The most severe wound was gained while I was still in the United States but it has greatly affect me during my time in the UK. It was a Friday afternoon and I was packing my suitcase into the trunk of my car. My flight to England was not until Tuesday but my mother, sister and I were going to meet my father at the coast for the weekend. As I was shoving my sister's bag into the trunk, I pulled back my hand, rubbing it against the inside top of the truck. A mild pain shot from the middle knuckle on my left hand, and as I pulled it from the trunk to see the injury, I was shocked to find that the cut was very deep. I watched as the cut filled with blood, then, regaining my sense, I rushed into the house and grabbed a towel to staunch the blood. I specifically took a second to make sure that the towel was dark in color so that the blood would be harder to see. I applied pressure and went looking for my mother.
I found her in the kitchen an said, "Momma, I have a little problem." She turned to me, saw the towel pressed to my hand and immediately asked what happened. Throughout this time the cut barely hurt, probably since it was so deep and I felt fine. This changed quickly when she told me to sit down so that she could look at how bad it was. I could not help to think about how the gaping wound looked outside next to the car, and the more I thought about it, the more lightheaded I felt.
We applied pressure until most of the blood stopped, and while I hung my head between my knees, my mother put three bandaids over it to make sure it was completely covered. My nausea and lightheadedness continued until I knew that I was going to be sick. My mom took my arm and helped me to the bathroom, ten feet away. I made it to the bathroom doorway when my vision went black and I thought that I would faint, which I have never done in my entire life. I breathed through the blackness and my vision returned just in time to make it to the toilet to be sick.
After that terrifying experience of not being in control of my body, I felt much better. My mother brought me a pillow and blanket to lie on the bathroom floor and stay still while she went to pick up my sister from high school. When they returned they finished packing the trunk, very carefully (I personally am still a little afraid of having put things in or take things out of my trunk). So, about two hours after all of this excitement began, we left on our drive to the coast. I spent the entire seven hour trip trying not to move or get sick every time I though about my injury.
I spent the next several days babying my hand and having my mother change the bandaids since I could not do it without feeling lightheaded. I was so afraid about having to go to another country with a rather serious, in my opinion, injury but by Tuesday it had sealed shut and partially healed.
Today I have a curved, half inch long scar on the middle knuckle of my left hand. It has actually healed very well. It is not raised with scar tissue and it is only a slightly darker pink than the rest of my hand. I think that the Vitamin E in my Unpetroleum Jelly (like petroleum jelly but without the oil and other chemicals) is what has made the scar look so nice in such a short amount of time.
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My next wound occurred several weeks into my stay abroad. My flatmates and I had gone into town to explore and then to shop at Tesco, a chain supermarket. As we were leaving, weighed down with our bags it began to rain. My black flats were soaked and began to rub against my heels. There was nothing I could go about the problem so I dealt with the pain of gradually forming blisters until we made it to the bus stop and rode back to our dorm.
After unpacking all of the groceries I put on some socks to warm up my wet feet and thought nothing more about the backs of my heels. When I woke in the night to a pain in my foot I thought that my socks were simply rubbing so I pulled them off, rolled over and went back to sleep.
In the morning, I got up and went to make myself breakfast, climbing down the four steps from our bedrooms to the kitchen hallway. This stepping motion made the backs of my heels burn so I looked down at them. Both of my heels were covered in dried blood. I am guessing that my wet shoes had rubbed the skin raw and then the blisters had popped during the night. Of course, as soon as I knew that the raw spots were there they began to hurt like crazy. I went about cleaning off the blood, applying antibacterial gel and bandaging. I had to wear thick socks and my boots for a week to allow them to heal and I remember that they were there every time I had to climb a hill and the skin stretched. I now have two new scars on the backs of my heels.
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During one of the many checks to see if the bread was cooked through (the top was brown but the bottom didn't seem to want to cook), I managed to burn my hand on the top of the oven. Naturally it would be on the side of the same hand where my knuckle scar is. The skin turned pink and formed a small blister. I was very carful not to mess with it and eventually it formed a scab. I do think it is going to end up scarring, at least a little bit, which is disappointing because you want to have an interesting story to go with a scar, not simply "I burnt it making Lemon Zucchini Bread."
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I got my fourth injury this past weekend in Dublin, Ireland. Saturday, our first day in the city, we were walking around looking from someplace to eat dinner. It was dark and raining so we all had out our umbrellas. Amy and Libby walked in front sharing an umbrella (Amy forgot to bring hers) with Caitlin in the middle and myself at the back. I noticed a man walk by Libby and Amy, hand stretched out to hit Libby's umbrella. Libby saw him and pulled back, walking quickly by. Focusing on holding my umbrella and not slipping on the wet sidewalk, it came as a complete shock when a hand came rushing towards my face. The drunk man who tried to hit Libby's umbrella had just smacked me in the face with his entire hand, forcing my glasses into my nose. He just kept on walking, beer in his other hand.
For several seconds, all I could think was, "What if he broke my glasses? My spares are back in England and if they are broken I will not be able to see anything." At this time Caitlin noticed that I had fallen behind and turned to look for me. I told her in an incredulous voice that I had just been smacked full on in the face by a random man. My face was throbbing and I was trying not to cry, more from shock than actual pain.
Caitlin and I caught up to Libby and Amy waiting at a cross walk and told them what had happened. Neither could believe that it had actually happened, and we continued to discuss the incident until we chose to eat at O'Shea's Restaurant.
When I woke up in the hostel on Sunday morning I was afraid that I would have a bruise on my face. Running my fingers over my face, I could tell that my left cheekbone was slightly puffy. I did not want to disturb sleeping people in my room by climbing out of the top bunk and making a lot of noise so I waited. When everyone began to stir I climbed down the ladder from my blue top bunk and looked in the mirror. There were no bruises in sight, nor was the puffiness noticeable. I will admit, I was slightly disappointed. I kind of wanted a physical mark to go with the strange occurrence.
Though this injury left the smallest mark, it is definitely the second most exciting of the four injuries I have gotten during my study abroad experience so far. Let's hope the next three months will not yield any more injuries to add to this list.
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