Autobiographical Incedent

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Autobiographical Incident We'd played catch in her backyard before, but this time, it was different. Her little brother Michael wanted to play with us. We obviously said no because he was only about five years old. Getting frustrated with our lack of attention, Michael picked the ball out of the mud and tried throwing it. The ball landed right on the roof of an old, broken down car parked next to where we were playing.

One of us had to get the ball back, so I volunteered. I climbed up the hood of the car and stood on the roof. I quickly picked up the ball, stood up, and took a step. I stepped right where the ball was just laying. Right onto the muddy residue from the ground. I slipped on the mud and fell shin-first onto the corner of a big four by four piece of wood sticking out of the ground, being used to elevate the grassy field.

My shin landed right on the corner. I lifted my leg off of the piece of wood, like pulling to bloody Lego's apart. I could see a big blood stain forming around the gash in the front of my leg. Right through my blue jeans.

The pain didn't hit me until I lifted the pants up off of my leg. The pants were sticking to the blood inside of my sore. What I thought was just a nasty abrasion, I found was actually a rectangular hole in my shin. It felt like getting kicked in the shin a hundred times over. This was one of the worst pains I had ever felt before. That is, until I actually got to the doctor's office.

After being in the waiting room for about an hour. And a half, I finally got to be "treated". I came to find some stupid intern or something helping me. I seriously doubt this was a real doctor. He basically sat me down and said, "Hold still". Trying to find out exactly what he was doing, I saw him take a towel, put some antibiotic soap on it, and look at my leg. I asked him what he was doing and he said, "Cleaning the blood out of your leg". Then, without giving me any kind of pain reliever, started scrubbing at the gash in my leg. He went through about five towels, mocking me after each on saying, "This is the last towel. He, he"¦ No, this is the last towel. I swear. He, he." This pain was far worse than the actual injury itself. I was riving in pain the whole time, not being able to control my slapping his hand away. After this painful process was over, he just put some Neosporin on it and slapped on a bandage.

If this experience has taught me anything, it's to watch where I step.