Sunday, December 16, 2012

Children's Medical Advice is Almost Always Useless

Down the street from my grandma's house is Water Tank Hill, the best hill for sledding ever. We spent the majority of every Christmas break on that hill. When I was nine, I spent one fateful day there with my sister, Amy, and our cousin, Mary. Amy and I had just gotten Sno-Tubes for Christmas and we were quickly discovering how awesome they were.

After several trips down the hill, I once again started the trek back to the top. I was finding it easier if I rested the tube on my head and held on to the handles on each side. And probably just as I was congratulating myself on my ingenuity, I slipped on a patch of ice. And because I was holding the stupid tube above my head, I wasn't able to put my hands down in time to break my fall. I fell hard, face first, onto the icy snow, which was turning red with my blood.

I stumbled back to my feet, bawling from the surprise and the pain, and immediately started walking back to Grandma's house. Amy and Mary caught up with me. They didn't want me to go. If I did, then they would probably have to leave, too. And then everyone's fun would be ruined. Instead, Mary suggested I just put some snow on it. You're supposed to ice on your injuries, she reasoned, and snow is basically the same thing. Plus, if I pushed hard enough, it would also stop the bleeding. It sounded logical, so I gave it a shot. And it did neither of those things.

So I ended up going home to Grandma's anyway. And that's where I found out that I had bitten through my bottom lip. Like, my teeth cut a good-sized hole in my face. Weird that the handful of old, dirty snow didn't clear that up. Maybe if I had used two handfuls.

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