Head Injury! (day 5)

Almost didn't make this post in time. We'll all just pretend it made it in on the correct day, won't we?

To make it worse, I'm once again stealing inspiration from Amanda C. I would have bored you all with something completely dull, but instead her post prodded another fading memory out of its dusty burrow and into the light. So, enjoy hearing about me repeatedly hurting myself. :]

When I was little, like 6 or so, I had a habit of running through the house. My mom would tell me to stop, and I would... for like 20 seconds. Then I'd start again. We had this short, solid table made out of heavy wood that our tiny black and white tv sat on. That table was the only thing my father ever gave us, I recall. I still have it. Not because of him, but because that table is fucking sturdy. And covered in my blood. lol. Anyways, it had a little rug right under/near it, and as expected, I ran past at one point and tripped on the rug, and cracked my head open on that solid little table.

I remember it hurting, but not so much as you'd expect; I didn't black out or anything. I don't know for sure how bad it injured me, it just seemed like a lot of blood at the time. I remember kinda thinking it was cool (all the blood). We were pretty poor, with no insurance, so my mom stitched my head up herself. I deduce from that that it's unlikely that I cracked my skull, just did decent scalp damage. But you never know. Last I asked my mom, it seemed she didn't really remember.

And then, after that, (either later that day or the next... possibly the one after that) I was at it again. Running through the house, I went to run by the table, and produced the same results. Trip, smash, blood on the table. I think this one dazed me quite a bit more. I remember my grandma being mad that I wasn't listening, but it's kinda fuzzy. :] I got stitched up again. I'm not sure how long it was after that that I didn't run in there again; I can't really believe that the incident dissuaded me forever. Maybe they just moved the damn rug instead. My mom pulled the homemade stitches out a week or two later. I remember it not really hurting much.

It would be years later before I damaged my skull that bad again. I was driving my first car, an awesome, solid, dependable Oldsmobile. The highway was oily from rain after a dry spell. I was driving only a little bit faster than was good for me; I was in a hurry to see some friends and possibly get to meet up with a crush of mine. As a stoplight turned red, an eighteen wheeler hydroplaned in front of me, its trailer, barren of cargo, fishtailing across the road before the driver regained control. I slammed on the breaks and hydroplaned too, despite my best efforts. My first wreck.

I slammed into the back of the trailer going about 55. It bounced me off of the windshield and steering wheel (I wore a seat belt, but it was useless in that car). I remember pretty clearly all of the moments up to it, time slowing as I did everything I could remember to regain control of a vehicle, and realizing I couldn't. Then being like, "Fuck. I'm gonna wreck. Oh well." and just waiting for it to happen. I don't remember being concerned; which is not unusual for me in an emergency (ty Fetch). I knew it was gonna hurt, gonna fuck up the car, but that it wasn't going to kill me or anything. There was a second or so after the impact where everything was an unfocused generalized blur and I was stunned. Then it passed, and I got out of the car.

The driver of the eighteen wheeler didn't even know someone had hit her. Damn big trucks. :] I know looking back I must have been dazed, because I asked if she was alright. Derp. It's an eighteen wheeler, dumbass. I dented the bar on the back that's specifically there to catch cars before they slide under the wheels, and that was it. The woman asked if she should call the police, or 911, and I told her I guessed so.

Police arrived soon after, and then the ambulance. By then I was thinking clear. The police asked me a bunch of questions, but I was mostly just concerned with my car and not being in trouble. I think the officer was a bit surprised. Then a second officer came and took over for her. He was mostly nice to me (unlike the first officer lady). Then the asshole paramedics came, did just about nothing, and told me that it was illegal (I was 17) for an underage person to refuse the ambulance ride in Alabama. That, by the way, was an absolute lie. They drove me about 400 feet (the wreck literally occurred right in front of the hospital) and charged me $475 for it. I was so pissed when I found out.

The emergency room was interesting. They rushed me in, not letting me walk around, and took me to a doctor. I had a broken hand, a cracked skull, a few other cracked bones and decent bruises, and blood loss. A lot of it. I remember being silently outraged, seeing the nurse walk by with a tray full of my sloshing blood, smiling and joking with the doctor, something to the effect of wondering how much was left. (I lost about a third of my blood by the way; thanks, asshats) My skull had already healed the crack up most of the way (!), so the doctor ofc decided to crack it back open to make sure it was alright and give me stitches. That hurt. I lost more blood, then they numbed my skull for the stitches. After he finished with that, they put a cast on my arm (on the wrong side, I found out later at a specialist), let me make a phone call, and shooed me off.

I forget who picked me up. I remember being upset about the car, the trouble I was going to be in at home, the cost of the ambulance and emergency room ($900+ for the er), and wishing I'd just walked home instead of going through all of this. I think it was Zach N. I remember getting lost in the hospital and not being able to find my way to the pick up zone, and not finding anyone to help, just other patients (I think one other guy was lost too, but he might have been drunk also). I remember climbing up something and over some bushes to get to the right area instead of navigating the damn hospital's innards again.

It all turned out all right. My injuries healed in a couple of weeks (!), though my skull has always had a thick spot where I'd cracked it these three times in the same place. I have bad dandruff there, and it's kind of numb. I bought a new car, ditched the cast early when it started to smell. I'll always hate paramedics though; not too fond of doctors, either. I'm glad I'm resilient, or those swindlers would have killed me and charged more to dispose of the body.

I get a cool story to rant about though, and at least I know I'm tough.

What does not kill you, makes you doughnuts, and all that.

:]