Jun. 25: Call me FrankenJen

Trust me. As you read this post and think, over and over again, “When will this clumsiness ever end?” you can be sure that I am asking myself the very same question.

Today I was resting with a heating pad on my back—still dealing with the back pain from all the yard work—and heard the kids come in the front door after a day with their grandparents and cousins. I jumped up from the bed and immediately tripped on something and fell, hitting my forehead on the open armoire door on the way down. It hurt pretty bad, so I put my hand against my head and just stayed there on the floor for a bit. Katie came in and asked what was wrong and I assured her I was okay. To prove it, I started to stand up. I took my hand away from my head to find it full of blood.

I ran to the sink and Katie ran for Grandma. Once I got the blood cleaned up a little I could see two large cuts just below my eyebrow. I had landed on my knee and it, too, was quickly swelling.

Wellington said the cuts looked deep enough that I would probably need stitches, so Darlene called Vic and asked if he’d meet me (y’know, at our usual place) at the emergency room. They figured out the car situation and how Katie and Jack would get to their last swimming lessons tonight while I changed into regular clothes and started to realize how much worse I’d hurt myself than I first thought.

Surprisingly, the doctor didn’t think my knee was seriously injured. True, I can put weight on it without any pain, but it’s HUGE, and way worse than the facial lacerations, ouchie-wise. As for the cuts on my eyebrow, they required two stitches each—believe it or not, I’ve never needed stitches for an injury before this one—and because one cut was especially deep, the doctor irrigated it thoroughly, which made it swell up even more. Yay, now I look like I got punched. Hard.

While waiting for my tetanus shot at the end, I had Vic take a picture of my eye. I had no idea it looked so awful. I mean, when I left home it was a little swollen but I had cleaned it up pretty well, so you could just see the outlines of the cuts. This was a HUGE difference. The stitches—done with blue thread, so I guess I’ll be coordinating my clothing with BLUE THREAD for the next week—were bad, but the swelling, the betadine, the bruising, the horror! I was shocked. I laughed so hard I started crying, and a nurse came and shut my door so other patients wouldn’t freak out that I’d gone cuckoo for cocoa puffs.

Here’s a picture of my eye repair. I’m showing you a teeny tiny preview and you have the option of clicking it to get a better look. Because I’m warning you—it’s oozy and stitchy and gross.

If you really feel bad for me and my extreme clumsiness, please leave your sympathies with a casserole in a comment. Because even injured girls need to eat.