Burn Baby, Burn

I used to think the worst part of a sunburn was the peeling that randomly happened a week or two after the initial burn. You’re no longer red or in pain, and you’ve probably even forgotten you were ever burned. Then one day, you’re drying off after a shower and you notice dead skin on your towel. Sure enough, you look to where you were burned and there it is – a little patch of peeling skin. But as soon as you try to slough off the small patch, it gets bigger and bigger and half your shoulder or forehead is now missing.

At least that’s been my experience.

After this past weekend, I’ve changed my tune. I now think that the worst part of a sunburn, is the sunburn.

Let me remind you that I am whiter than white. Despite living in Florida for nearly five years, I moved back here in February as pale as I have even been in my entire life. When you have thyroid disease and are a native New Englander in the blistering heat and humidity of southwest Florida, you never want to be outside. Ever. I dreaded lunch breaks when I would go home to take Rags for a walk. I dreaded every walk, actually. I’d come inside from walking him at 10 p.m. at night, soaked through my clothes. It was disgusting and one of the reasons I moved back to Massachusetts. So needless to say, I spent very little time by the pool. And when I did, I always lathered up because I knew the Florida sun was stronger than the Massachusetts sun. At least that’s what I was told.

I spent the long weekend with my dad and the dogs at our cottage in upstate New York. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere, but civilization is only about 30 miles in any direction. So on Saturday, we decided to take a 14-mile bicycle ride on this recently created bike path in Malta, NY. It was a nice day, and I wore a tank top, so I got a bit of color on my shoulders and back. By the next morning, it was already tan and no longer painful, but I knew we’d be out on the water for several hours on Sunday, so I put a ton of sunscreen on my shoulders, back and neck. I lathered up before we left the house and again right before we got into our kayaks. But since it was hot, sunny, and my legs look like they belong on someone else’s body, I didn’t put any sunscreen on my legs. I even took it a step further and put my legs up on top of the kayak while paddling downstream to get sun on my entire legs, instead of just the top halves. Bad idea. After 3.3 miles and about 75 minutes, we reached our destination. We paddled up to the shore and took a bathroom break in the woods. The mosquitoes were bad, so I was eager to get back into the water and head back to the kayak rental place. On the trip back, I realized one little square on my right leg was turning red, so I covered it with a tissue and a Ziploc bag (that’s all I had in my kayak). About seven miles and two-and-a-half miles later, we turned in our kayaks and headed home. When we stopped for some lunch, I realized my legs were burned, but that’s how my shoulders were the day before, so I figured my legs would be fine and tan by the following day. Wrong.

By the time we got home, my legs were on fire. I was exhausted, probably from kayaking seven miles (using muscles I don’t think I use too often) and a touch of sun poisoning, so I took a cool shower and laid down. I never fell asleep. I rarely nap, but when I do, I’m usually out for several hours as soon as my head hits the pillow. I can sleep on command, which is why I don’t like to nap—because I’ll waste an entire day without even meaning or needing to. My legs were generating so much heat that I just could not get comfortable.

Just a taste of what my sunburn
looked like on Sunday night.

I got up and got ready since this was the only night we were going out to dinner. My dad knew my legs were really bothering me, and suggested he go get food and bring it back to the cottage, but I thought some time in the AC would be nice (our cottage does not have AC…never has, never will). So I put on a dress and a lot of aloe, and we headed off. I started to get dizzy and nauseous, so of course I ordered a glass of wine and inhaled the bread they gave us. My dinner was amazing, but I was so “off” that I barely remember dinner. By the time we got home, my legs were really hurting. I was sweating and it wasn’t even that hot. I cooled down with another shower, a lot more aloe, and some over-the-counter pain relievers and more wine. I laid in bed for probably ten hours that night, and never slept a wink.

That was Monday, Memorial Day, so left the cottage to head home around 10:30 a.m. The drive was brutal. I put my yoga towel over my legs because the sun shining through the window was causing even more pain, even though I’m pretty sure you can’t tan/burn though a car window. The heat was just so intense. After sitting for almost three hours (thank you, traffic), getting out of the car was interesting. It took me three minutes before I could stand on my own and then waddle into the house. I immediately filled up a spray bottle with vinegar and doused my legs half a dozen times in the next two hours. I laid in my room with the AC on full blast and Mad Men on my laptop, and finally fell asleep but only for about 90 minutes. I woke up hungry and in a lot of pain. By now, my legs were so red and swollen that I could barely bend my knees so going up and down the stairs was the worst. But I made myself keep doing it so I wouldn’t get too tight. I read for several hours before attempting to go to sleep, but sleep never came. I was in so much pain that I could barely keep from crying. I rinsed off my legs with cold water then sprayed more vinegar (it did help, but only for a few minutes) and finally gave in and applied some after-sun lotion because my skin was just so damn dry and tight, I figured it was what was causing so much joint pain.

When my alarm went off yesterday morning, it was almost a relief. I was exhausted but never fell asleep all night. I ended up putting together a pretty ridiculous outfit to wear to work, but it looks surprisingly normal when I put it on. I knew pants were out of the question, and I can’t wear shorts or short skirts (not that I wanted to show off my horrible burn lines), so I layered a long, white tube top swim coverup and a white sleeveless top under a pink, sheer, long-sleeved top and white sandals. It looked a little hippie-ish, but that works around here. The dress is so light that even though it touched the burn, I hardly felt it. While I was sitting at my desk, I had it hiked up around my waist (classy, I know) so that I could give my burn as much breathing room as possible, and because I kept dousing myself in vinegar and lotion, much to my co-worker’s nose’s dismay.

Thankfully, so far, Tuesday was the worst—it was the hottest day of the week, maintenance hasn’t put the AC in my office yet, and sunburns are usually worst in the first 48 hours. I’ve passed that point, so I’m hopeful it’s all uphill from here but we’ll see. I’m just praying I don’t end up with blisters.

'nuff said.

This is by far, the worst sunburn I’ve ever had. When I went to the Million Mom March in Washington, D.C., during my sophomore year of high school, it was May and not very hot but very sunny. I rolled up the sleeves of my t-shirt to make a tank top and ended up with second degree burns on my shoulder and permanent freckles that I still have to this day that weren’t there prior to May 2000. I remember shortly after the trip to DC, we had to take the MCAS test. You aren’t allowed to leave the room during the test (it’s like the Florida FCAT). I wore a spaghetti strap tank top that day because my shoulders had actually developed huge blisters. I must have moved weird, because all of a sudden during the test I felt this intense pain and heard this dripping sound. I looked, and the strap had ripped open one of the blister and pus was just pouring out onto the floor. I’m pretty sure I made some of my classmates sick, but I wasn’t allowed to leave, so I just put a bunch of paper towels on it until I could go down to the nurse’s office and have my parents come get me. It was awful. If I develop huge blisters on my legs, just find me a cliff or a shotgun, please and thank you.

I ended up going to the walk-in clinic Tuesday when I left work. Fortunately, it’s a real doctor’s office in East Longmeadow that offers urgent care without an appointment so it’s not like the clinics in the ghetto. The doctor didn’t laugh at me like I expected. She noted that the burns were severe, and not quite second degree, but certainly worse than first degree. I no longer have ankles or knees – the swelling is that bad. I could barely get my sandal on this morning. She prescribed Percocet, 500mg of naproxen (Aleve), lots of water, rest, and a cool environment. So that meant no hanging around my house except in the bedroom. Which I did. I ate a delicious fast food dinner so that I wouldn’t puke up the meds, and took them right away. Wow. Percocet is no joke. I see why people get addicted. The pain didn’t go subside immediately, but eventually I got very tired, slightly confused, and really happy. It was nice. I took another one four hours later as instructed and by that time I was a bumbling idiot. Fortunately, it was well past my bedtime and I hadn’t slept in three days, so I slept like a baby. I can only take it at night but I still feel the effects in the morning for an hour or two until I drink enough coffee and water.

Note to self: never leave home without sunscreen. Especially while kayaking on a lake on a cloudless day.

Dreams Realized

For those of you who are extremely close to me, you know that nursing school has been a dream of mine for the last five years or so. Every now and then, something happens that makes me want to go just a little bit more. First, I started working in health care back in 2008...and by working I mean slaving away at a desk doing PR for free and loving every second of it because I felt, in some small way, I was helping the patients. I got to share their stories with the world. I got to take their pictures. I got to sit and talk with them, mostly about the topic for the article, but I always found a way to get to know them a little better. I apparently have one of those faces - EVERYONE thinks they have met me or my older sister (I don't have a sister) or that I look exactly like someone. And I also have a tendency to have something in common with almost everyone I meet. Something that comes up in an initial conversation, like a mutual friend or a hometown or a favorite restaurant in Colorado. I know, it's weird. But these things happen to me every single day. I think it made my job as a health care writer easier because patients could relate to me without feeling intimidated.

While still in grad school, I was hired to intern for my third health care organization, this time for a hospice. I was sad before I even started, but I thought it would be good practice for my dream job: doing public relations for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. It's been my dream job since I was in the third grade or so (well the St. Jude part, not the PR part yet). As a Catholic school, we did the St. Jude Math-a-Thon every year. It's like any fundraiser where people sponsor you for participating, except instead of walking or running, you did math problems. I hated math - always have, always will - but I loved doing the Math-a-Thon once I understood how it helped sick kids. We watched films in class explaining the program and featuring different patients. I fell in love with the place before I even really understood cancer and medical research and chemotherapy. As I got older and settled on communications as a major, I found out I could marry my two favorite things. I applied for an internship with St. Jude every semester and even after graduation. I've even applied for a job even though I didn't have the seven years of experience they required. As it turns out, the president of the Junior League in Fort Myers knows several people who work there or sit on the board, and offered to get me an interview. I have since decided that Memphis isn't where I want to be right now (hello, I just moved home to be close to my family and friends again), but I will forever keep her offer in mind.

But anyway, back to hospice. All new employees, regarding of job title or responsibilities, were required to go visit homebound patients with a social worker and then with a nurse so we would understand the mission of the organization. The "ride-along" with the social worker was OK, but watching the nurse interact with not only the dying man (who was a brilliant college professor for 50 years but was about to die from Lou Gehrig's), but also his wife, totally changed my perspective on health care. I don't remember what happened, but I started looking into going to nursing school. Silly me, I assumed I needed a bachelor's. I was less than three months away from getting my master's in PR and told myself to forget it. I couldn't spend another three or four years getting a second bachelor's. How would I support myself? I later learned you only need a two-year associate degree to get your RN, but by that time, I was finally working a real, full-time, benefitted job and pushed my silly dreams to the back of my mind.

But it wouldn't go away. I quit my agency job to get back into health care where I felt less like a corporate schmuck and a more like a contributing member of society. I took every opportunity I could to work with the nurses. I got to know the health system's chief nursing officer/VP of nursing on a first-name basis. When I left, she told me to let her know if I ever needed a recommendation for any job or for nursing school. The nurses who I worked with on the nursing newsletter all encouraged me to apply for school and begged me to keep them up-to-date on my second career plans.

The college I work at isn't a hospital. But they do have one of the best bachelor's in nursing programs in the area. Aaaaand I get free tuition after six months of employment. One of my best friends is a nurse. Every time we talk, I ask her about nursing and she keeps asking when I'm going to apply. I was at a party this weekend, and met three nurses. After a few skinnygirl margaritas, I decided I knew them well enough to tell them about my then-somewhat-secret dreams to go to nursing school and they all told me to go for it. I tell people all the time, "Really think hard before you go into the PR field." It's intense. It's not always rewarding, and it's never fairly compensated. You can never shut your phone off and call it a week. You have to lie, spin, twist, cover up and "no comment" the media...hopefully not too often, but at least once in your career you'll have to do all of those things. Other PR professionals will agree that you have to be cut out for it. Nurses have to be cut out for it, too. But I've never once in my life met a nurse who said, "Don't do it." I don't know if it's me, and they think I'd be good at it and so they encourage me, or if it's just that every nurse loves his or her job.

So, something snapped this week. I'm not "planning on going to nursing school someday" anymore. I'm going to do it. It'll be hard to balance a career, volunteering and taking classes, but I can do it. I've only taken about half of the prerequisites to get into nursing school, so I'll have to start by finishing those up. But it'll put me one step closer. I'll be the oldest person in Anatomy & Physiology I, but it's offered 8:00-9:15 a.m. Tuesdays and Thursdays with lab 3:30-5:20 on Thursdays. That mean's I'll miss 45 minutes of work on Tuesdays and an hour and 45 minutes on Thursdays...since technically my hours are 8:30-4:30 even though I've only left at 4:30 once. I can easily make up those hours by staying late or coming in early. As long as my boss is cool with it, I see no reason not to take advantage of this opportunity to take a class tuition-free. And if she's not, I can look into classes at a community college.

I realize this post makes me sound all, "I'll be a great nurse." No, not at all. I don't even know if I'll become a nurse. All I know is that I HAVE to go to nursing school. I have to take my prereqs, get into a nursing program (RN or BSN), and pass the NCLEX. Then, in 15 years when I'm finally done, I can decide if I've had enough of the PR profession or not.

By the way, Happy Nurses Week to my favorite people! The timing of this post is purely a coincidence...I realized it after writing the entire post while looking for a good picture.