Note: When Dad got back to work on Monday there were beans stuck to everything in the lunch area. The men used to put unopened cans on the potbelly stove and take them off when they were warm, for lunch. Dad forgot he had them on the stove. They eventually, blew up and spattered beans everywhere.
I was always so reckless and goofy that they already knew I am allergic to catgut. Dr. B. came in to see me and told us he stopped counting at about 1500 stainless steel stitches. My leg had a cast all the way up to my hip, I had tubes coming out of my leg and my stomach, stitches on the cuts up my leg, stitches in cuts all the way across where my legs and stomach meet, and stitches from one side of my stomach to the other.
Note: They all itched and I got in trouble for scratching the ones under the cast on my upper leg with an unbent hanger....
The stay at Providence seemed like fun to a kid. Except when a grizzled little man with an electric saw and a unlit cigar came in. He plugged in the saw and began to saw on my cast!! No one told me he was there to make an access 'door' to the biggest leg wound. I let out a scream, scared him. He kept sawing though. The nuns ran in and told me what was going on.
Then there was the time Doc B. tried to pull out a 'stitch or two' on the same wound. I was adamantly, against it and somehow summoned more strength to lift the entire cast and kick him in the chin hard enough to cause a life-long scar he never let me forget.
The rest of the 2 weeks I was in hospital were fun as I remember it. Getting up earlier than the kid with the broken leg next door, to get the 'good' wheelchair. The other one was an old cane job that always lost the hall races. The girl that was my age, in the bed next to me, was supposed to have complete bed rest. She got up and jumped on the bed from the minute the door closed to whenever someone came back in.
Once I got home I was the Diva of the trailer park. The kids fixed up a wagon to tow me around so as not to miss any of the park fun. Another 'lackey' followed along carrying a folding chair. We were like H.R.H. on Progress.
About a week after I came home a pick-up game of Tag football started. Sides were chosen and the game began. I was ensconced on my 'throne', the Queen of all I surveyed. Blanket across my lap, 'Lackey' at my side to run for my needs. Meanwhile, one of the kids gets the idea that the other side could be thrown off and not apt to grab my ribbon if they put me in. Okay...at 10; it was a great idea. I joined the huddle. As we broke, I stumped off down the 'field', caught the ball and turned to keep stumping towards the end zone. Apparently, one of the kids on the other team (I think it was Tom Eddy...) wasn't as afraid of my situation as was originally thought.... He TACKLED me!!! Used to happen a lot. ("Oops! I forgot it's Tag Football...." was heard quite often). I will never forget the reaction of my Mom and the way Doc. Barnes screamed, "You were playing FOOTBALL????
Final note: This area was so much smaller then. My Aunt and Uncle lived in Astoria, Oregon. My accident was mentioned in their local paper.
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