This is part two of I’m no nurse.  If you didn’t read yesterday’s post, basically I did not do a good job caring for my little dog Ande when he got hurt and the Mrs called me out for it. Then she made the comment “that’s just how you were raised.” That of course got me thinking about how I was cared for as a child whenever I was injured.

I have two memories that are really strong. One was from a bicycle wreck (in yesterday’s post) and the other happened a few years later during a game of hide and seek.

I honestly don’t know how old I was at the time, but I know for sure no older than 9 because it occurred in the trailer park and we lived there until I was in the 4thgrade.

A bunch of the other neighborhood kids and I were playing a game of hide n’ seek behind our trailer.

Some small, but important details are that there was a ditch behind our trailer. It was neither huge nor small; my guess is maybe 7 feet wide and 3 feet deep. This time of year it was completely covered in pine straw, so it was incredibly slippery in and of itself.

The second important detail is that there was a cast iron gas meter that stuck up out of the ground right along the edge of this ditch.  I’m sure you can see the direction of this story already.

Everything went dark

I was running trying to get to home base, which happened to be a tree on the opposite side of the ditch. As soon as my foot hit the top edge of that ditch, I slipped, fell, and hit my head on the meter. I completely blacked out.  Y’all ever see that movie “Friday”?

The next memory I have is waking up in my bed surrounded by the kids I was playing with, momma, and one of the other moms that lived in the trailer park. I don’t know what happened between me hitting my head and waking up in my bed.  Who knows how long I was knocked out? I imagine once the other kids realized I wasn’t waking up, they ran and got momma and she carried me to the bed.

I do remember hearing the other mom ask “shouldn’t we take her to the hospital?” And I could hear momma calling my name. When I opened my eyes and she said, “she’s fine. She’s tough.” Then she told me not to go back to sleep and everyone left my room. I remember my head pounding. At some point I got up and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror; there was a goose egg on my forehead; it took up almost half my forehead. It was purple and blue and had an opening with a trickle of blood coming out.  I wiped up the blood, pulled the pine straw out of my hair and went back to bed.

 

tough, independent, out of the way

I can totally understand not having insurance and not wanting to deal with a hospital bill, but I don’t understand the rest. I think my mom as a grandmother would act very differently today than she did as a mother in the ‘80’s. But that doesn’t really excuse her behavior then.

I was not a child that got coddled or doted over. It was expected that I be tough, independent, out of the way.  I can assure you that carries over into my adulthood and in most of my relationships.

Sometimes these memories are sad or painful, but they remind me who I don’t want to be.  I want to make better choices than my mom did.  I had an opportunity to do better yesterday and I failed.  My hope is that next time I’ll remember this and choose to do differently than I was taught.  Our pasts can hold many lessons.

I don’t know what the next post will be about, but I’ll try to keep it light hearted!

‘til next time,

~jen

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