This week's Fun Monday hostess is Lil Mouse, who would like us to bare ourselves and present our scars, physical or psychological. Interesting topic, ma'am, and thanks.
My psychological scars are too numerous and too eclectic to even go into here. I spent 12 years in Catholic schools, remember? Just kidding, Sister Blanche!
My very worst physical scar is located on my daughter's body. Yep, she has it and I am responsible. Guilt? Oh, yeah!
When Julie was a toddler, she lived in 'bag-a-baby' sleepers. She could run faster with no actual leg openings than most children could stark raving naked.
We were in the family room and I had just made myself a cup of instant coffee. Back in the day, I used to make instant coffee with boiling hot water. Juls brushed the end table with her arm, the coffee spilled onto her arm and melted the nylon sleeve right into her arm.
I am nauseous just typing that sentence. I can still hear her scream - outrage, pain, disbelief, and anger.
We lived, at the time, 25 miles from the HMO to which we belonged. Thank God it was all freeway. We got to the Emergency Room and they took her right in. They tied her to a backboard, escorted me from the room, and proceeded to remove the nylon pajama that had been melted into her arm. I can still hear her.
Her little arm was SO little that they used a cloth finger cot with a hole cut in the end of it to hold the bandage on. We went to that medical complex every day for 6 weeks so that they could clean and bandage her arm. It got so that she started screaming when I took the freeway off-ramp. I can still hear her.
Her burn was on the outside, upper left arm. As she grew, the scar naturally moved down her arm. When she was in grade school, I had her convinced that it would just slide right off the end of her fingertip as she grew.
She is still ticked that I lied.