Scars

I was thinking of something completely unrelated this morning when – in the way my mind works – I was suddenly thinking about my scars and how they came to be.
I only have 4 and these are only noticeable, if you look in the right place. They’re not huge and given their age, are fading away.

The first one happened when I was about 10, give or take some, I was climbing a tree when I fell out and landed with my hand on a piece of rusty metal. Off I went to the doctor and had a needle impolitely jabbed into my bum. Thank you tetanus, that hurt. By memory there were no stitches (butterfly band aids) and off we went home. No future issues or pain with this scar.

Fast forward to one of my first jobs at 18 (I was driving on my own, so it had to be about that age).
Local pub that had the odd overnight stay and I was working with another lady finishing off the cleaning, and getting ready for breakfast the next day.
I had stepped into a small alcove when…. Whoops, the next thing I know I was flat on the floor. Slipped on something. Ouch! Sore elbow, must have bumped the doorway. Continuing on with my job the next thing I hear is her almighty scream. She hated blood and there was quite a bit coming out of my elbow.
That’s funny, I didn’t feel that.
So, off to the doctor I go and get it all fixed up with a note to not go to work for a few days/weeks… On telling the boss, I got into a little trouble. I was now on compo. Which they weren’t happy about, but which wasn’t exactly my fault. No one told me I should have done a compo form at the doctors, and I was too young to know about it.
This is one scar that keeps coming back to haunt me. I must have hit a nerve right near the funny bone. Hit the funny bone, and it’s kinda funny. Hit the spot where I landed on my elbow and Ouch is not normally what comes to mind. A tingling weird sensation that hurts like blazers emanates along my arm. Thankfully it hasn’t happened for some time.

Moving along, and we are now living in Queensland. Kids and wisdom and all that. Some things just happen. Like this, which given my response, surprised me even.

Washing up. Hot soapy water. Glasses. Of the drinking variety. (My nemesis’)
Hand in glass with scourer, give a twist, rinse and place on drainer. That’s what was meant to happen.
Hand in, give a twist… Ouch! Hand out, “oh shit!” There’s blood in the water.
Not sure what happened exactly there after. I remember taking off the glove, with a big gash in it, and checking out my hand. Well, the top of my thumb actually. And what do I do. B-grade horror movie style, I pull the skin apart and let blood spurt out. Yep, and more than once too. Hey kids, check this out… Hubby wasn’t so impressed. He hates blood and is more likely to faint than be any help. I am proud of him though, he patched me up and bandaged my hand. He is the ‘doctor’ in this family. I am really no good at these things. No visit to the doctor. Although I probably should have.

The problem with all this. Not that it happened. It was a pain (haha) but more of the When it happened. Coming up to Easter I was all excited, and prepared to make all the Easter treats I’d never bothered to worry about before.

So not only did I not get to make Easter treats, but hubby had to help me with pretty well everything. Getting dressed when you can’t use one hand is being close to useless. And awkward.
I think I hit a nerve there as well. If I bump it, my whole thumb tingles, and sometimes it gets that ‘asleep’ feeling of pins and needles. Then there is that weird numb feelings get.

Am I allowed to have a favourite scar. If so, then this would be it.
Rewind. Way back to high school. Grade 7. 13 yrs old. With a tendency to faint. Getting the picture.
School assembly. All of high school, so roughly 150 students, all standing as we were in trouble, with us little grade 7ers right at the front.

So blah blah blah…on it went and then I felt this weird but familiar sensation. The dizzy head, the blurred vision and the knowing that once it got to that stage it could not be stopped. Not easily. And not where I was positioned either. They were talking about graffiti on desk tops which became a running joke as to why I fainted. This was not just any old faint. Never mind the slump to the floor, the wobbling and trying to hold on to the person next to me. This was outright face first slam into the floor. Imagine you have a stick and are holding it upright, let it go and watch it fall. That was me. The funny thing was, I was still semi conscious when I hit the floor as I felt the timber ‘bounce’ underneath (you know how timber floors have that bit of movement) the bang as I hit and then nothing. Apparently the principle said something along the lines of “can someone move this..” as he pointed to me laying prone on the floor. Charming! Of course I have no idea if that is true. I came to sitting at the office with assembly well and truly finished. Ad a small crowd trying to check out my wound. (This equates to the time I was most popular I at high school
The scar??
It opened my chin up. You could see the bone…
And then as it was being stitched back together I could feel the needle pulling the skin. It was numbed, just maybe not enough, even though it didn’t actually hurt. If I feel in the right place, I can just find it, but it’s not so noticeable anymore.

Mental scars… Woah,  imagine where we could go with that one. There are only a few.  And most people don’t know about them.  And they are not the major heart breaking type either.  I have a pretty good life.  But I’m not telling, and it is not a story for another time either. Sorry :-}

Cheers, and please don’t run with scissors.. Unless they’re plastic.
Jennifer.

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10 responses to “Scars

  1. I’m amazed that a) you only have 4 scars & b) that you remember how they happened. I’ve got more scars than fingers – including a couple on my fingers – and can’t remember how I got half of them.. I do however remember being stitched up “down there ” after the birth of son no. 2 – WITH NO ANESTHETIC! bitch doctor copped an earfull I can tell you.

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    • A) I may have had a fun childhood climbing trees and stuff, but wasn’t so rough. Clumsy came to me some time later.
      B) these were somewhat memorable. There were a few nasty jamming of fingers in doors though. Let’s see, the door wouldn’t close so I kept trying only to finally realise I was slowly squashing my pinky, duh. And then jammed it in the car door, right on the nail, and proceeded in to Maccas (where I was anyway) for coffee and went to the hospital later – numb hand from sticking it in a cup of (pink bloody) ice.
      As for being stitched up ‘down there’… They’re different sorts of scars. I can tell you the needle for anaesethic was worse than the birth itself. But you got it worse.

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  2. Funny, the way we carry our past around on our skin, and with our daily interactions. My body and my soul are riddled with scars, but I am coming to love them. Odd, when I got my big scar from my bypass surgery, I would have given the world to make it go away. Now, I am grateful that I lived through the whole business, when I didn’t think I could.

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  3. There’s absolutely no doubt why we became friends, LOL! ❤

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