Since I recently wrote about a figurative scar from a past relationship, I'll write now about a physical scar. It's quite a "battle wound" on my left knee, more visible in the summer when it doesn't tan. It happened in 1962 when I was in the 4th grade, and I plopped down on the carpet in our livingroom to watch TV. There was a sewing needle sticking up in the carpet, and it drove right into my knee so quickly that I wasn't fully aware what had happened. All I knew was that when I looked down, there was a thread hanging out of my knee. I had been the one who was sewing, so I knew a needle was on the other end of that thread and that's when I started screaming.
My dad had just gotten home from work and for some reason, he decided to yank on the thread as if he could pull the needle out. You guessed it, the thread simply broke off! Now there were no visible signs that anything was inside my knee, except that I couldn't straighten it out or walk. The four of us piled into the car and drove as fast as possible to the office of our long-time family doctor. My dad carried me in through the crowded waiting room and straight back in to see Dr. Halstead. My brother was instructed to sit in the waiting room and he later said he was fielding lots of questions about what had happened. Dr. Halstead gave me a shot in the knee for pain; he warned me that it would hurt a lot but strangely I don't remember that it did. I think I must have been in shock by that time. Then we drove on to St. Mary's Hospital in Livonia.
I don't remember much about getting prepped for surgery, but I do remember the anesthesiologist instructing me to count backwards from ten. I looked past his face to the clock on the wall and it was just after 9:00 pm. For some reason, I thought it was important to note the time.
The next thing I remember is waking up alone after what I was later told was a four-hour surgery. Unfortunately, the needle broke in two pieces when it hit the bone in my knee. The surgeon found half the needle but couldn't locate the other half. I woke up frightened, not remembering where I was or what had happened, and needing to vomit from the anesthesia. My left leg looked huge from a literal mountain of bandages and I couldn't move it. My family had gone home for the night. A little girl in the next bed told me about the call button so I could summon a nurse, and I threw up several times into the basin she brought me. I was scared and wanted my parents.
I spent the next month in that hospital because my knee became infected. For most of that time, I had to lie flat on my back with my leg in traction, unable to get up or even roll over. I had to use a bedpan. I was in a ward with three other beds, mine was the second bed from the doorway. The only window was down at the other end of the room next to the last bed and I couldn't see anything out of it. The other beds were filled by a revolving door of little girls, most of them only there for 2-3 days to have their tonsils removed.
My parents visited every single day and brought small presents they picked up from the store or gifts sent by relatives and friends. My mother arrived at 11:00 each morning and stayed until 5:00; then my dad would take over until visiting hours ended at 8:00 pm. My dad read the book "The Real McCoys" aloud to me followed by "Heidi," which my Aunt Alyce sent as a get-well gift. My grandmother sent flowers in a vase shaped like a pretty lady's head/shoulders, but the nurses told us that flowers weren't allowed in the children's ward so my mother had to take them home. I wonder whatever happened to that vase? The "vase lady" was wearing a big-brimmed hat and dangly pearl earrings, and I loved it.
School had barely started for the year when I was hospitalized, and one day my mom brought a packet of letters from my classmates. Over and over again, they told me how they had started song flute lessons with the music teacher. I was really disappointed to be missing out on that. Because it was a Catholic hospital, there were nuns coming in the room throughout the day. One older nun was particularly grumpy and gruff, and I really didn't care for her. One day she started questioning me about what grade I was in and how long I had been in the hospital. Shaking her head, she told me that I probably wouldn't be able to catch up with the rest of my class. When my mom arrived that day, she found me crying over what that nun had told me. She left orders with the nurses that the nun wasn't to enter my room or talk to me again, and she never did.
When the doctor finally allowed me to get up and try to walk, I literally couldn't remember how for awhile. I eventually managed a few slow, shaky steps down the hallway while hanging on to a nurse. The doctor stood with my parents, watching me. Many years later my mom told me she had to hide her tears from me as she watched me struggle to walk. The doctor told my parents I would probably limp for the rest of my life. I did limp for awhile but in a matter of a few months, it was gone without a trace.
I was so happy when I was released to go home at the end of that long month! As I looked out the car windows, I was amazed that the season had changed from summer to fall while I was lying in the hospital bed. It was a bright, sunny day, and the leaves had turned beautiful colors and were falling off the trees--a glorious and welcome sight to me. I was laid up at home for awhile, but it wasn't too long before I was back in school again, limping but glad to be there. The first day back, we were running the 50-yard dash in gym class. The gym teacher told me I didn't have to do it but I wanted to try anyway. My limp-run probably looked really awkward and my time was terrible, but I remember she told me she was proud of me.
X-rays revealed that the other half of the needle eventually embedded itself into my knee bone, and it's still there today but I've had no further problems. Not even arthritis, knock on wood! So that's the gruesome story of my scar; it always makes people squeamish to hear it, but it's a part of my history. That month in the hospital may have affected me more than I'll ever realize.
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