In Stitches

I got hit by a truck!

Well, just a little.

I had to go outside because these gentlemen were misunderstanding the concept of backing a truck up. The concepts they were missing were the facts that 1) we state that you cannot pull any vehicles into the building 2) the truck is physically too large to fit into the building. Neither of these facts seemed to deter these gentlemen.

I’m standing in the loading area explaining to the one person I thought may or may not have been the most likely to understand or be able to explain my issue. As much as I tried, I was failing miserably. I finally figured the only thing I could do was take matters into my own hand.

While pounding on the back of the truck I screamed,

“Pull the fucking truck forward and park it! NOW!”

I don’t know if it was my constant banging or the order but the driver pulled the truck forward and stopped. For a millisecond I figured this was a completed mission. I turned to exit so these gentlemen could begin their work when the driver did something that caused the truck to lurch backwards and slam into my shin.

Oooo, that stung.

I reach down and rub the lump. It amazed me how quickly a piece of steel slamming into a shin can cause a lump. I limp back to the office grumbling. I couldn’t blame anyone but myself. After all, I was standing behind a truck that seemed stopped to me.

I’ve been hit in the shin many times in my life and know the level of pain doesn’t correlate to the damage. A refrigerator fell on my shin once. That hurt. I was backing up a staircase with it when someone decided to help by stepping to the side of it and pushing. That caused it to slip from my hands and drop onto my shin. I’ve heard it takes between sixty and seventy pounds of pressure to break a shin so I’m sure if all my weight wasn’t on that leg it would have gone through it. As it was, it cracked it and it swelled up and filled the bottom of my pants. I still have the indentation.

It’s painful to move and I see a little blood and a small tear on my pants. The blood spots not too big so I figure it’s just a scrape. Things like that happen when steel hits skin, you’d have to assume. I’m running around the building doing other things and the leg continues to throb. After about twenty minutes my boss sees me limping around so asks what’s up. I tell him a truck hit my shin. He looks toward my leg and says,

“There’s a little blood there.”

There was. It was about double the last time I looked.

“Have you looked at it?”

“Not yet. Haven’t stopped moving since it happened.”

“You should check it out.”

I sir down, put my foot on the desk and pull my pant leg up.

“Oh! That’s ugly.” My boss says. I think he was over reacting but it was interesting.

Have you ever seen your own bone through an opening in your skin? I don’t recommend it but it is sort of interesting. I’d move my foot and watch the muscles and other inside stuff move up and down.

“You’ll probably need stitches.” My boss says walking over towards his desk. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“Nah, Mike’s here. He’ll give me a ride.”

I get dropped off at the hospital (I didn’t say he’d wait!) and go to the emergency room. The intake nurse takes my information and tells me to take a seat. I look around and see various sick and injured people and think back to the time I cut open my finger on a barbed wire fence. I was sitting there soaking my hand when a nun lead a kid to the seat next to me. She smiled and showed me the scrape on her charges elbow. A fucking scrape! Then she made a mistake. She asked what my boo-boo was. That was probably the sixty-seventh time in my life I thought I was going to hell and I was only ten. When I pulled my ragged, bleeding and gaping tear into my flesh this nun, a kind looking woman, turned marshmallow white as she shielded her students eyes and whisked him from this would-be hell resident.

I get walked into a room with three tables. A doctor is leaning over one stitching up the hand of a big, tough looking guy. It’s why his distressed expression and ashen pallor were remarkable to me. I looked at his hand and it wasn’t that bad. I jump up on the table and the doctor asks where my bang was. I lift up my pant leg, she nods and tells me she’ll be with me in a minute while the guy getting stitched moans and tries his best to look away from me and not at his hand. I think he focused on a jar of cotton balls.

I plop on the gurney and start to greet the guy. He was happy to have any type of distraction. He told me how he cut his hand with a box cutter. I said they can be dangerous. He asks what happened to me and, not really thinking about it, I rolled up my pant leg and said,

“Hit by a truck.”

Have you ever heard all the air leave a persons body and wretch at the same time? Neither had I up until this point. It was an interesting sound though.

The doctor finishes with him and rolls over to me. She twists my leg to get a good look.

“Ripped to the bone, didn’t ya.”


“Yeah, it looks pretty cool though.”


“Let’s get to work.”

She starts in and the guy looks at me amazed.

“You’re going to watch?”

“Yeah, why not? I watched an operation on my hand once. That was pretty weird.”


He rolls over but sees his hand so snaps to his back and stares at the ceiling.

The doctor and I are randomly chatting. She inspects some of my other scars giving her professional critique of other doctors needling abilities. We’re talking about various things she’s stitched to the consternation of my stitchmate. I’m sure he wanted to open his mouth and scream but, if he did, he’d never stop.

That’s unbecoming.

The doctor wraps up her work, I thank her and jump off the gurney. She asks if I want to hang around and rest for a while. I said no, I was fine. She asked how I was leaving. I told her it was a nice day so I was going to walk. It was only a couple of miles back to work.

“You just had your leg stitched!” The guy turns to face me now that my leg was safely panted. “And you’re going back to work? AND walking there?”

“Yeah. It’s nice. I’m going to go by there anyway.”

“I’m not leaving here unless the company sends a cab and I’m taking the rest of the week off. I know I’m not going to be able move my hand, isn’t that right, doc?”

The doctor nods while writing something.

“I’ll give you both notes to take the rest of the week off if you want.”

I pass her, shake her hand on my way out and say,

“Give him mine. I’m sure he be able to put it to use.”

She laughs as I exit.

“I still think you’re nuts.” The guy calls still reclined.

“I know you’re not going to be surprised but that’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” I call over my shoulder while I limp past a guy with a large head wound. I smile at the guy half wanting to go back to hear the guy’s reaction to that mess!

I’m sure the doctor would let me assist.

13 responses to “In Stitches

  1. I think you are nuts too. 😀 But, that is why I stop in and read your fantastic posts. Hate that you had to get run over in order to provide us with our laugh for the day.

    Side note: I am one of those wackos who also enjoy watching while I am being put back together. Way cool watching blood pumping out a cut.

  2. This is hilarious.

    Reminds me of an important piece of information for people going to the emergency room: NEVER clean up the blood. By all means stop the bleeding, but leave the blood splattered, dripped, gooshed, etc. wherever it happened to goosh. They let you through the line so much faster that way!

    I’da been the one puking, BTW.

  3. Two burning questions…was it the same leg the dog bit in 2005? Did it ruin yet another pair of your favorite pants?

  4. > Two burning questions…was it
    > the same leg the dog bit in 2005?
    Nope, I like to even out the pain. But the fridge that cracked my shin was on the dog bite leg if that’s any consolation.

    > Did it ruin yet another pair of
    > your favorite pants?
    That’s a cruel question. You know I only have one pair of pants.

  5. get your company’s corp of attorneys on this case right away. sue the bastard for running into you; apply for disability and drive your boss out of business….

  6. Sorry about your hand Earl.

  7. I’m a puss when it comes to watching medical procedures. I have a pretty decent pain tolerance and I’ve cleaned and butchered fish and game before, but when it comes to people, I get all woozy. I’d be the dude looking elsewhere.

    As a completely different subject, when I drove a lumber truck as a college kid I once rode along with a coworker to deliver some shingles to a contractor with whom he was pretty friendly. When we got there, they wanted us to unload underneath a carport, so I hopped out to help watch for him as he backed up. One of the contractor’s guys watched the other side of the truck.

    As he got close to the spot, the contractor’s guy looked over at me, winked, and then screamed “WHOA!” and smacked the steel bed of the truck with his hammer. WHAM! My coworker damn near shit himself. 😀

  8. I’ve pulled stunts like that. I think it’s funny. But, as usual, opinions vary.

    I had two operations on my hand (cause: human bite. Reason: punched someone knocking out some of their teeth – hence the bite – and puncturing their ear drum) and watched the first operation.

    The guy who did the second operation was a friend who wouldn’t let me watch. I busted his balls all operation until he stepped away. Then I thanked him for not letting me. It was a mess. But if he’d let me I would have watched it.

    I tore open my middle finger on a barbwire fence. I got over and was climbing down a stone wall when a woman came charging down the alley with a dog. No matter what, she wouldn’t let me pass. So I had to climb up and that’s when I cut my finger.

    I didn’t know I was cut but I did notice kids coming home from school giving me some space. It wasn’t until I thought my hands were cold and looked down that I saw the blood. That was a mess.

    I won’t bore you with the part about scaring my Mother with it but I will about freaking out someone else.

    I was sitting in this hellhole of a hospital with my hand in a bowl of something (it could have been soup of the day for all I knew) when a kid sat a little away from me. He had his elbow in the soup too. A nun sat next to him to soothe his fears.

    After a few minutes, being a nun, she felt the need to soothe me. We started talking and she told me little Johnny had slipped in the school yard and scraped his elbow. He pulled it out and, yep, a scrape.

    Then she asked what happened to me.

    Now I’m sure this wasn’t the first time I thought I was going to hell and it sure wasn’t the last (I have an interesting bit later this week) but it was the first time I actually grinned during it.

    I took my hand out of the soup, shaded it from the duo, shook it to dry, then stuck it in the nuns face.

    Both she and little Johnny turned as white as this pages background. I watched them scurry away as I placed my hand back in the soup and waited for my turn to get further butchered (again, I won’t bore you with the gory details, but it was ugly).

  9. you are one funny guy

  10. Because so many people have asked about the dog bite I’ll go into it. It wasn’t the first time I’d been bitten by a dog. It wasn’t even the funniest.

    The funniest was when we moved into another section of the city, I was hanging out with some kids I knew, a neighborhood dog walked over, sniffed me, didn’t like the scent so bit me.

    Most people, including the two I was with, would have gone right home to take care of it. I had a different idea. So the kids tried to persuade me. Even then I was difficult to persuade. So they started to kick my ass to make it easier to carry me across the street.

    When we got to the new apartment, still over my protestations, they rang the bell and told my Mother I was bitten by a dog. She yelled down,

    “I don’t have time for your jokes today, Chris!”

    You see, this happened on April Fool’s Day.

    The bite Surqu talked about happened on July 4th. I was at a friends party, his pit bull walked over, sniffed (again there must be something in my scent), clamped down and punctured my calf and beloved pants.

    Again, I didn’t seek medical attention. It was just puncture wounds! The next day, though, when I couldn’t put any weight on it, I stayed home and watched TV.

    The bad part was Surqu and her husband were visiting and we’d made plans to hang out. It sucked that I had to bow out but I couldn’t even walk to the kitchen to get a beer much less travel to Boston to hoist a few.

  11. That story left me in stitches… Sorry I couldn’t help myself.

  12. I always watch, too, whether it’s me or one of my kids. Although I have to admit to a semi-freak one time with my middle child. He cut across his eyebrow area on the playground (4th grade); I was at work and my hubby had to pick him up and I was to meet them at the ER. The school nurse knew me and my family since she and I had attended LPN school together and she was VERY aware of my husband’s hemo-phobia, so she had Jeremy’s head wrapped and packed and his shirt all cleaned up (I think she actually made him change into one of the “spares” that are kept in the nurses’ office for kids that puke on themselves). Anyway, my hubby was fine, and so was I until the plastic surgeon covered Jeremy’s face with a drape to stitch up his eyebrow. Something about covering his face got to me–maybe because we cover up the faces of the ones who pass on–I don’t know, but I went green and started to hyperventilate, and the doc asked me if I was OK! I just slowly moved around so I was standing at his elbow, and could see what he was doing and my son’s face a little better, and viola the greenness went away!

    Also in my experience, most men are babies when it comes to blood and gore, and most women aren’t. BC, you are the exception, as usual. Hope you had a better afternoon at work after your ER break, and that it was a nice day for a walk.

  13. oh, you poor thing. If I had a beer, I’d give you one.

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