Re: Embarrasing Injuries
There Once was a Stupid little Shit
Back when I was a little kid (I was just one week into first grade), it was night time, most of my family were asleep and I wanted to do some arts and crafts. I was looking for some tape, and after I couldn't find any scotch-tape I settled for the big clear tape that's typically used on boxes. Now I needed some scissors, okay I can't find any so next best thing is to use a knife. I grabbed a scalpel, you know the kind of knife that cuts through flesh like butter (my mom's a nurse). Needless to say this way an accident waiting to happen...
My older sister was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the mini-tv and eating pickles about 10 feet away from me with her back turned. Now without any inhibition I grabbed the scalpel and preceded to cut the tape, the tape was smooth and the knife suddenly slipped-- it slit the skin above my thumb and as I looked at what was exposed underneath, I yelled in surprise, "Ah, I can see my bone." Now I couldn't really see the bone, just the tendon and muscle which had whitish-grey look. My sister jumped out of her seat, and upon seeing my thumb ran to wake up my parents.
Both of my parents were sleeping. They were very tired because my mother gave birth giving me another beautiful sister a little over a month ago, and babies are know to take away from a restful night. This time it was me ruining their good night sleep as they had to rush me to the hospital. I needed stiches.
My older sister put a large cotton ball over the cut, and put pressure on it for the whole drive to the hospital. My folks were pretty quite. In the waiting room my parents sat weary eyed, my mother holding my baby sister in her arms, and I felt more like shit from what I put everyone through more than than the cut itself.
The stiches didn't hurt at all. I can't remember what was said at the time, or much after that, but I was just relieved that it was over even though I knew that I was still in deep shit.
A couple of days after the calamity, I remember watching some recent Frankenstine movie, and realized I had something in common with the monster. I hate stiches.
If you hear a voice within you saying that I am not a painter, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.
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