Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Sister Moment #4: "Help, I'm Dying!"

My Dear Reader,

I don't know why professors always manage to have their assignments due on the same day as every other professor on campus. I have this theory that they get together and plan it during their monthly Bingo nights, but due to the secret nature of these ritualistic gatherings, evidence comes somewhat sparse. But last April, on the last day of classes, I had something due for just about every class that I had. For some classes, I had multiple things due. It was because of these assignments that I was awake in the wee hours of the morning typing furiously on my laptop, Eris, who was named after the Greek goddess of discord because of her notorious bad tempers.* It was about seven in the morning before I let myself take a break to grab some breakfast, which was when the real trouble started.

You see, I'm short person. It runs in my family. I actually used to be the tallest child before YoungerTwin turned twelve. I was seventeen at the time. Anyway, my lack of height often means that just about every pair of pants I own is too long for me, especially pajama bottoms, because they tend to be in the one-size-fits-everybody-but-you category. And since I was wearing the afore-mentioned pajama bottoms at the time, I just so happened to catch the hem of my pajamas with my big toe, causing me to trip and fall down really hard.** My face hit something on the way down, and it hurt really bad, but I thought I was okay. That was when I noticed something dripping onto the floor.

My first thought was to see if something was coming from the ceiling, though I wasn't sure at the time what would be dripping from there or why. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that the drops were coming from a spot that was right between the corner of my left eye and my left temple. And then I realized that the drops were blood, at which point I became very concerned. Then I realized that the thing that I had hit on the way down was the very blunt, very metal drawer handle, which was now completely bent down. I must have come down harder than I thought. As calmly as possible, I ran to my bathroom screaming, "Help, I'm dying!" and cupping my hands around my face so the blood wouldn't get on the carpet. I screamed it a couple of times before HermanaMayor and ASLMajor woke up to see what all of the commotion was about, perhaps wondering if I had managed to impale myself with a spear. It wasn't far from the truth. The shock of everything was annoying my best judgment, which then decided to go on a short vacation away from all of the noise. So when my roommates came out to fight off the barbarians and instead found me bent over the sink and bleeding everywhere, they were very confused when I asked them if they could find me a Band-Aid. This started an exchange between my sister and I that went something like this:

HermanaMayor: "A Band-Aid?"

Cecily: "Yeah, maybe two."

HermanaMayor: "Cecily, you're bleeding everywhere."

Cecily: "Hence the Band-Aids!"

HermanaMayor: "What on Earth were you doing?"

Cecily: "Well, my foot caught the bottom of my pant leg and . . ."

HermanaMayor: "Were you dancing in the kitchen again?"

Cecily: "No!"

HermanaMayor: "Mmmm-hmmmm."

Cecily: "Are you going to get me some Band-Aids or do you want me to get the carpet all bloody?"

HermanaMayor: "Cecily, that's pretty bad cut. I think you need to go to the hospital."

Cecily: "I can't. I've got all of these papers to write and . . ."

HermanaMayor: "Cecily, I am not going to just let you stand there and bleed to death. You obviously need stitches, and I'm going to take you to get them."

Cecily: "But you don't understand. I've got, like, five things due today."

HermanaMayor: "Cecily, you need to go. I'd take you right now, but the Student Health Center doesn't open until 8:00."

Cecily: "Ha!"

HermanaMayor: "I'm taking you at 7:45."

Cecily: "Okay, fine."

So HermanaMayor got me a rag to put on my face and I returned to Eris. There I was, trying to hold my face together with one hand and write brilliantly with the other (which, as those who know me well will understand, is a little easier for me because I only type with one hand), while HermanaMayor was attempting to convince me that my wound was serious. I was getting pretty far on my homework when 7:45 came around, at which point HermanaMayor had to pry me away. The waiting room was pretty full when we got there, so I had to wait for a while before a doctor would look at me. Until then, everyone in the waiting room took turns looking at me, since the rag I was holding to my wound was actually really big and it probably looked to them like I had melted half of my face off. The nurses kept trying to get me to take the rag off and bleed on the floor, because their boss had told them if there was one more bio-hazard spill, they would get a new carpet. I refused. When I finally got to see the doctor, I ended up getting ten stitches because the wound was really, really deep.

In case you were wondering, I ended up getting all of my assignment turned in on time, once I called the professor for my first class of the day and explained to her that I had just gotten ten stitches, was in shock, and barely able to stand up. She was really nice about it, actually. Eris and I used the extra time to finish everything, and it truly was a team effort. I've still got a little scar by my left eye, and the drawer handle is still really bent, but I think I'm actually pretty lucky. After all, if the handle had hit me a little to the right, I would have poked out my eye, and a little to the left would have hit my temple. That would not have been good.

So I guess HermanaMayor kind of saved my life, since the cut went down also to the muscle. Of course, if you knew her, you'd know that she's the kind of person who does that from time to time. She's pretty darn awesome like that.

Regards, best wishes, and safety,

-Cecily Jane

*As opposed to Eros, the Greek god of love. Yes, I know the difference. I don't know why people never seem to believe me. Have you read The Orestia? I rest my case.

**There have been certain individuals who have been spreading lies that I fell because I was dancing in the kitchen. To these individuals, I would like to say that I was there and I should know. I never dance alone in my kitchen in my stocking feet before ten.

7 comments:

Chris said...

I sure hope you are ok now Cecily! You are too funny. I have the opposite problem with the one size fits all PJ bottoms..I look like I am waiting for the great flood...hence I have discovered Mens PJ bottoms...the only prob is that they tend to have that little trap door..LOL!

Molly&Charles said...

It's a pretty cool scar, to be honest.

Finruin said...

Wow, that was some story! Yeah, I hope you are well and healed now.

lina said...

Kitchens are dangerous places, you should be very careful in them. I also have a war wound from a kitchen encounter; the lovely scar across my eyebrow is a result of running face first into a counter corner when I was about as tall as said counter. Of course, kitchen war wounds are some of the coolest to have, they make some of the best stories, next to car accidents anyway.

Stephen & Cindy Jensen Family said...

Excellent once again!

Cecily Jane said...

Chris,

Yeah, you are slightly taller than me. ;) But buying men's pants is ingenious; too bad it won't help me!

Molly&Charles,

Thanks. I should start telling people I got it while doing some kind of mid-air motorcyle trick, huh?

Finruin,

Yeah, I've just got a scar which the doctor said might fade after a year or so. We'll see.

Lina,

Oh, that sounds awful. They say that the majority of accidents happen at the home, and I guess you and I can both attest to the validity of that statement. But you're right about it making a good story.

Stephen & Cindy Jensen Family,

Thanks!

Anonymous said...

Haha I just remember a few days later when I came over and asked what had happenned you your face. You pulled me over to where the drawer handles were and started singing, "One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn't belong . . ."

-Allie