Raw poultry wranglin, Dementia and me

I wonder sometimes if anyone else out there slips into Dementia when cooking chicken and while I generally think my parents did a bang up job of raising me without hang-ups, my mom did spark a couple of neurosis and they are as follows:
1. The daily struggle I have with Mom's advice to allow my children to "have their emotions" when really what I want to do is allow someone to perform an exorcism, especially now that Clara is given to multiple emotional assertions per day.
2. Fear of CROSS CONTAMINATION when cooking poultry

Really number two is the biggie, the biggie that has caused me to consider becoming a born again vegetarian or admitting myself to a mental institution for treatment so that I can come back to my family whole and sane and able to cook Dave's favorite dish, Chicken Parmesan.

In case you are wondering how bad this could really be, consider that what I am about to describe is what I go through when simply sautéing chicken - nothing fancy like breading or marinating - there's not enough memory in cyberspace for me to document what runs through my mind with more complicated poultry procedures.

So here is my story, and I title it: "Raw poultry wranglin, Dementia and me":

First I inspect the packaging, triple checking the "sell by" date for month and year. Then I look for any puffing of the external wrapping that would indicate to me that "gassing" has occurred that would indicate to me that the poultry had gone bad that would indicate to me that my family won't make it through the night if this chicken is what's for dinner. Once I have determined that no gassing has occurred, I score the wrapping with a knife and immediately toss this knife into the dishwasher with my right hand. With my left hand I stab the chicken with a fork and move it to the skillet, careful to not spill any chicken precipitation on the countertop as I make the transfer. (I used to wash the chicken before cooking it, but then I heard some of the roommates on America's Next Top Model saying that this could cause CROSS CONTAMINATION so I stopped that toot sweet!)
Once I have come into direct contact with the raw poultry, I begin to have the distinct sensation that salmonella from the chicken is beginning its single file, migratory path for the space under my fingernails where "they" will dwell and copulate until the skin under my nails turns yellow and falls off. And that's just the beginning of the havoc that I imagine "they" will wreak on my vulnerable body.
Trying to cut the little devils at the pass, I quickly "grab" the dishwashing soap with my uncontaminated forearms, jostle the open nozzle toward my hands and pump the liquid toward my fingers. Next I turn the hot water on with my toe because there's no way the salmonella have crawled down to my toes yet. I proceed to wash my hands under scalding hot water while I sing Happy Birthday to Me two times just like the Nurse on the show "E.R." says to do.

One might think I would relax a little at this point, the point when the meat is now safely in the skillet, in oil, on medium high heat and on its way to a good solid scalding. But no, this is when it really gets tricky. Now I must test and test and test the meat until I see that it's cooked through and wouldn't you know cooked meat even looks a little pink, especially when you are examing it under a bright overhead light! I usually conduct 9-10 tests along the way and each time I do, I send the fork and knife used DIRECTLY to the dishwasher to avoid CROSS CONTAMINATION! God forbid one little salmonella critter escapes onto the test utensils. If I used that same fork/knife to check the chicken later when its actually done, I might re introduce the salmonella and wouldn't that be unfortunate! So I go through about 10 forks and 10 knives in this process which is why God made 10 piece place settings.

So that's it in a nutshell. Gotta run. I forgot to turn the knob on and off 50 times before leaving the kitchen.