A story from my book "Grandma's Stories."
Stitches
I have had
stitches many, many times in my life.
With my many surgeries, I have been stitched up lots of times in my
adulthood. Let’s see, I think I have had
seven surgeries in my adulthood: C-section, two knee replacements, gall bladder
removal, lump removed from my back, breast lumpectomy, and lymph node
ectomy. I am scarred. But the stories I want to tell are the three
times I had stitches as a child.
The first
time I had stitches was when I was just two-years-old. I was a cute, little girl. In our house, we had stairs to the
basement. They were covered in vinyl
with metal stripping along the edge of each one. Whose idea was that? They were dangerous. Each metal strip was held in place with
screws. There were lots of sharp
edges. One day, I was crawling up the
stairs and my hand slipped. I went down
hard on my chin, cutting it open on one of the sharp edges. I cried out in pain. My daddy came running. This is actually my first memory- my dad
coming for me, picking me up, and carrying me up to the top of the stairs where
there was a bathroom, putting me on the counter, cleaning my wound and looking
at it. I remember all of that. But that’s all I remember. But, being a doctor, he determined I needed
stitches and he took me to the hospital emergency room where I was stitched
up. I don’t remember that part, but I
have the scar to prove it.
The next
time I had stitches was when I was about four or five years old. My sister, Joan was two years younger than
me. We were playing with paper dolls. Joan wanted me to cut out some clothes for
the dolls. I accidentally cut off the
tabs with which you attach the clothes to the dolls. She was mad.
She grabbed the scissors from me and sliced my wrist with them. She then ran to hide under her bed while I
went to the hospital for more stitches.
The third
time I had stitches was when I was five years old. That year, our home was remodeled. A very large dining room and family room were
added. Nearing the end of the
construction, my parents left my older siblings in charge and went shopping for
new furniture for the new rooms.
Neighbor kids came to play at the construction site. The workers had left planks and nails and
dangerous things. We were playing a game
where we leaned a plank against the newly constructed deck and climbed up it
and onto the deck. As I was climbing,
Billy Baulding, who was in front of me, slipped and fell backward into me,
causing me to fall. I landed face first
on a protruding nail. Blood poured from
my damaged lip. Knowing they were at Blacker’s Furniture Store, my siblings
called my parents, who came home quickly.
They took me to the hospital to have my lip sewn. It was badly damaged and it is, by far, my
worst scar. I think my dad felt bad
about it my whole life as he mentioned it occasionally.
When you see
me next, ask me to show you my scars.
Have you had stitches? Do you
have scars?