruised. It's uncomfortable depending on how I sit, and I don't usually sit gingerly. Well let me tell you, I do now.
When washing yourself in a basin, always keep your back facing the wall with no protruding objects.
This lesson costs you absolutely nothing. It only cost me a bit of my pride.
Now I'm kind of happy that I only have 9 followers...