Ten

I was going for the screwdriver in the butler pantry. Apparently, the butler pantry door did not want me to get the screwdriver and let me know in no uncertain terms. As I opened the door--admittedly with some force--the top three hinges released while the bottom one held. Down came the door to my forehead with a wack. "Is there blood?" one of the parents, who had just sat down for lunch, asked. I wasn't sure, so I reached up to the bonked forehead. Yep. I applied pressure with the palm of my hand as I had seen my Dad do years ago when he sustained a wound to the forehead. (Parents--your children notice what you do. You can teach them so much without words.) Like my Dad, I walked over to the sink, hand on forehead, to let the blood fall harmlessly down the drain.

Fortunately, it was not nearly as bad as that Labor Day, but it certainly brought the memories back. On the way to the ER we told stories of that day, how there was a flap on Dad's head, Holly being so interested in the cauterizing machine, the alarm going off at the house and the police walking through discovering the blood stained bathroom (there was blood on the wall, one person reminded us). "Well, Dad," I said, "this is something we both share--forehead lacerations."

We went to the new IHC hospital complex in Murray. It wasn't too busy. I walked to the desk to check-in and removed the paper towel to show the nurse. "Looks like we need to sew you up. Do you have some photo ID?" I guess they wanted to make sure that it was really me and that I wasn't just posing for someone else who was supposed to get sewed up. After looking at my driver's license, they determined that it was me and sent me back to Triage Room 3. One guy came in, sat down at the computer and started asking me questions. Do I have any major medical problems? "Um. . . no." Do I take any medication? I listed three. Am I allergic to any medications? "Not that I know of." Have I ever had surgery? "When I broke my leg." Have I had a tetanus shot in the last 10 years? "Yes, when I shot the nail through my thumb." He didn't look at the wound.

I met a very nice woman who explained all about what she would do and what Dr. Boyd would do. She would give me some numbing shots (which hurt, actually), then Dr. Boyd would sew it up. Soon to be Pte and Hma Hinckley couldn't decide if they should stay in the room and watch. "This will be good practice for you," said Dad to Mom. "You're the medical chief." They both stayed.

Dr. Boyd put a few stitches under the skin, then sewed up the surface with 10 more. Some other guy came and put "Steri-Strips" on it. The nice woman came back and put a huge band-aid over it. I'm not supposed to get it wet. Tape some plastic over it in the shower, she said, to avoid that. Come back in 5 days to get the stitches out. For the next 6-8 months I should take 50-60 SPF sunscreen everywhere I go and apply it liberally--this will help minimize the scarring.

The incident did bring about something I've been hoping for. Mom said that I may have to gut the kitchen and re-do it while their gone. "It would be pleasure."