One thing I'm pretty sure of is that most of us have fascinating stories behind life's marks on our bodies. The topic came up at brunch with my daughter @yogidream.scapes and her boyfriend @thatguyjono recently.
My daughter's boyfriend laughingly told my daughter that she could not be trusted with a knife due to her past history with sharp implements...an axe to be specific. When my daughter was young she attended Girl Guide camps. On one such camp she was supposed to be chopping wood, (she was 9!) but instead decided to take a swing at her leg. I could see how awful the Girl Guide teacher (I think they have a fancier title than that...) felt when she brought her home to me, but it actually wasn't that serious. We only needed those little strip thingies to close the wound and I didn't even take her for stitches. She still has the scar...and a tale to tell, though!
My middle son has a small scar above his eyebrow where a huge table fell on him at school during a heavy wind storm. He was 8 or 9 years old at the time. Mmm, seems to be a dangerous age. What are the odds of that? Again the school was more mortified than I was!
I have a significant and ugly scar from my belly button that intersects my caesarean section scar. This is a scar that I don't mind at all as the emergency operation that produced it saved my life after the birth of my last son, when I experienced internal bleeding. (There is a blog about that story somewhere!) This is not a scar that strangers see, but I have a couple that are little more visible with suitably weird stories to them!
When I was about 8 or 9 (!) years old we went on a family holiday to visit my aunt who lived at the seaside town of Port Edward, South Africa. During those years there was no highway and we followed the amazingly scenic coastal road to reach our destination. I always loved that trip, it was so beautiful! On this particular occasion my parents brought cooldrinks along in the boot of our car. During the late 1970's Coke came in 1 litre glass bottles, and they jiggled in the boot for the entire 2 hour trip.
As soon as we arrived at our destination, the car was unpacked, and the bottles of Coke were stored under a large table against the wall in the kitchen. During the course of the afternoon, I managed to knock over one of the bottles as I walked past.....and it exploded! Spectacularly. A large shard of glass wedged itself in my thigh and I spurted blood all over the kitchen.
I was rushed to the doctor and had 16 stitches. There were a few other minor cuts that needed a stitch or two as well. Well, that ruined my seaside holiday and I could not swim for the entire time. I suppose these days we could sue for stuff like that, but during the late 1970's that thought did not even cross our minds.
My next story took place in my first (mortifying) year of high school. I was rocking on my chair during class. We had folding wooden desks that closed like ironing boards. I lost my balance, grabbed for the desk behind me, which promptly snapped shut with the fingers of both my hands caught in the folded metal supports. I screamed...and screamed! The high school was fairly large and I think all 1000+ pupils and teachers heard me. I was regularly reminded of this.
I almost had to have the tip of my middle finger amputated. (I basically popped it!) As it is, it is a little deformed. No more photos! And the middle finger of my other hand is a bit squiggly too. This is the stuff legends are made of. Um...okay.
I am fascinated by interesting scar stories. My husband rode into the back of a moving truck on his bicycle. My best friend had her knee smashed with a hockey stick during a school match, had to have a knee replacement at 17 years and is due another replacement now as apparently they don't last forever. Life is clearly too dangerous for us, or at least the clumsier of us, but it makes up for it with its sense of humour. Ahem
I would love to hear your scar stories!!!
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(images: pixabay....except for the scar!)
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