There were a couple of toys I loved to play with as a child. One was play-doh and the other was a tea set that I got for Christmas. I used to mix all of the colors of my play-doh set to create a form of brown...then I would mold it to resemble little biscuits and place them on my tiny little plates...to make believe they were to be had with my warm tea (which was really warm water from the faucet). Everywhere I went I carried a plastic bag (from a grocery store) with all the pieces of my set...at least for two. My brother found a toy in everything. He played with dirt, leaves, shoe laces, rocking chairs, spoons, and would add cool sound effects to make anything sound like it was flying and getting ready to land. I wish my imagination was as vivid as his.
One day, while he was rocking back and forth on a reclining chair in the apartment, I asked him to stay still while I got my tea cup from under it. He must've misunderstood me (I mean he was probably around 6 years old) and reclined the chair while my left hand was touching the metal pieces and searching around the bottom until I could grab my cup.
All I remember was the sound of metal grinding together, like the sound of a train stopping short on the tracks...at least that is what I thought I heard as the metal pieces were closing in on my little pointer. I pulled my hand out as soon as I could and my brother panicked. I don't think he had ever seen so many tears or screaming come out of me...not by his doing. He looked so scared. Poor thing. And I was last person to console him.
Nana and all the kids crowded around me as the bleeding began to flow. She panicked too, as all of the little ones screamed (as if they'd never seen blood, outside of a scratched knee, before) so she decided to put my hand under cold running water. I can still remember the feeling of flapping skin as the water pressure separated my wound. All I could scream was no, no, please no. Then she regained sense and called the ambulance. Gory story, right? Well, it's not over just yet...but I have a point (no pun intended :-))
I was taken to Lincoln hospital Emergency room and they took me right in to get stitches. That is when the fun began-said no one ever! They strapped me down on a bed...from head to ankle and put my hand through a cloth-like material. Through my screaming and pain I could hear this very kind doctor say, "this is going to hurt a lot but in the future it will be beautiful. Do you want this finger to be beautiful like the others"...as I nodded with tears in my eyes and buggies in my nose, I said "yes please". And so he talked through ever stitch (which was done cold blooded-ly) I looked towards the door at my grandmother as she wept because of the pain that was only growing.
Once the sewing was over...the Dr. unstrapped me from my head down and put my arm in a sling to keep it from getting re-injured. I was soon leaving with a very sentimental heart. But glad that the pain was over. Now, I just needed this wound to heal. After some time, it healed and I had to go back to get the stitches removed. It was so tender, that even while I tried to be strong, my tears just appeared and rolled down my cheeks faster then I could dry them. My Dr. said that if I looked away, it would not hurt as bad...that was a complete lie. It felt the same...trust me...I tested it. The stitches were out and I thought...my finger was not as "beautiful" as my doctor said...but I'll take it.
All I remember was the sound of metal grinding together, like the sound of a train stopping short on the tracks...at least that is what I thought I heard as the metal pieces were closing in on my little pointer. I pulled my hand out as soon as I could and my brother panicked. I don't think he had ever seen so many tears or screaming come out of me...not by his doing. He looked so scared. Poor thing. And I was last person to console him.
Nana and all the kids crowded around me as the bleeding began to flow. She panicked too, as all of the little ones screamed (as if they'd never seen blood, outside of a scratched knee, before) so she decided to put my hand under cold running water. I can still remember the feeling of flapping skin as the water pressure separated my wound. All I could scream was no, no, please no. Then she regained sense and called the ambulance. Gory story, right? Well, it's not over just yet...but I have a point (no pun intended :-))
I was taken to Lincoln hospital Emergency room and they took me right in to get stitches. That is when the fun began-said no one ever! They strapped me down on a bed...from head to ankle and put my hand through a cloth-like material. Through my screaming and pain I could hear this very kind doctor say, "this is going to hurt a lot but in the future it will be beautiful. Do you want this finger to be beautiful like the others"...as I nodded with tears in my eyes and buggies in my nose, I said "yes please". And so he talked through ever stitch (which was done cold blooded-ly) I looked towards the door at my grandmother as she wept because of the pain that was only growing.
Once the sewing was over...the Dr. unstrapped me from my head down and put my arm in a sling to keep it from getting re-injured. I was soon leaving with a very sentimental heart. But glad that the pain was over. Now, I just needed this wound to heal. After some time, it healed and I had to go back to get the stitches removed. It was so tender, that even while I tried to be strong, my tears just appeared and rolled down my cheeks faster then I could dry them. My Dr. said that if I looked away, it would not hurt as bad...that was a complete lie. It felt the same...trust me...I tested it. The stitches were out and I thought...my finger was not as "beautiful" as my doctor said...but I'll take it.
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