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Scars

February 2, 2019

Scars are part of growing up. One cannot be my age and not have had accidents. I have had my share, that’s for sure. Scars from childhood to adulthood, some scars show and some are hidden inside. They all hurt. My scars are a diary of my life.

 

I will take a moment to preface this by saying that until adulthood, I never had a doctor attend my wounds. “Back in the day”, someone applied a washcloth and then, if there was blood, we were given a bandage.

 

Scar number one is located on my left palm caused by a broken glass. I was three, too young to remember the details. Looking at it now, it must have been a pretty good slice to still be showing for the last seventy-six years.

 

Hind sight being one hundred percent, I would not have involved myself with bicycles, because scar number two was caused when I was eight. I was at the top of a hill with my friends. I intended to jump on my bike and soar down the hill. The problem occurred when I tripped and fell on the front (rusty) fender causing a gouge in my left shin. After arriving at the bottom of the hill and managing to get my bloody leg indoors, I had to lay down while my Aunt Helen cleaned the gash and put a bandage on it. It made me feel sort of sick, so I had to lay there for a while.

 

Scar number three also involved a bicycle. This time I was invited to be the third person on the bike. I was on the rear fender. I can see the details to this day. We were on our way down a hill and I began to slip. Ever so slowly I began to slide until gravity took me down to the street. My chin took the brunt of the fall. Funny how that all happened in slow motion.

 

Scar number four is when I attempted to go down some outdoor steps at the park. It is something I had done many times. I don’t know what happen, but this particular time my left knee took the fall. Aunt Helen again applied wash cloth and bandage.

 

One evening a group of us were playing hide-and-seek in a open lot. I don’t know what possessed this kid to take the lid of a tin can and pitch it the air, but when he did, my upper lip was in the way. Scar number five.

 

I got through high school unscathed. When adulthood took over things changed. Appendix caused scar number six (that one was not my fault).

 

One day I was playing tug-of-war with our dog. I had one end of the sock in my mouth and he had the other end in his. He gave the sock a good shake and our heads collided. I got a trip to the hospital in a helicopter to repair a hematoma and scar number seven.

 

Then the biggie came three years ago. I fell out of bed, cracked the back of my head on the side rail causing a brain bleed. A washcloth and bandage would not take care of this. There was another helicopter ride and a big time operation that resulted in two weeks in the hospital.  My head now has the look of a road map. Scar number eight, nine and ten.

 

I don’t think bubble wrap was invented when I was young. Too bad, I could have used some.  Betty

 

 

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