My girls and I went camping this summer and reserved a little cabin in the woods at Lake Darling State Park. Usually we set up a tent but due to the possibility of storms we chose a cabin this year.

In addition to the advantage of shelter from rain it also included an air-conditioning unit, mini fridge, microwave and comfortable beds. When Jaicey requested help to tuck sheets in on the corners of the top bunk bed, Kinzey leaped in front of me and turned off the ceiling fan.

“Mom, we don’t want you sticking your head in a fan again!” she exclaimed. 

Jaicey laughed and agreed with her sister.

“Yes, I thought of that when I went up the ladder,” she said. “I could feel how close the blades were to my head.” 

While I surveyed the ceiling fan, my hand instinctively rubbed the scar on the crown of my head..

The accident happened in our church kitchen following our Christmas program last winter. After refreshments and coffee in the Fellowship Hall, the Food Committee, which I was part of, was cleaning up in the kitchen.

I was asked to find a foil container large enough to hold all the leftover cookies. The foil containers were on top of the upper cabinets. I set the step stool where I needed it and climbed up the three steps to reach the pans. As I stretched up, I was suddenly clubbed hard on the back, right side of my head. I immediately ducked down and looked up to see what in tarnation had smacked me. 

One of the women asked, “What was that noise?” I told her the ceiling fan had hit me and reached up to rub what I thought would be a bump on my head. Instead, I found a gash and realized I had blood running down through my hair and dripping onto my shirt.

With a flurry of activity, someone pushed me onto a chair, someone else gave me a cold washcloth to put pressure on the wound, and someone ran to get my husband.

At that moment I knew two things for certain. No. 1: I was a numbskull. I mean, literally, my skull was numb, and I felt like a first-class idiot for the situation I found myself in. No. 2: I knew my family would never let me forget this. 

After looking at the cut and seeing the amount of blood it was producing, it was decided I needed to go to the emergency room.

“Ooh, can this be a family field trip to the hospital?” my daughter, Kinzey asked, hopefully. 

BJ said, “No. You guys have school tomorrow.”

I could tell the girls were disappointed, but they gave me hugs, both trying, and failing, to hide their smiles as they shook their heads and sighed, “Oh, Mom, only you could this happen to.”  

Surprisingly, we had no waiting in the emergency room, and I was taken right to a room. The doctor was kind, patient, humorous and happy to have a new and unusual wound to take care of that night. 

He gave me the news that it was about a 2-inch gash, deep enough to need stitches. He pulled the hair out of the cut which caused a fresh rush of blood, but once that was staunched, he said he would like to staple it closed.

“Here’s your options,” he said. “You will need five staples and it will probably take five shots of anesthesia to numb the area, so, you can either feel the five shots or skip the anesthesia and just feel the five staples.” 

I chose to forgo the shots, thinking of the dollar figure it might add to the bill, and gripping BJ’s hand, had the interesting and painful experience of getting my head stapled.

I realized it was not so different from the time my twin brother stapled a note that said “Dork” to the back of my shoulder when we were kids. Who knew those childhood fights would prepare me for something like this?

I finished helping Jaicey get her top bunk bed made up in the cabin, and once I was back on the floor, Kinzey announced, “OK, heads up, I am now turning on the ceiling fan.” 

“It’s nice to know you guys are looking out for me,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But just in case, I have a stapler in my first-aid kit.” 

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