Today's instruction..."How I got one of my scars."
I only have one scar. So I thought this was going to be an easy story! My picture plan, however, backfired.
I garnered my one and only scar during my first week of life. Perhaps even the first couple of days. Here's the story.
My actual beginning to life was pretty rough. I apparently had trouble digesting food (a problem I've since wildly overcome) and had to be hospitalized for a week while they figured out that mess. While I was there, I wound up with a wicked scratch on my face. The nurses told my mom my nails were so long (hey...I was all about the fingernails even as an infant!) that I'd scratched myself. They put mittens on me for the remainder of my stay, but the damage was done. (Side note: Mom stands firm to this day that one of the nurses scratched me. She says there's no way I could have left a scar like that with my thin little baby nails.)
So I've had about an inch long scar on my face ever since. And my entire life, we have pointed to THIS picture to show the poor reddened cheek I sported as an infant:
Isn't it pitiful? I even told Mom that she should have sued the hospital for ruining my modeling career. (I'm KIDDING. I'm not into lawsuits.)BUT to give you an idea of the actual scar itself, I took a new picture this week. And only in doing that, did I realize the photo above does not display my poor injury because....IT'S THE OTHER CHEEK!!
I have laughed and laughed about that. But the scar is very real. (Hopefully you can see it. Hard to get it in the right lighting. I do think it's fading as I get older. Or else it just doesn't bother me like it used to. I spent years being self conscious about it.)
It's right there in the center of my cheek. Right under the zit that somehow thinks it belongs on my 32 year old face.
And in totally unrelated news - that is my 80's-loving bathroom. It so needs painted. Good HEAVENS.
So anyway - you have any good scar stories? Any accurate scar stories??
9 comments:
so- I think you should be all done worrying about that b/c in the 10+ years I've known you I did not know that you had a scar on your face! Funny story, though! :)
Bekah,
You poor hideous thing. I'm surprised that one with such a horrific scar would be allowed out on the street to startle the meek and frighten small children.
Actually, I can't see the scar. I don't even see the zit. I just see a cute little girl.
But if you say so, I'm perfectly willing to turn away and shun your terrifying visage. That's just the kind of friend I am.
Julie - proof indeed that we are our own worst critics. In all fairness to my self-consciousness about it, I do think it was more noticeable when I was a kid. Probably because I had better skin!
Chris - I am honored that you would have been the friend to the hideousness for this long. That you would associate with me is deeply moving, but I do release you from the terror if you'd rather disown me at this point. No offense will be taken. (Just let me know so I don't bother to send you a birthday card and conjure up nightmares...)
I have a scar on my left middle finger from where I nearly cut the thing off helping Laura P move to her current house. Kristin + box cutter + zip ties = disaster. I ran to the sink to rinse the gaping wound out (all while not looking at it), went to ask Bill if he thought it needed stitches, then went back to work. Two days later Bill looks at the wound while I'm changing band-aids and says "Yeah, we probably should have gone for the stitches."
I'm still shivering about that story. But at least you were being productive when you got yours!! That's a good thing:)
Hmmm, which would should I choose? The one on my rt knee where I skipped the last two steps cause it was our turn on the merry-go-round (1st grade)? Or the one on my rt knee where I skipped the last two steps cause it was our turn on the merry-go-round (2nd grade)? That time it took stitches. Or the one on my hand from an early morning fight w/my sister (yes the older one, KJ) that was continued on the school bus? Guess I'll stop there...Not enough room!
Hmmm... The scar on my left pinkie where my brother dropped a big chunk of concrete on it when he was 3 & I was 5. We were "helping Daddy" (he was going to use the concrete to make a patio but didn't know about our "help"), and the injury made the nail come off, and my mom splinted my finger with a popsicle stick broken in half.
Barb - Do you want to do a guest post so you haave enough room? These might be good stories!!
Skyepuppy - Did you at least get to eat the popsicle first?
Bekah,
I don't remember the popsicle. Just the stick.
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