My Burning Bosom

At the end of my last post, I mentioned that something happened at the gun room that wasn't so pleasant. Well, for those of you who are interested, here it is........

We arrived at the gun room, only to find that it was pretty busy. Ryan and CP had brough ear protection, and I was praying that it would be enough to quiet the noise, it wasn't. That's what I don't like about guns, the noise. When we entered the range, there were three guys next to us shooting a 45. I could feel it rattle in my chest every time the gun went off. My ear protection was not working good enough so I put a pair of earplugs in and then my muffs over them.

I came to the scene in flip-flops and a round neck shirt. No one said, "Wear closed-toed shoes", or "Wear a turtleneck". Geniel had on closed-toed shoes, a crew-neck t-shirt, and a jacket. Ryan, CP, and Colby start setting up the guns while my hands start to sweat. I turned to Geniel and said (probably yelled because of my double ear protection), "I don't think I can do this". More like, "I don't really want to do this. Can I go sit out in the waiting room?". CP turns and points at me and I shake my head no. He points harder and then points to the ground like, "get your fanny over here before I yank your arm out of your socket". I walk over and he starts explaining how to use the gun. Now, the shooting stations are partioned off by small walls. I could see that when someone would shoot, the shell would bounce off the wall and land somewhere by their feet. This was when I realized that my flip-flops, though stylish, weren't the best choice for this particular situation. CP then says to me, "You need to be careful of the shells. They are hot, will bounce of the wall and could possibly go down your shirt". Gulp. I thougth what are the chances of that happening? Oh, I would find out soon enough.

I blew through my round of ten shots. I was done and so ready to escape into the waiting room. Geniel goes next. I'm thinking that once she's done, we can make our great escape. She shoots, does well, and then CP points to me again. My mind is saying to get up there shoot them quickly and be done. I line up, get my target in sight, and start shooting.

At about round 6, the shell bounces off of the wall and goes right down my shirt! I immediately felt the heat of the shell. I had the gun in my right hand (Ryan says I was waving it around but I don't know about that), I'm bent over with my left hand pulling my shirt open, and doing some sort of dance with my feet. The shell was in my clevage and I had to get it out! CP grabs the gun and lays it on the counter, while I'm still fussing with this bullet shell. After I got it out, I was done! D.O.N.E. Done.

I didn't think too much about it the rest of the night. CP, Ryan, and the boys teased me about it a little but they always tease me. I checked my clevage once in the bathroom for any burn marks but there weren't any.

The next morning, I'm getting out of the shower and ready to put some lotion on when I see it. Something on my chest that's not usually there and it looks like a burn mark. I head out of the bathroom, over to Ryan, whose in bed, and say, "9-1-1", I have been burned and I'm sure today is the day of my death". He looks at me and says, "It's not that bad". Not that bad? When's the last time he had a hot bullet shell down his shirt?

Of course, I fuss about it all morning, showed Geniel at church (she laughed by the way), and realized there wasn't a whole lot of sympathy going on around here. After church Ryan asks me about my burn I told him that I was in critical condition and the doctors said it wasn't looking good for me. I told him that if I didn't live through the night I wanted a hot-pink glittered casket lined in zebra print, CP to give my eulogy (he owed me at least that), and for Laura B to sing the song she made up for me to the tune of "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond. He laughed.

They prodded my every day about it after that. Ryan would even call me at work and ask if I thought I was going to make it. I have gone from critical care, to serious but stable, to stable, to just being in a regular hospital room. Luckily, I narrowly escaped a coma.

I tried to take several pictures of my "wound" myself but every time I did, it looked like someone's crack. I finally talked Ryan into taking it for me to have proof that my life has been hanging in the balance. So, if you want to take a look you can but I must warn you that it's not pretty and it's kind of oozing at this point of the picture.



And my family says I'm dramatic. I have no idea why they think that!