My scar
It occurred to me yesterday that I've never posted a picture of 'my scar.' I've talked about it a couple times and eluded to the basic story in a recent post about close-call accidents. This is my scar and my story.
I was nine. We were having a family reunion at my Aunt Barb's house. Out of the dozens of young cousins I have, there were only three of us in attendance. My uncle had gone hunting that morning and brought back a dead duck for their German Shepherd to play with. When my family arrived, my cousins Danielle and Blake were playing fetch with him and the duck. I played a few rounds myself and we got called in to wash up and eat. We burst out the doors once we'd finished with our food and returned to play more with the dog. Yes, mountain kids are weird. On my turn I hoisted the duck far behind my head to get some good distance, he jumped at me and I froze in confusion as my cousin bellered a blood-curdling scream. Adults flooded onto the porch. I turned to face them, unaware of why everyone was so upset, as mass hysteria spread through the group. They poured down the steps and grabbed at me. 'You can see the bone in her face,' was repeated time and again. Someone was sent to fetch a towel and returned with a large white one. They placed it to my cheek for a moment and when they pulled it away it was completely red. I heard my parents saying the word stitches and I had no idea what that meant but knew it was bad; it was only at this point that I started to cry.
One of my parents, I think my father, scooped me into his lap and laid my head on the towel on his chest and my mom drove to the ER. I remember how sterile the environment was, it was my first time in that part of the hospital. My parents stood beside me as the doctor cleaned the wound and stitched me up, I squeezed my dad's fingers until they were purple, but I didn't cry. My aunt came in part-way through and said that he hadn't had his Rabies shot and apologized while tearing up as she left the room. I was facing the right side of the room and up on the wall was a poster of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth it said 'Has your dog had his Rabies vaccination?' I knew right then and there that I was going to die from Rabies, but I didn't say a peep to anyone else about my fears. The doctor finished putting in the 13 stitches and everyone complimented him on his neat work and he said that if the next tooth, the canine, had gone in, it would have gotten my good eye and ripped off my face. Needless to say, 13 is my lucky number.
I spent the next few nights having difficulty sleeping since I had to be careful which side I laid on. My family came to visit and I heard them talking about how the dog had to be quarantined for 10 days and then would be 'put down.' As a little girl who wanted to be a veterinarian, I was mortified that my actions had lead to this dog being put to sleep. After hearing that story, people often ask if I'm afraid of dogs now and I tell them I'm a Vet Tech which always surprises them. They ask why I'm not afraid to work with animals and I tell them you have to watch their body language. I'm not saying the accident was my fault, the dog had bitten before, but if I had known what to watch for, it wouldn't have happened again. I felt really responsible for his death for a long time.
I pretty much made out on the deal though. I have a kick-ass story, a scar that I like to tell people I got in a knife fight with my gang, and I got a small annuity that helped some with school. It was really meant to pay for laser surgery but the scar is so much a part of me that I wouldn’t have it removed and I completely forget it’s there for months at a time. I do have to be extra careful to put sunscreen on it though and I never where blush because that side is always so red anyway.
Good times, good times.
Taking these pics reminded me of when the insurance came to our house and took all kinds of pictures for documentation.
Edit: Dude, I never look at the thing, but seeing it in pictures reminds me of the symbol from Heroes, I'm on the list!
I was nine. We were having a family reunion at my Aunt Barb's house. Out of the dozens of young cousins I have, there were only three of us in attendance. My uncle had gone hunting that morning and brought back a dead duck for their German Shepherd to play with. When my family arrived, my cousins Danielle and Blake were playing fetch with him and the duck. I played a few rounds myself and we got called in to wash up and eat. We burst out the doors once we'd finished with our food and returned to play more with the dog. Yes, mountain kids are weird. On my turn I hoisted the duck far behind my head to get some good distance, he jumped at me and I froze in confusion as my cousin bellered a blood-curdling scream. Adults flooded onto the porch. I turned to face them, unaware of why everyone was so upset, as mass hysteria spread through the group. They poured down the steps and grabbed at me. 'You can see the bone in her face,' was repeated time and again. Someone was sent to fetch a towel and returned with a large white one. They placed it to my cheek for a moment and when they pulled it away it was completely red. I heard my parents saying the word stitches and I had no idea what that meant but knew it was bad; it was only at this point that I started to cry.
One of my parents, I think my father, scooped me into his lap and laid my head on the towel on his chest and my mom drove to the ER. I remember how sterile the environment was, it was my first time in that part of the hospital. My parents stood beside me as the doctor cleaned the wound and stitched me up, I squeezed my dad's fingers until they were purple, but I didn't cry. My aunt came in part-way through and said that he hadn't had his Rabies shot and apologized while tearing up as she left the room. I was facing the right side of the room and up on the wall was a poster of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth it said 'Has your dog had his Rabies vaccination?' I knew right then and there that I was going to die from Rabies, but I didn't say a peep to anyone else about my fears. The doctor finished putting in the 13 stitches and everyone complimented him on his neat work and he said that if the next tooth, the canine, had gone in, it would have gotten my good eye and ripped off my face. Needless to say, 13 is my lucky number.
I spent the next few nights having difficulty sleeping since I had to be careful which side I laid on. My family came to visit and I heard them talking about how the dog had to be quarantined for 10 days and then would be 'put down.' As a little girl who wanted to be a veterinarian, I was mortified that my actions had lead to this dog being put to sleep. After hearing that story, people often ask if I'm afraid of dogs now and I tell them I'm a Vet Tech which always surprises them. They ask why I'm not afraid to work with animals and I tell them you have to watch their body language. I'm not saying the accident was my fault, the dog had bitten before, but if I had known what to watch for, it wouldn't have happened again. I felt really responsible for his death for a long time.
I pretty much made out on the deal though. I have a kick-ass story, a scar that I like to tell people I got in a knife fight with my gang, and I got a small annuity that helped some with school. It was really meant to pay for laser surgery but the scar is so much a part of me that I wouldn’t have it removed and I completely forget it’s there for months at a time. I do have to be extra careful to put sunscreen on it though and I never where blush because that side is always so red anyway.
Good times, good times.
Taking these pics reminded me of when the insurance came to our house and took all kinds of pictures for documentation.
Edit: Dude, I never look at the thing, but seeing it in pictures reminds me of the symbol from Heroes, I'm on the list!