Scarred for Life
My working life began one week later than planned. Because I fell off a bicycle
I was at a friend’s older brother’s home. He was married, had a Cairn Terrier. There were bicycles in the garden. We borrowed them for the afternoon and rode off to explore the countryside
If you’re thinking Enid Blyton, read on. One afternoon, when I was only sixteen and a half, had devastating consequences on my life
I don’t think I was going fast. There was a small hill. On the downward slope I lost control. Seconds later I opened my eyes on a hospital trolley and said “Where am I?”
I’ve always wished I had said something clever
Seconds had been hours, I’d been taken to the nearest hospital by ambulance. Road gravel (mostly) removed from my knee, hip and forehead. Stitched up. I’d been totally unaware of this, because Concussion
I was sixteen years old. There was no space in a suitable ward so I was allocated a bed in geriatrics with five “ancient” women
That was actually fun. I liked them and they enjoyed having a teenager in the room
So, the stitches…
One or two on my knee, under which a grey layer of road dust still remains
Several on my hip. Lumpy, bumpy, very messy. Not what a teenager wants on her body
But my forehead. I’ve never accepted the scar. It’s stared at me from the mirror for decades. It affected how I wear my hair, the glasses I choose. And I can’t raise my left eyebrow. My face is uneven
A nurse told me there was a mirror on the right hand side of the bathroom, and I might not want to see my face. I understood – my face was a mess – and took her advice
However I was young and had no idea how long my face would be bruised and scraped
Six days into my stay I was asked if I’d like to wash my hair and put on proper clothes. Fed up with lying in bed, I definitely wanted to get dressed
Nobody said my face was still frighteningly destroyed. I thought if they’re suggesting I get dressed, I must be better
So I crossed the ward to the bathroom, didn’t avert my eyes from the mirror, saw my face
Maybe I screamed out loud, maybe not. I certainly screamed inside. Black, blue, red, purple face. Hair still matted with dried blood that hadn’t been washed out because of the stitches
I managed to dress and wash my hair. Then I walked by the mirror without looking
On the morning I was due to leave hospital, eight days after admission, the surgeon who had stitched me up came over. “Never mind, you can get plastic surgery when you’re older”
I hadn’t said a word! Did he think I was going to complain about his terrible patchwork? Sue him? I hadn’t even noticed the twelve stitches within the devastation that was my face
But let me return to the concussion
Concussion has consequences way beyond a hospital stay and terrible stitching. For me the most evident result was a change in my periods. Until the concussion, regular and monthly. Textbook
The concussion happened in May. I didn’t have another period for months. Then they were irregular, unpredictable – for ever
Another issue was the start of my working life. Two weeks and two days after the fall I began my first job. (I hated it, soon moved to a different company. I’ll tell you another time)
Two young people were due to start on the same day. Myself and a young man. My concussion meant I started one week later than him
For five days he was “last in” – office junior
Then I arrived. Excellent! A girl! She can have all the rubbish jobs while the young man can aim high. Sexism 101
And lastly, the scar on my forehead. I cut a fringe. I parted my hair on the right. I chose glasses that don’t draw attention to my eyebrows – remember, I can’t raise the left one
When the pandemic came and I couldn’t get my hair cut, still I worked around the scar. This week I took a huge step and drew my hair right back, scar in full view. No-one seems to have noticed
I could say there’s a lesson in this story. But there really isn’t. I was concussed; I was scarred; I’m still affected by it
But I’m getting better
_________
Read more of my stories if you enjoyed this one. And you can find out more about me on my socials. (I’m a shopkeeper by day)
Instagram, one_basket
Facebook, One Basket Kelso
Leave a comment