I Didn’t Break My Face

I sent my best friend a text this morning telling her I broke my face last night.   She did not react well.   That’s when I realized I might have been exaggerating a bit on the whole “breaking” part.   I did inflict a nice little wound though.

I was heading downstairs to the basement to get a beer and I tripped.   I think I tripped on the edge of the carpet from the hallway.   There was a foosball table directly ahead of me and as I was stumbling I pulled my hands up to protect my face—only I had a glass in my left hand.   The class hit me right between the eyebrows.  

My husband heard me fall and came downstairs to find me holding a paper towel to my forehead with blood dripping down my face.  The adults who were still awake talked about what to do.   It was about an inch cut in an arc that matched (to no one’s surprise) the shape of the glass I had been holding.

So urgent care (it was after eleven o’clock), emergency room?   Or butterfly closures?   At this point I’ve had to do this with my children a number of times.   Keeping the tissues connected to facilitate primary healing is very important.   Stitches will do that for a wound that won’t stay closed.   This was easily closed very accurately because the cut was so clean.    So we went for butterfly closures.    No one had to wait for hours at the emergency room to find out they would do the same thing.   Stitches?  I don’t mind them, but I think my husband did a bang up job fixing my banged up face.

So today I have two large, white, butterfly closures with some dried blood stains between my eyebrows.   We’re traveling home and stopping to charge the car, go to the bathroom, get food for the children, oh, and clean up the vomit from my son getting carsick.    I don’t really mind how I look because I know it’s important to help the wound heal with as minimal a scar as possible.

Some people bring home a t-shirt as a memento from their summer vacation;  I might be bringing home a scar this year.

The Big Boy Update:  My son was eating some breakfast this morning and I asked him if I could try it and have a bite.   He didn’t want to share so I said, “please?”   After telling me no again he told me in a confident tone, “you can just eat it in your mind, mom”.  

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  On the drive home today my husband jerked the wheel to pull us away from a car that was drifting into our lane.   I cried out and the car beeped it’s proximity alarm.  My daughter asked from the back seat, “what’s all that racket, Dad?”