I burned my hand this morning. It was an amateur mistake. It didn’t need hospitalization, but it looks like I’ll have a dime sized scar on my palm.

After having a relatively useless night, unable to sleep, and capitulating to the torments of insomnia by getting up at 4:30 AM to take sunrise pictures of the Tetons (yes, yes, cry me a river) I returned to the campsite for a brief nap and then started making breakfast.

I thought I was awake.

I wasn’t fully awake.

After frying up some bacon, I grabbed the cast iron pan to take it off the fire so that I could fry some eggs with the residual heat. I wasn’t so hair brained as to forgo some padding to hold the handle. I knew it would be hot. But the rag that I usually used just didn’t cut it this time.

It took a few seconds for my conscious self to register what was going on. I suppose that I should be proud that I didn’t subconsciously throw the pan of hot grease as soon as the pain registered. I only spilled a little as I quickly lowered the pan back on the grill. The rag simply wasn’t thick enough to sufficiently insulate me from the extreme heat of the handle.

Even so, I initially deluded myself, thinking there was no great concern. I grabbed an additional rag, wrapped it carefully around the pan handle, and moved the pan to the picnic table. I even went so far as to crack an egg into the pan—which danced in the extreme heat…this would not go over easy.

It was about that point that I accepted that I might be in pain. I stiffly marched into the restroom and stood at the sink, with cold water running over my hand until a friend came by with bandages. I explained that I didn’t really need a bandage, but I would humor them.

I really needed that bandage.

I initially couldn’t tell what part of my palm was burnt. There was an outline of soot where the end of the panhandle had rested on the base of my palm. But the pain traced a line from between my thumb and forefinger, diagonally across the palm. So I slathered on some Neosporin, found an insanely large bandage, and then used an ace bandage to secure the other bandage so that it didn’t just fall off.

Then I took two ibuprofen.

After a day, I have what already looks like a dime sized shape of scar tissue. I didn’t quite blister, though it looked like I was at one point. Sometimes there is no feeling there at all. Sometimes it stings. So I keep bandaging the red coin of indecision.

So far, I seem to have things under control.

Campfires have suddenly lost their charm.

Lexi lives in a truck camper down by the river.

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