Flashback Friday: The Flesh-It Burns! about 1998

Flashback Friday is a weekly series on “Hopes and Dreams.” Each Friday a different memory from Jessi’s or John’s past is posted. You are invited to join the fun and record a memory of your own, too, whether it be on your blog, in your journal, in an audio file, etc. The objective is to foster an appreciation and desire for personal record keeping as we are forming our personal histories. Also, if you chose to blog your memory, you are invited to link up to our memory (but only if you wanna).
When I was about 13 or 14 I was smack dab in the middle of my competitive tennis career.  At the time I was ranked #3 in my age division in the state of Utah and would travel the intermountain west competing in–and often winning or placing in–probably 5-7 tournaments a year.  Bless my dad’s heart for those times.  I do not recall him ever missing a single match in all my years of competition and high school tennis.  And I know that stress was not easy on his health, but he did it anyway.
One evening back in those days I was chatting with my mom in our very large laundry room that also doubled as our primp-station.  I was leaning up against the counter that housed all of our curling irons and head bands and hair adornments and began to fiddle around as we conversed.  It wasn’t long before I started to tidy up whilst fiddling.  But we were talking, too, so it was a very distracted tidying.  Next thing I knew, I reached for the barrel of the curling iron that was hanging up on a hook we had designated for hot curling irons as they cooled.  I was planning on putting it away in its little drawer designated for cool curling irons {we were very organized back in those days…}.  The curling iron was unplugged, but only just.  I didn’t realize it was still scorching hot when I grabbed the barrel with my dominant hand, leaving the entire palm with severe burns and blisters and bleeding.  My mother frantically ripped my hand away as I was screaming and began to tend to the wounds as I continued to wale.  It was the most physical pain I had ever experienced up to that point in my life.
I was in agony the rest of the evening, with no way of relieving the pain.  Even submerged in cool water, it stung.  I was worried how this would effect my training for tennis since it would be weeks to months before I could grip a tennis racket, let alone smack a ball with one without breaking the skin on my hand.  So that night as I lay in bed I said a prayer through my tears.  I begged for the pain to be relieved so that I could sleep through the night and that it would heal quickly so that I could get back to tennis sooner than expected.  And then I fell asleep, exhausted by the evening’s events.
The next morning I awoke with a vague recollection that something significant had happened the day before, but it took me a moment to remember that my hand had been burned–because there was literally no pain to remind me!  I had to unwrap the bandages to make sure the burns were even still there.  Of course they were, but the pain did not bother me from that moment on.  My prayer had been answered.  And it was only a matter of a few short weeks before I was back in training and back to tournaments.  I was nervous how my hand would do in my first match back, but it was perfectly fine.  {And I remember I won that match, too.}
So that’s the story of when I burned my hand.
What is your memory this week???