I have this awesome trait of always being sick or injured on my birthday. And since so far I am neither sick nor injured today, even though it is, indeed, my birthday, I thought I’d take a look back at my favorite birthday injury thus far. And my mom can correct me on all the things I’m wrong about. And if you could read this post in a British accent, too, that would be appreciated. It just adds more to the writing, methinks.
So here’s my greatest Birthday Story Ever. We used to have this vintage Coke machine…you know, the kind that dispensed bottles? And we used it is a bookcase. I can’t remember what room it was in. But I remember it having books in it. So my brother, whom I shall refer to as Jeff, since that is, indeed, his name. (Or, go ahead and call him Fuffy, which was how I said his name when I was little. He’ll really like that.) So, Jeff and I decide that it sounds like there’s still change in that machine. We tried to reach in and get the money, but we couldn’t reach it. There were bottle caps still in there, but we were sure there were also quarters. So we pulled and pulled and pulled…and suddenly the whole machine tipped over and fell on me and I felt the handle rip at my ear. I can remember lying on the floor with my head to the side and I could see Jeff who was now curled up on his bed yelling, “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” Dad came in and got the machine off of me. I was okay except for the fact that my ear was cut badly and was almost completely ripped off!
We pushed a towel to my ear and raced to the hospital. We lived quite some distance from it, but I remember sitting on my mom’s lap in the front seat and telling her, “Well, this is a silly thing to happen to a six-year-old* (*Mom Correction: I was six).” And then apparently I said something about how six-year-olds don’t cry and I didn’t cry anymore about it. (Awww… that’s probably the last thing I was that brave about!)
So, here comes the plastic surgery part. This all happened on a Saturday and my regular doctor was a Seventh Day Adventist, which means he was at church when we got there. So they called in the other available doc, who was a plastic surgeon. He reattached the ear and, all kidding aside, it was actually pretty good that he did it – you can hardly see the scar and I never had to have an additional surgery or anything. I do remember them giving me a huge handful of lollipops because I didn’t cry and he told me my mom would take me to McDonald’s.
And that’s my best birthday story so far. I hope I don’t have a better one by tonight! (knock on wood)
I’m sorry I don’t have pictures of it. I bet you’re sorry too.