My mom always said, "A trip to the hospital is not in the schedule." Well, yesterday it was. I've only been to the hospital, for me personally, once before and that was some 16 years ago when I was born, so going there was very foreign to me. Considering how active I am and what sports I do, you'd think it would be a annual event, but fortunately God granted me the wonderful gift of NOT being accident prone. Through the people I called to tell them about this unfortunate happening I received a wide variety of comments from "Ouch, I'm sorry," to "Can you sue anybody?" Which gave me the warm feeling of being cared for by many people.
It was a minor accident really. Something I would have never gone to the hospital for without the prodding of a few friends and then my mom coming home and giving the final say of "Yup, you're gonna need stitches." Anyway, I was working with my dad and sister at a rental house we've been fixing up (the same one I spent days painting) and the first day we were there a good sized mirror hung in the dining room. We were just going to leave it there, but it didn't have the same idea. While I was outside, and my two sisters were in other rooms no where near the mirror, it suddenly fell from the wall and shattered into many pieces. So we called our dad and he told us to find and empty box and stick the larger pieces in it and vacuum up the rest. When all was said and done we stuck the box outside so no one would run into it.
Once again the mirror didn't like that idea and somehow ended back inside the house, in a corner with the rest of the trash. Nothing was thought of the box until yesterday when I was told that all the trash was needed to go outside for the trash man to come pick up. I told my dad that I was not about to pick up the box that held the broken mirror, and that that was a job for him. He agreed and I began the process of taking out the trash. Being me I always play this game with myself to try to get everything out in one load so I began grabbing things and pilling them in my arms. When I figured I had as much as I could, I couldn't see anything in front of me and just to cut to the chase, I walked right into the box, into a large piece of broken mirror.
It didn't hurt at all, not even when I cleaned it out with peroxide and alcohol, so that was the main reason why I didn't think it was that bad. My dad wouldn't look at it because he hates blood and wounds like this, so thankfully my sister helped me squish the gash together so I could put a band-aid on it. Never having hurt myself this badly before I thought it looked kinda cool, but I couldn't get anyone else to agree with me.
Well, when we finally got to the hospital some 6 hours after "the accident," and they took the band-aid off to look at it, the skin around the gash was beginning to turn blue and die so then I decided it was probably a good thing that we went to the E.R. As I sat there, for a long time, I was looking at the people around me and wondering what issues they were having that caused them to come here was well. They looked normal, they acted normal, none of them had bandages on their arms or legs like I did so it was hard to tell why they were there. They laughed and talked like there wasn't a care in the world. I took that as a good sign because that meant less people were seriously hurt. When I was finally called back to a room, we figured it would be another long wait so we turned on the T.V. and flipped through the channels until we found Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I began to think that some of the people in this hospital were waiting to find their "golden ticket", the good news that they are cured or can finally go home. Again I thanked the Lord that I had my own special "golden ticket," a ticket into Heaven and that if something terrible had really happened that day, that I would be O.K.
When the Resident Assistant finally came in to sew me up he said that I would only need 3 or 4 stitches so that solidified my idea of not getting shots to numb my leg up. It didn't really hurt and I knew I had a high tolerance of pain so I just told him to go ahead. The way I see it, people a long time ago didn't have shots to numb them, and in fact, with accidents like these they probably wouldn't even get stitches so he just went ahead.
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