A New Scar

While a child might find it cool to be in possession of stitches and a scar in the making, I confess I am not so thrilled. It has definitely put a crimp in my normal weekly activities; and having to explain to one hundred and one people why I am hobbling on a cane, as I had to do for the better part of the week, does not exactly make me a happy bunny. Fortunately the cane has been retired as of today, and the stitches are slated to come out on Monday. I am back to driving, which was problematic earlier since my laceration is on my right leg, just above the ankle.

I have said in seriousness that I was bitten by our lawn tractor trailer, and that is true. I was pulling the trailer by the yoke to our fire pit to dispose of blackberry vine trimmings, and it slipped out of my grip and took a zig zag path down through my skin & cutaneous tissue, mercifully stopping short of cutting my Achilles tendon. I got a split second view of said tendon, applied firm pressure as all good first aid training tells you to, and immediately sat down while my body began producing all those lovely cytokines and inflammatory molecules, completely with a healthy dose of shock. I was very, very lucky that I did not cut my tendon--according to the ER PA, I was a millimeter or so away from surgery and months of crutches and physical therapy to rehab it. I completely give the thanks for this to God, because only He could have cut away everything else and left that tendon perfectly intact.

It is not so fun to be on your tummy on a hospital table while a nurse intern scrubs your numbed wound clean. I am glad I couldn't see it, and I am glad that it didn't bleed much at all when it first happened. The sight of my own blood is never welcome. My husband got a nice view of it all, and commented that while he used to think he would love to see every bit of me, he has now been twice forced to amend that statement, as seeing bits of my c-section, and now this, have convinced him that he is far happier for my internal bits to stay intact and out of view. And I only had to endure the nasty stings of the numbing shots, which is not so bad, all things considered.

I have been reminded in a painful way of the foolishness of working on the Sabbath. And just to drive the point home for me, I have again encountered a verse attesting to this in my new Hebrews study: "There remains therefore a Sabbath rest for the people of God", Hebrews 4:9. Yes, I am that thickheaded, and God knows this and had to remind me of it again, just in case I was not convinced by the large gash and stitches. I have also been reminded that my natural carelessness/klutziness now impacts more than myself and my DH. Both of my children were very concerned about me, and both came running over when I hurt myself. They were not happy to see me being taken off, despite the kind and excellent care of a beloved neighbor. And my dear daughter was so disturbed by the whole affair that she crept into our room and into bed with us that night, wanting to make sure that a) I was there and b) that I was okay. Poor girl. She has since drawn me no less than four get well cards, as well as fussed and clucked over me like a mother hen on Monday. My son was clingy and anxious to see I was there, insisting on a long rocking chair session when I got home on Sunday night. That kid's radar is so fine tuned, he woke up the MINUTE we walked through the door and was crying for me.

It is a good reminder to me that I need to cultivate better care of my person. The older I get, the more serious it is to knock into things because I am just not that spatially aware. I can see how I could end up with a broken hip when I'm eighty, or a broken patella at 60 like my mom (who broke hers falling off a curb). I need to make a conscious effort to do better, for myself and my family. I don't want them to be worried about what I will do next. It is comic in some ways, but it's not so funny in others. Hopefully I can keep this just a blip and not another dot in a whole series of injuries!