Stitches

I am totally ok with neglecting this blog every now and then, but I decided to jump back into action and share another personal history story. The question this week is: "Did you ever need stitches?" This could take all week to answer since I am a little accident prone, but I will try to limit it to just 3 interesting...maybe ridiculous stories.
1-This story is all based on hearsay because I don't think I was 2 yet. My uncle Bill (I thought about making up a name to spare his reputation, but that is no fun) was around 12. One night while we were at his house, he was spinning me around. In the process he tripped and fell and bit my head. Lucky for him my Poppy lived about 30 minutes away. My parents took me over to Poppy's house and he stitched me up in his basement office. Unfortunately I still have a scar on my head. I think about this often when I wonder why I can't style my hair in more creative fashions. It is frustrating to have a bald spot, but I guess having a unique story behind it makes it easier to cope with.
2-When I was in 7th grade we got out of school early. While my mom was on the phone I decided to make myself lunch. I pulled out a tuna fish snack pack. When I opened the pop top lid it slipped and cut my thumb open. It bleed a lot so I went to interrupt my mom's phone conversation. It took a little convincing and actually showing her the blood before she got over being frustrated at me for bothering her while she was on the phone (yeah...I use to interrupt her way to often).
She took me to a plastic surgeon that my Poppy had trained and that was a HUGE blessing. The surgeon had to cut down my finger a little further to find my tendon and sew that back together first. Yes, I cut my tendon with a tuna fish can lid. Had we gone to the ER there is a chance they would not have gone looking for the tendon and I would have lost my ability to move my thumb.
There was a low point of this stitches experience. I was in a half cast on my thumb down to the middle of my arm for about 6 weeks. This happened right as softball season was about to start. I was a pretty cranky 7th grader during that missed softball season. My poor mom...bless her heart for putting up with me.
3-Although I LOVE softball, I am not the most coordinated player. During 9th and probably 10th grade I hit about 3 or 4 pitches off my fingers instead of the bat. That does not feel good. I guess it also shows that I am a succor for the inside pitch.
The last time I did this was in practice one Saturday morning. I felt the pain immediately and stepped away from the plate and threw my helmet at the base of the dugout fence. (One friend that I played 2 sports with said that is the only time she ever saw me mad.) I was so frustrated with myself that this had happened again, that I initially didn't notice how bad it was. When I finally looked down at my hand it was not just swollen, but it was bleeding. The impact had been so great that I popped my finger opened and it had to be stitched closed.