Okay, I got 7 stitches tonight (less than an hour ago), and I may have a permanent scar (not sure if it’s cool yet), I was dancing to the song “milkshake” by kelis and smacked my head. The blood poored, I grabbed a paper towel and applied pressure to the area (god I love being an EMT at this moment). My Father got up and drove me to the hospital (empty cause I am in a small town), where I was asked “are you drunk? Bar fight?” I told them the dancing story, they looked at my Father and I cracked the joke “well, in my house we call it ‘he’ll listen next time’” Father was not amused, the doctor was, though. Anyway, he told me I would need stitches and that it would scar. HE gave me some Novocain, and started, it hurt, a lot. “oh I didn’t put enough in” he said calmly “want me to just put some more in?” The part that disturbs me is I told him no. I used my standard “nah, I can deal” when I mean to say “nah, I like pain” So I got to experience this weird moment, of sitting through this man’s attempts to fix me, denying his total help, I felt very much like one would in the 1900’s when the drug was alcohol and this stuff hurt: always. Okay, it was weird, it is weird, but I wanted to experience it, that feeling of it piercing my skin, 7 times, it hurt, 7 times it helped. Odd as it may be, I enjoyed it, the doc could have been cuter, the nurse could have been male, and my father could have been elsewhere, far far away. But as it was, I sat there unrestrained as a man stuck a needle above my eye and verbally told me how I was going to be scared and I couldn’t do anything about it except pray. Hot? Well I thought so. On an unrelated topic, my father and I got a little closer tonight, I sat in the er, thinking “great a facial disfiguration” he put his hand on my shoulder and it was comforting. Something about it brought back all the memories from when I broke my collar bone, the bloody hand occurence, the knee incident, the wasp, the bad punch, and the floppy disk incident(I go to the ER more than normal people *ahem* Duh *ahem*) and he’s always there, during or after. I don’t know why, but he passified me tonight. It works sometimes I guess. I want to end this with something I rarely do: whine. I DON”T WANT A SCAR, I like my face, I LOVE MY FACE, it’s pretty and well together, I didn’t avoid popping pimples and moisturizing so that I could have some stupid gash in my head latter on in fucking life g*d damn it, I did it to preserve the part of my body I like most (sorry that may be vain, but damn it I am cute), I didn’t avoid Razors so I could bust my head on a wooden bed, and If I am gonna have a scar at least let me have a manly reason. Let me tick off a biker, let my piss of a cop, let me upset president bush, or at the very least anger one of the Amish. I mean COME ON!-thank you, I am better now. -joey out
- posted by G @ 4:00 AM