At the age of 7 years old, my
energy levels were off the charts. I climbed things, many things, and after I
climbed them, I would jump down. Climbing and jumping were as essential to me
as walking. Side note: They still are – although, less jumping unless on a
trampoline or jumping from a reasonable height.
My parents’ master bathroom
includes a Jacuzzi tub. To seven year old me, this tub was huge, as
I’ve gotten older, the tub is still really big, but I am not able to swim
around in it like a goldfish as I did when I was younger. In order to get into the tub, you have to
climb three tiled stairs to get into the tub. Bath time at our house was awesome. All three
sisters could fit in the tub, the jets would make a ridiculous amount of
bubbles, and we had more bath toys in the Jacuzzi than reasonable. I loved
taking baths. It was like a mini pool. The water filled up to my neck and I
would swim around the tub like a goldfish in a bowl. Also, I am currently at my family
home and my sister has a peplum shirt. I have spent the past year pronouncing
that word as “pew –plum,” and she has just informed me that it is “pay–plum,”
now I know. I am aware that is completely off
topic, but it just came up and I wanted to share with you my new knowledge.
Back to the story.
At the end of my bath, I would
climb out of the tub, down the three tiled stairs, grab a towel and dry off which
in reality was grab a towel, run to my bedroom using my towel as a cape as if I
was a superhero. Due to this towel cape running, my dad also bought me
a bathrobe made out of the same fabric as a towel. This eliminated the super
hero towel running.
At the bottom of the three stairs
laid a bath mat. It has been many different mats over time. However, during
this particular month, my family had purchased a new mat; I am guessing my dad
bought the mat. It was foam and in the shape of a giant foot. I LOVED it. I
don’t even know why. It was just fantastic.
On one particular occasion, I finished
my bath and made my way out of the tub. I climbed out of the tub, standing on
the top stair. I looked down to see the giant foot mat just lying there,
tempting me. “If I jumped, I could totally land on that mat,” I thought to
myself.
The problem with me is that like Barney Stinson, if I issue a challenge
to myself, I instantly accept it. I have been working on not instantly
accepting all challenges as sometimes they prove too dangerous or are silly
challenges. One time I challenged myself to hold my left arm in the air for an
hour without taking it down. No one issued this challenge. No one had any idea
why I held my arm in the air for 60 minutes, but I did it. I walked around my
house with my left arm in the air. Interestingly enough, no one in my family
questioned my bizarre actions. I think by that point in my life they were used
to me doing weird actions and decided it was best to not ask.
I accepted my own challenge and
readied myself, positioning to jump and lunge forward. If I pushed off hard
enough, I would it make on the mat. I felt nervous, but didn’t want to chicken
out on this pointless challenge. I counted to three and jumped.
To my pleasant surprise, my feet
made contact with the mat. Go me. However, I was unable to celebrate my victory as the
moment my feet applied pressure on the mat, the mat slipped. My tiny seven
year old body flew through the air. Gravity pulled me back and I crashed head
first onto the tiled floor. Stupid gravity.
The overwhelming realization of
pain in the back of my head resulted in the one highest pitched, most painful
screams of my life. I let out another long, high-trilled shriek, hoping one of
my parents would hear it and come save me. Yet, no one came. At the end of the shriek, I stopped
crying and instead laid there, thinking, “No one is coming. I am just going to
lay here and no one will ever find me.” It felt like forever until my dad burst
through the door. I later learned only 10 seconds past from the first cry to my dad
barging through the door, but when you’re in pain, every second feel likes an hour.
As my dad was not only an ER nurse, but a paramedic as well, he was used to
traumatic scenes. He looked me over, checking for head and neck injuries, along
with any signs of paralysis. Luckily, there weren’t any signs. However, the
tile behind my head turned red with blood. My mom rushed in to see me on the
ground. My dad looked up at her and said I would need to get a CAT scan since I
hit my head on such a hard surface. I didn’t know what a CAT scan was, I
imagined it was something like an X-ray. I thought that was cool.
My dad grabbed a giant towel, wrapped
me up and swept me off the ground. My mom and dad placed me on their
bed as they struggled to dress me without hurting my head. This time the pain
was more intense than the last head injury. My dad grabbed the phone and called
the hospital. He called one of his doctor friends, explaining the situation.
The doctor agreed to have a room waiting for me, along with preparing a CAT
scan to check for brain injuries.
My parents placed me in the car.
My dad put a towel against the back of my head. This time, I was old enough to
reason that the towel was probably there to stop the blood, meaning I had once
again cracked my head open. I wasn’t too worried about that. I was instead
focused on what a CAT scan involved. 7 Year Old Thoughts: Would I have to hold a
cat? How could a cat help me with my injuries? Would this cat be in charge of
the scan? No, that’s silly. Cats don’t work machines.
In the car, my dad told me I
cracked my head open in the same EXACT place
the first time. Fantastic!
As I once again arrived at the
hospital, I was rushed past the ER waiting lounge, straight back to a room.
Rather than stitch up my head, I first received a CAT or CT scan.
Unfortunately, this scan contained exactly ZERO
CATS. CT stands for Computerized Axial Tomography, or in plain terms, not a
cute animal that says “MEOW!”
The scan showed that my brain was
still functioning properly. However, years down the road, doctors would
later contemplate the possibility that cracking my head open in the same place
3 times (the third time would come years later) has caused my quirks.
After the CT scan, I was sent to
have my head stitched up. They asked why I jumped off the stairs, explaining
the entire scenario of trying to land on the giant foot mat. I gave a simple
response, “I thought I could fly.” Now, I was very aware that I couldn’t fly
and if I wanted to try to fly, I would choose somewhere with a soft landing –
duh. Although, I really do wish I could fly. That would be AMAZING!
The nurses were amused by this
answer, laughing about the adorableness of a 7 year old trying to fly. I was
asked if I wanted blue stitches or black stitches. Not wanting to break with
tradition, I chose blue stitches.
Final Note: This incident started the love of the color, blue. I’ve
always loved green, but blue holds a special place in my heart – and my head.
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