I'm famous for my injuries, for my falls, bruises, cuts, and scrapes. To this day, I still have trouble cracking the knuckle of my left index finger.
Although, in part, I must say that I do love telling a good story (even at my own expense), but also if I'm going to get injured, I want proof. Not horrific, disfiguring proof, but something small that will elicit sympathy.
Now I may or may not end up with a thin one-inch scar above my left temple along my hairline. We'll see. For the moment, it's just a semi-fractured scab that curves down at the bottom.
And how did I get it? The story isn't that impressive. I was moving something from the backseat of my minivan to the trunk. Yes, I knew the trunk was open, because I opened it. And also, because I was trying to put something in it. So, my only excuse is that it was 3 in the morning. I took the bag from the back seat, shut the door with my hip, rounded the van's back corner and ran my head smack into the door of my trunk. Actually set the bag in the trunk and closed the door, before proceeding to press both my hands to the injured area and beginning to say, "ohgodohgodohgod," over and over again, for probably about 15 seconds.
As I previously mentioned, I've run into things before. No big deal. It hurts. Walk it off. The end.
Until I took my hands off my head and saw blood. Blood? That's a whole other story. Blood means crying.
Reapply hands to head. Start to breath quicker, interspersed with tears, as if a precursor to hyperventilating. Walk back upstairs and into bathroom as quickly as possible. Remove hands. Check wound. Blood running down side of face? Yes.
And it still hurts. My head is throbbing and it's still bleeding.
Damage assessment? Clean the wound; apply pressure. I'll have a headache, but I'll live.
But first, call Mom. 4 am here? 6 am there. Yea time travel.
Cry on phone and hold bloody side of head away from phone and at the same time try to explain to Mom that I have a concussion and remote chance of brain damage. Curious Sibling enters room to see what the fuss is and helps Mom assess actual damage over the phone. Sibling tries to wipe bleeding forehead with dry paper towel--Everyone knows it should be dampened first. Mom suggests tylenol and lots of ice to keep down swelling and pain. Mom predicts I will live. And have a headache.
Breathing returns to normal, freak-out over, and tears subside.
I know I would've been fine, but there's just something that is so much more reassuring and comforting to hear it from Mom.
I've avoided washing my hair for two days, but I may have to go out in public again soon. Will the shampoo sting? Will the water wash away the scab? Will it open it up and bleed again? The scab is still very much tender to the touch, which I know from my frequent urges to touch it and see if still hurts. I'm usually grateful for the strong water pressure in my shower, but now I'm a little nervous. Also, I'm pretty sure my highlights need to be retouched. Soon.