If I can give one piece of advice when it comes to moving – get yourself a decent pair of gloves – ones that fits nicely and give you some level of protection.
I had a fat bitch on Facebook (including some graphics) about my poor damaged fingers during and after the move. Before we even started I nicked my thumb on a box whilst packing books. It was just a teensy cut but it stung like hell. Normally these things last a day, two at the most and then they heal up.
But not if you are in the process of moving.
My teensy thumb cut turned into a slightly larger one which seemed to stretch as the days passed. My other fingers joined in the party after scrubbing the complex house to a state of pristine perfection (yes – I know this is what rubber gloves were invented for but somehow I have never owned a pair).
Yes – I do have gloves – but they are fingerless ones – so are totally useless. My gardening gloves were deep in the depths of an unknown box.
Everything you do involves your fingers… the simple things like pulling your zip up is excruciating when the metal cuts into flesh, turning on light switches, flushing the loo (it’s one of those jobbies that you have to press), the microwave button to open the door (it’s got little studs on it), the stove knobs, drawer handles… the list is endless. There is always some meanie little spikey bastard lurking around waiting to inflict pain.
I bought plasters. Normal ones – which I figured would work. Nope. In a Facebook rant I wished for innovative plasters that would actually do the job of covering, protecting and staying on for more than 10 minutes, but still allow your fingers to do their normal jobs. My friend Cathy pointed out that such magical things did actually exist so I dashed off and bought some immediately.
But it was a bit like trying to wrap a nappy on a pole.
That wretched Emma fell around laughing when she saw what my digits looked like. Haphazard deluxe. It’s not that easy slapping Betadine onto fingers with plastered fingers – and trying to keep that shit off the sticky bits. I suppose I could have asked Chris but I think he thought I was being a bit of a wuz, so I went the independent route.
Emma offered to do them again for me – and did a marginally better job. They still easily unwrapped and fell off and I felt as clumsy as hell.
Of course it did not help that I had agreed to do four recycling workshops for groups of 30 kids for National Science Week either – had to make 120 packs of beads, sharp bits of plastic and tiger wire that bit. If it did not wedge in broken bits (through the plaster) it poked them. I won’t even go into the logistics of actually doing the workshops and having to tie those little suckers off so the kids key-rings stayed together.
True – the special finger plasters are a bit better than the conventionally shaped ones – but they are clearly not made for little fingers. A couple of times I caught cashiers looking at my hands in horror. It’s relatively impossible to pay with your hands clasped under your armpits.
Not to mention the fact that I was dying to get stuck into the garden, amongst all the unpacking and shoving furniture around. I also wanted to bake – we’ve got a fabulous oven in our new house, but kneading rusks with plastered fingers is not what I’d call sanitary.
I wanted to blog too – but it was too freaking sore to type. Seriously.
Today – 17 days after we moved – my fingers are now almost fine (although they still feel like sandpaper) but the original cut on my thumb has grown in depth and size and still attracts all manner of sharp objects. I took my last Elastoplast plaster – a 90 x 60 mm one (that I had previously been cutting in half – worked better than the special ones) and cut in half – but diagonally this time.
Thought if I screw it up – too bad.
Put my thumb in the middle of the gauze. Wrapped the left side over, wrapped the top bit over, wrapped the right side over and… hot damn… had the neatest plaster ever!
And I can still type with it too.
And it only took 2 boxes of plasters to figure this out!