Monday, February 27, 2017

That Time I Got Stitches...

I have several siblings, but of the three I grew up with, all four of us required stitches at one time in our childhood and every time it could be trace back to the doings of one brother. Every. Single. Time.

My brothers are Jerry, Jay and Wayne. These are not the names my mother gave them, but are monikers they applied to each other. It is a long and sordid path that takes us to the origins of these names and is thus a post for another day.

Anyhoo, one day whilst living on The Farm, my brothers and I were playing that classic game called "drop big rocks to splash each other with puddle water." The goal was simple, see how muddy you could make your opponent before the puddle ran out of water. So much wholesome fun.

So, I had tossed my rock into the puddle and was reaching out to pick it back up when Jerry dropped his rock right on top of it. Unfortunately, my hand was sandwiched between the two. To be more accurate, it was smashed.

Now I remember jerking my hand from the rocks and being fairly appalled at the shape of my ring finger. I also remember being hoarse having just had a bout with a cold. My cries were more of a raspy "ahhh" than a robust shriek. I clutched my hand to my chest and ran back to the hogan (what we called the main house. Not nearly as cool or functional as a legit hogan.) where my Mom met us at the door. I showed her my mess of a finger and she kinda turned white. She quickly bandaged my hand and wrapped it around a jack o'lantern shaped bean bag she'd made. She used to be super crafty so it was a handy tool.

Once more we headed into town to the doctor. This time his office was on the other side of the highway. The wait wasn't nearly as long and my mom stayed with me the whole time. (One point for mom!) I got three stitches in my ring finger. It took months and months for the swelling to go down. My mom said several times that she wondered if I was ever going to be able to get married because it would be so hard to put a ring on that finger. (Minus one point from mom!)

Jerry had caused stitches in the other two siblings years before, so I guess it was my turn. Thankfully, he ran out of siblings...for a time.

He never caused stitches in the three siblings that followed, (many moons later) but one day when our sister was about two, he was playing with a purple Barney Rubble figure he'd found in a box of Fruity Pebbles. He'd tied a string around Barney's neck and was swinging it around his head when my sister's dad said, "you better stop that or someones gonna get hurt." Jerry barely got, "nothing's gonna happen," out of his mouth when the string slipped from his hand and Barney sailed across the room where he bounced off of Baby's noggin. Step dad watched the trajectory of the the toy and Jerry had disappeared before he could look back.

And in spite of it all I still managed to get married. Thank heavens for different ring sizes. Allowing the fat fingered woman the chance to marry since rings became a thing!

1 comment:

Jeremiah "Guapo" P. said...

Still wondering why she didn't say "When you get married you will need to use a different finger." That is a little more 'glass-half-full' than IF you get married. I wonder if that was a little personal by-proxy Freudian slip.