Go to LearningToLoveYourselfMore.com, pick a project, and then do it!
Project #11
Photograph a scar and write about it.
Directions:
Photograph a scar on your body or on someone else's body. Make it a close-up shot so that it shows just the scar. Include a story (write it on a computer as a separate file, don't write it on the photograph) about how the scar happened.
This is a photograph of a scar that was self-inflicted. It was about 6 years ago and I was at my apartment waiting for my boyfriend at the time to arrive home from work. He had been working in a Cedar Break and would occasionally bring home branches of cedar that he thought would make good walking sticks/staffs. I became bored after watching TV and began to wander around. I eyed one of the branches and decided to start peeling away the bark to make myself a walking stick. I searched around the apartment and found his Buck Knife and proceeded out to the patio so get some fresh air and peel away the bark.
The first half an hour of peeling off the bark went smoothly and I was beginning to expose the pale yellow wood grain. I reached a point in the branch where there was a knot. I was having trouble peeling around it and couldn't whittle it away, so I decided to use brute force. I remembered my mother's words, "Never point a knife towards you when you are cutting something. Always point it away from yourself." So I took the heavy Buck Knife and starting lobbing at the knot in the branch away from myself, up along the branch, towards the sky. I was having little luck, using my force against me and against gravity, and decided to use it in favor of the best results. I took the knife and turned it towards the ground, noting that I would have to be very careful not to injure myself.
The hand that was holding the branch moved further away, down the branch, from the knot, just in case. I began hacking at the knot again, this time using my own strength and gravity in my favor. After several hacks, suddenly the knot gave way and peeled apart from the branch. My reaction was too slow and stopping the knife after expecting resistance was like stopping a boulder from rolling down a hillside. The knife sunk into my skin with a sickening thud. Since I didn't feel any pain I thought that maybe I had hit the handle against my knuckle.
I looked down at my hand. I was wrong. The knife had lodged itself into my skin and since I hadn't moved my hand, was still resting there, waiting for my bidding. I internally panicked, knowing that this was not a good thing. I dislodged the knife, wondering why the pain hadn't hit me yet, and set down the branch along with the offending weapon. I walked into the house, into the kitchen, and to the sink. I began running cool water from the tap. I pulled my hand closer to my face to examine it and where the deep cut was, I could see white. I gently tugged on my skin, pulling apart the wound ever so slightly and that's when the pain hit me like a freight train. The slash began to bleed profusely and startled, I jumped, my heartbeat accelerating in my chest. Not good, not good, this is not good, I started repeating to myself silently. A chuckle escaped my lips because the voice in my head sounded like Dustin Hoffman from Rain Man.
Gotta call Joseph, gotta call him, need to call him. I grabbed several paper towels and wrapped them around my hand. Ugh, this is new carpet. No dripping blood on the floor. I ran to my underwear drawer and grabbed a thigh high stocking, sheer tan, and bound the paper towels to my hand. I dashed back to living room and picked up my cell, my shaking hand fumbling on the number pad as I tried to make the call. C'mon, c'mon, pick up, pick up. I heard a click, "Hello?"
"Baby? Something happened." I said as calmly as I could
"What? What is it? Are you okay?" He started assailing me.
"Well... yes and no." I hesitated. "You know your buck knife?" I heard him grunt in acknowledgment on the other end. The words started flying out of my mouth at the speed of light, "Well, I started trimming down that branch you brought home and I hit a knot and so I started hacking at it and my hand was in the way and I cut myself with it."
"How bad is it?" I heard the panic rising in his voice.
"It's bleeding... and I think I might need stitches." I mumbled, a bit ashamed of myself.
"Okay, just calm down, baby." He sighed. "We're leaving now and we'll be there as soon as we can, okay?"
"Okay. Please hurry." I requested before the line went dead.
Joseph was working with his father and they were both on their way now. I sat down at the kitchen table, applying pressure to the cut as best as I could without sending shooting pains through my hand. The minutes seemed to drag by like hours. I began to rock myself slowly in my chair, holding my hand to my chest. The phone rang and I jumped, startled again. I answered it quickly, "Hello?"
"We're 5 minutes away, are you still okay?" He asked quickly. I could
hear the roar of his truck in the background as he sped forward.
"Yes, I think so. Please hurry, please." I begged again.
"I'm going as fast as I can sweetheart, okay? My dad's with me and we're going to take a look at it and take care of you, okay?"
"Okay." I sniffled a little as the line went silent again. What was I thinking?! What an idiot I was being. Why hadn't I had just done things the right way?
Moments later the door flew open and Joseph was hauling towards me. He placed his arm gently around my shoulders and squeezed me lightly, setting his lips briefly on my temple in a quick kiss, "Lets have a look okay?" I shook my head violently, I didn't want to take the bandage off, I wanted to go to the hospital. He knew what I was thinking, "Look," he started, "we need to look at it so we can see if the hospital is necessary, okay? You might just need butterfly stitches, all right?"
I shook my head back and forth again fervently like a small child.
"Stacey, please... trust me?" He looked into my eyes, pleading. I nodded almost imperceptibly. He began to undo my handy work of the pantyhose and the paper towels. He took my hand and looked at it, it was muddied up with blood. He led me over to the sink and let the cool tap water run over my cut. A new pain stung through my arm, like someone had injected ice water into my veins. He looked at the slash and assessed it. "Looks like you'll just need some butterfly stitches, okay? We can go get those at the drug store."
"No... no... " I started, "No, I need to get real stitches." My brow furrowed into determination. His father walked in at that moment, flinging the door wide, worry creased on his already wrinkled forehead. He came to examine me, too. He looked at my hand, took it in his own gently, and got a better look. He nodded to Joseph, "She's fine." He gave me a slight smile and then handed my own hand back to his son's hands before walking back out of the room. He was a man of very few words. Joseph spoke to me again, "Sweetheart, you're just fine. Butterfly stitches will fix you up like it never happened."
I knew he was stretching the truth but I agreed. I didn't really want to go to the emergency room anyway and have to wait for all those people ahead of me to get their sniffles treated, or their stomach flu fixed, or their hypochondria confirmed again.
So after getting the butterfly stitches taped onto my knuckle and being told I was fine, I finally relaxed. After a week, I had a scab protecting my accident and after two weeks, I had a bright pink puckered line where there had once been a deep cut. The pain inside my knuckle persisted for a good six months, maybe even a year, before I finally noticed the scar returning to my normal skin color.
Occasionally, though, I still feel that throbbing pain in my knuckle, as if my bones remember the incident all too well.
Until Next Time,
<3 Shade
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