So I was reading 55 Blog Posts I Hope You Write because as you see, I was really, really, really hurting for something to blog about. NaBloPoMo is KILLING ME!! Sometimes I just want to NOT POST. But there are only 2 posts left after this one. You. Can. Do. It. Say that just as slowly as it looks. So here it is, the story of my most serious injury.
6 years old. I was down in the nursery at church, doing what I do best... bossing people around. I was a leader out of the womb. That's right baby! Momma's first born!! The rest of you fall back. Get in line! Anyway some child down there was being super bad. And not like the highly inappropriate movie geared for teenagers that they can't see without their parents' accompaniment and no parent in their right mind would actually want to see. (Don't worry. They'll just see it at a sleep-over with some lax parent.) Was anyone else soooooooooo annoyed by everyone on myspace and facebook with the tagline "I am McLovin"? Ok, ok we get it. You saw Supe.rbad and thought it was hilarious. Womp womp.
Anyway, the boy whose name I can't remember, let's call him Dontrarius because I just have a feeling it was something made up, was down there being his usual unruly self so I told him to stop. He retaliated by throwing a metal helicopter at my head. I start screaming my face off as blood pours out of my forehead. I run through the swining double doors into the fellowship hall and my mom's trying to figure out what in the world happened. As I'm screaming and crying and telling her and blood runs down my face, a kid I think is Dontrarius comes up to me and I push him away. I later realized it was his brother who was a really sweet kid. I felt bad even with the pain and the blood.
Someone drives to the hospital as I hold a ridiculously bloody towel to my head. In the ER, it takes my mom, and at least 2 nurses to hold me down when they used a needle in my forehead to numb the area. That crap hurt. I was really screaming bloody murder then. (Notice I remember all of this like it was yesterday and it was 18 years ago.) To calm me down, the doctor starts telling the story of Brer Rabbit, BUT HE'S TELLING IT ALL WRONG!! (I was a know it all, too.) So while he sewed my head shut, I told him the proper story of Brer Rabbit as taught to me by my 1st grade teacher. Much later my mom told me he probably knew the story, but had only told it wrong to get me to calm down and not focus on the fact that there was a man with a needle and thread stitching my forehead closed. Genius.
I was fretting about my birthday coming and starting 2nd grade with 4 red and blue stitches in my face. Even then I knew looks mattered!! Lol. I kid I kid! (ish) I've been matching since birth. I stopped letting my mom pick out my clothes around this time. I knew what I liked. She was glad to relinquish that one. She gave me lunch packing, too. Anyhow, I was very excited that the morning we had open house, I got my stitches removed. But it felt soo weird. You know how it looks when you pull a thread out? That's how it felt. Very bizzare. Sometimes the scar itches, but rarely. It's still there, but very small.
See? Next to the mole and above my left eyebrow. You can barely make it out unless you really look. My mom was really nice to the kid's mom. She (his mom) was a single parent and worried about how she was going to pay for what her little devil's seed did. My mom just let our insurance take care of it. What a great person she is.