Went to the hospital last night, got seven stitches to my FACE haha
Chicago's been getting a lot of snow lately, so some buds and I went out playing snow football in about a foot of fresh powder. About forty minutes into the game I'm getting a little tired of it so I figure, why not keep things interesting and go all-out eh!?
Immediately following that thought: I shoot the gap and go in for a backfield tackle and bring a kid to his fuckin' KNEEz. I'm lying face down in the snow all content with my testosterone-induced domination and next thing I know I get a white-out shot of pain to my left temple. (Which I believe came from someone's boot, although I still don't know for sure) Ouch. So I kinda woozilly get up and make my way back to the defensive side of the field. (word choice? woozle-what?) I stand there in a sort of daze for a play or two until someone goes, "hey dude? are you bleeding dude?... Shit dude... Yeah dude... you're bleeding dude... from like... your face dude." This makes sense. I mean, yeah it hurt and burned a bit, but I figured that it was just what it felt like to get knocked in the head, its not like it happens that often to me. It was like 20 degrees out? Its not like I could feel whether my ears were actually attached or... well...
Any-who, I go inside and yeah, there was a clear trail of blood running from the upper-left side of my head dripping off of my chin. The source was quickly identified as my upper left ear, which had been severed from my head about a centimeter in detachment. No idea how it happened, no one really remembers forcefully kicking or tearing my left ear from my head socket, but hey, I don't blame them, no big deal or anything. Its not like it costs money to fix those things or anything. Either way, I was in no condition or mood to interrogate. I was actually pretty calm about the whole thing, considering I probably would have kept sacking QB's had someone not brought to my attention that I was a "severely-bleeding-dude". Some brain-child had already gone to grab the house first-aid kit, and after a quick examination of the red box; it was clear that it didn't contain enough adhesives, gauze, sterilizers, thread, needles, novocaine, or morphine to re-connect my upper-left ear to my nig-noggin.
So from here it was pretty clear I needed to see the specialist for these kinds of things, which I had heard could be found at the local hospital. Thankfully my buds Steve and Marc decided to give up part of their Saturday night by taking me. Don't feel bad for them, they watched the Bulls game and cracked tasteless jokes in the waiting room, all amongst depressed sick-people.
This next paragraph is for any of you future doctors. Good things to talk about while applying stitches: How you went to Madison for your undergraduate degree; which had a really good pre-med program where you learned a lot about applying stitches well. Bad things to talk about while applying stitches: How you went to Madison for "undergrad", where you blacked-out at every Big Ten football game, and traveled to away games often missing days of crucial classes relevant to applying stitches well. Yeah, she did inject at least four shots of litacaine directly to the left side of my face, but she should have known I wasn't that fucked up. I'm curious to see how these bad boys come out when I take this wrap off. That's the last time I go drink at "Dah-Deuce" with pre-med buddies on weekdays.
Oh--the head wrap!?!? I look like I was discharged after battling in the trenches of Normandy. This is so that my ear heals correctly and I don't get cauliflower ear and end up looking like this beaut.
Anyway, my streak of unfortunate illness continues!!! (See: "YO! I be da illest illness!!!") They always make good war stories and I hear the chicks dig scars, but I am yet to have wreaked the benefits... Seriously... I've been trying since I got my appendix removed in 3rd grade and got a nasty scar in my left "lower-abdominal" region... you know... just below the belt... but not necessarily all the way, I'll show it to you sometime, if you play your cards right. (Ladies and gentlemen: Jeremy Piven on the congas, Derrick Hodge on the bass guitar)
