One might assume I'm cherry picking the most interesting story for my first entry.
Yes, and no. Yes, in that it's a story even I believe is interesting and therefore would make a very good story to share. But no, because it happened when I was three years old and so this is the first major story of my childhood that, despite the head injury, I can tell without saying that my parents told it to me.
This wasn't even the first time in my life I tested that whole survival of the fittest thing. And again, I was three.
It was spring 1987. Well, it was anywhere between October 1986 and March 1987. I can't give you exact dates because I did not understand calendars as a three year old, and I was about to suffer a head injury. I do know it was a Friday, and I can tell you why I know that later. We were visiting my aunt and uncle, and my two older cousins. I'm not particularly close to these cousins anymore for reasons that I'm sure will be revealed eventually, but I do remember that even when we were close, they didn't quite like hanging around the three-year-old. Amanda 2019 does not blame them one bit. My cousins are 12 and 6 years older than me. If you were 15 or 9 and a boy, would you really want to spend your day hanging out with a three year old girl?
So, being a three-year-old with two older cousins that had better things to do, I decided to entertain myself. I am a very headstrong person, and when I was a toddler I felt like I knew everything and parents giving safety advice were just because they hated it when kids had too much fun. Or something like that. I don't remember my exact thought process. I just know my mom knew what I was up to, told me to stop, and I decided that mom was wrong and I was going to keep doing what I was doing.
Sometimes you have to fracture a skull to learn.
The way I had decided to entertain myself was to push a rocking chair to the top of the stairs and rock in it. It tipped down further and made my stomach drop like a roller coaster, and I loved that feeling. Again, an adult did notice and told me to stop. I absolutely did not. If it was fun, how could it be bad?
Well, gravity answered that question. The chair tipped all the way over, and I bounced down a couple of stairs and then went right over the side because my aunt and uncle did not have a banister. The also did not have a carpet. I'm pretty sure their floor was marble. It was not wood, at any rate.
Sidebar, I'm always offended that people always break their neck and die when they fall down the stairs on television and in movies. I know for a fact that you can also fracture your skull and live.
Obviously, my parents rushed me to the hospital because they loved me very much. This was not a "walk it off" scenario, of which my parents have a long list. Mom said she knew I would be okay when we were in the waiting room because I thought Grandma was there, because someone in the waiting room had the same purse as her. My brain was still functioning at a level where I was recognizing purses. It was a bit of a relief.
I had to get a CAT scan, because again - I fell down a flight of stairs and landed on a maybe-marble floor. But I was three and in pain and scared, so I didn't want to stay still. The doctor almost said I was fine. My dad, who I don't remember singing before or after this day, sat next to me and sang so I would sit still. That's when they noticed the fracture.
So, how well did I do to challenge Darwin? The fracture on my skull was right next to an artery. It was a clean fracture. If it hadn't been, I would have bled out in twenty minutes.
My life adds its own spice.
I also managed to not give myself a concussion. I just had a broken, swollen head. They did decide to admit me overnight for observation. I was semi-potty trained at the time - I still had a diaper, but I did know how to use the toilet. I was hooked up to an IV, but at one point I needed to use the bathroom. The nurse told me to use my diaper. I got into an argument with her because I was a big girl and I was supposed to use the toilet. The doctor laughed at the situation and told the nurse to just let me go use the bathroom.
So, here's how I know I fractured my skull on a Friday. The next day, when I woke up and I was waiting to get discharged, I watched It's Punky Brewster on TV. If you are not familiar with It's Punky Brewster, it was the Saturday morning cartoon version of Punky Brewster. If you're not familiar with Punky Brewster, you missed the 80s and my heart bleeds for you. Anyway, I used my skills of deduction to realize that if I was watching a Saturday morning cartoon in the 80s, it would have been Saturday morning, so that means the day before was a Friday. I just realized I probably missed an episode of Perfect Strangers. I was having a tough day back then.
But a very cute story came out of this. Not the one about my dad singing to me, even though that was cute. It does involve my dad, though. I had a very swollen head because of my fractured skull, and my parents did a lot to try to make me feel better while I was healing. My dad let me paint his nails. My mom tried to deny me the privilege, but my dad told her that if he do it, she could. But she forgot to do the nail polish remover before she went to the store, and she had to tell everyone her three year old painted her nails, which is cute.
Anyway, that's the story of how I fractured my skull when I was three years old. It wasn't even the beginning, and it was nowhere near the end.
Yes, and no. Yes, in that it's a story even I believe is interesting and therefore would make a very good story to share. But no, because it happened when I was three years old and so this is the first major story of my childhood that, despite the head injury, I can tell without saying that my parents told it to me.
This wasn't even the first time in my life I tested that whole survival of the fittest thing. And again, I was three.
It was spring 1987. Well, it was anywhere between October 1986 and March 1987. I can't give you exact dates because I did not understand calendars as a three year old, and I was about to suffer a head injury. I do know it was a Friday, and I can tell you why I know that later. We were visiting my aunt and uncle, and my two older cousins. I'm not particularly close to these cousins anymore for reasons that I'm sure will be revealed eventually, but I do remember that even when we were close, they didn't quite like hanging around the three-year-old. Amanda 2019 does not blame them one bit. My cousins are 12 and 6 years older than me. If you were 15 or 9 and a boy, would you really want to spend your day hanging out with a three year old girl?
So, being a three-year-old with two older cousins that had better things to do, I decided to entertain myself. I am a very headstrong person, and when I was a toddler I felt like I knew everything and parents giving safety advice were just because they hated it when kids had too much fun. Or something like that. I don't remember my exact thought process. I just know my mom knew what I was up to, told me to stop, and I decided that mom was wrong and I was going to keep doing what I was doing.
Sometimes you have to fracture a skull to learn.
The way I had decided to entertain myself was to push a rocking chair to the top of the stairs and rock in it. It tipped down further and made my stomach drop like a roller coaster, and I loved that feeling. Again, an adult did notice and told me to stop. I absolutely did not. If it was fun, how could it be bad?
Well, gravity answered that question. The chair tipped all the way over, and I bounced down a couple of stairs and then went right over the side because my aunt and uncle did not have a banister. The also did not have a carpet. I'm pretty sure their floor was marble. It was not wood, at any rate.
Sidebar, I'm always offended that people always break their neck and die when they fall down the stairs on television and in movies. I know for a fact that you can also fracture your skull and live.
Obviously, my parents rushed me to the hospital because they loved me very much. This was not a "walk it off" scenario, of which my parents have a long list. Mom said she knew I would be okay when we were in the waiting room because I thought Grandma was there, because someone in the waiting room had the same purse as her. My brain was still functioning at a level where I was recognizing purses. It was a bit of a relief.
I had to get a CAT scan, because again - I fell down a flight of stairs and landed on a maybe-marble floor. But I was three and in pain and scared, so I didn't want to stay still. The doctor almost said I was fine. My dad, who I don't remember singing before or after this day, sat next to me and sang so I would sit still. That's when they noticed the fracture.
So, how well did I do to challenge Darwin? The fracture on my skull was right next to an artery. It was a clean fracture. If it hadn't been, I would have bled out in twenty minutes.
My life adds its own spice.
I also managed to not give myself a concussion. I just had a broken, swollen head. They did decide to admit me overnight for observation. I was semi-potty trained at the time - I still had a diaper, but I did know how to use the toilet. I was hooked up to an IV, but at one point I needed to use the bathroom. The nurse told me to use my diaper. I got into an argument with her because I was a big girl and I was supposed to use the toilet. The doctor laughed at the situation and told the nurse to just let me go use the bathroom.
So, here's how I know I fractured my skull on a Friday. The next day, when I woke up and I was waiting to get discharged, I watched It's Punky Brewster on TV. If you are not familiar with It's Punky Brewster, it was the Saturday morning cartoon version of Punky Brewster. If you're not familiar with Punky Brewster, you missed the 80s and my heart bleeds for you. Anyway, I used my skills of deduction to realize that if I was watching a Saturday morning cartoon in the 80s, it would have been Saturday morning, so that means the day before was a Friday. I just realized I probably missed an episode of Perfect Strangers. I was having a tough day back then.
But a very cute story came out of this. Not the one about my dad singing to me, even though that was cute. It does involve my dad, though. I had a very swollen head because of my fractured skull, and my parents did a lot to try to make me feel better while I was healing. My dad let me paint his nails. My mom tried to deny me the privilege, but my dad told her that if he do it, she could. But she forgot to do the nail polish remover before she went to the store, and she had to tell everyone her three year old painted her nails, which is cute.
Anyway, that's the story of how I fractured my skull when I was three years old. It wasn't even the beginning, and it was nowhere near the end.
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