14 Stitches

There are many memorable moments in my life.

For example, finding out that I was getting a cousin, getting a brother, and learning to ride my bike. But one moment that will most likely last the longest, is receiving 14 stitches.

“Troops, attack!” We chucked the rocks at the pile. THUD! Dink…

“Abbey, throw harder! A dent in the outside layer won’t affect anything!”, Zach shouted, losing his patience.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. It had been a rainy morning, but it had cleared up at about 10:00 in the morning. Zach (my brother’s best friend), Josh (my brother), and I were playing Star Wars in the lot behind my house. I was only playing because I felt excluded, anyway, it was better than sitting around.

We were just about to start the next round when I scrambled to the pile to grab a rock. I stood up and…BAM!!
“Oh, my, God!” Zach exclaimed. My brother just stood there open mouthed. I threw my head back, holding back tears, just as blood started to gush down my forehead. I yanked open the door, still in shock. My mother’s expressionless face surprised me. She almost always knew what to do in a situation! Finally, she jerked back into reality and yanked a rag out of the drawer. She thrust it at me, reaching for the phone.

“Mom, it doesn’t hurt,” I lied, grimacing. She ignored me and kept on dialing numbers.

“Drew, Abbey’s forehead is exploding with blood, I think she may need stitches.” My heart rose and sank, dreading that last word. Stitches.


I imagined a foot long needle digging into my temple. You might say I’m a bit over imaginative but I had not ever experienced stitches before. I thought about running, but I was in no condition. I felt lightheaded, but that stabbing had floated away….probably torturing someone else.

“This is why you don’t play with brothers,” I said under my breath (I had found out it was my brother who “accidentally” threw the rock.) “So careless,” I continued. “So…” My mom interrupted me.
“Abbey, did you get any blood on your clothes?” she questioned.
I shook my head, stating, “No, just on my forehead.” She replied with a command,
“Get a book to read, Dad is taking off work. You’re going to the hospital, most likely to get stitches.” No! My head screamed in protest.

Again, I imagined a needle, now two feet long. I could feel it piercing my skin already, my vision as cloudy as the sky on a stormy day- WAIT a second! The sky was blood red. Literally! I yanked off my glasses, stared at the blood and reported to my mom. The garage door loudly opened. My mother quickly cleaned my glasses and walked to the garage. She explained a more thorough version of the story, while I trembled at the horrid thought of the needle. I saw my sewing needle on the table, and dashed to the car- I wanted to get this over with. To distract myself, I stuck my nose in my book.

In less than a millisecond my dad announced, “We’re there!”

My head started aching again and I realized I had read 50 pages (in 12 minutes.) Reading had distracted me from my pain, but now the pain was doubled as soon as I set a single foot in the hospital. the line was barely contained by the doors.

And I forgot my book in the car.

This was going to be a long day. As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait! My Dad used to work in the ER(Emergency Room), and a friend recognized him. I was led straight to a room! Score! I thought in my head. Wait, my conscious replied, don’t you want to NOT get stitches! I was caught between opinions as I slowly trudged down the hall. I then sped up, deciding I wanted to get better, not worse. The doctors then led me to a hospital bed and proceeded with the stitches. I couldn’t feel a thing!

Finally, 2 hours and 14 stitches later, I walked out of the hospital, ready to take on the world.

Guest post today by my 11 year old writer who did this as an assignment for class.  My favorite part is how reading is what distracted her from the pain.   Always distracted by books in this house!  The photo below was taken the summer she had stitches.  Always wearing a hat to protect her scar…



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