Some Games Are Hard to Play

April 4, 2011
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It probably looked like a wave of blood hit me with pieces of glass shards to puncture my skin to the bone. Maybe there was a tooth fairy in there that needed my front teeth? She could have asked but then again I would have asked for it all not to have happened. People say life is what you make it, but why would I create something like that? Life is not what you make it. Life is a game played by the world and in some of these games people get hurt, some even die.

This is probably how someone would see it. That girl was stupid. Why would she run across the street? The real story is painful to hear, to tell, so listen carefully. I will only repeat myself once, because the thoughts I am about to share with you bring back the fears of life into mind, the things that no one should ever have to hear, but I will tell you about March 19th, the day I will never forget.

Was it fear, or fury? No, I was just confused. Why was there blood? How? I felt ill, the taste of blood was nauseating, like I was being forced to drink pure metal, and the pounding of my head was excruciating, I felt like my head had been smashed into something.

I must have been dreaming. Wow, I thought, how creative am I, my dreams are so frighteningly realistic. The blood, the pain, wow, my friend was even in my dream. She actually looked scared. I looked around and admired my dream for a few seconds, and then something struck me. I gave up. How? Why? What? This was not fake, and this pain was real. I didn’t want to believe it.

A lady ran up to me, panic was painted across her face. “What is your mom’s name and what is her phone number?” I managed to tell her through my torn up mouth. I heard her speaking with my mother, “I am going in the ambulance with her.” As the women’s words quickly flowed out of her mouth, I could picture the devastated look on my mom’s face

Teenagers, why are they asking me questions? The extent of my confusion was high. They are too young to be doctors or ambulance drivers. They are only kids. Where are the real doctors? Why are they not helping me? They shot questions at me about the day, the time, and where I was. My mind was still well and I knew everything; the only thing I could not wrap my hands around was why my head was pounding so painfully. They took me in the ambulance. It was my first time I had ever been in one and I was hoping that it would be the last. They would not let me close my eyes; they wanted me to stay conscious. My head was killing me. The verdict was pain. The needles they stuck into me felt surprisingly relieving, poking at the stress; they actually felt good in some peculiar way.

I arrived at the hospital my mom met me there. I saw her and reassured her, “Mom, don’t worry I am okay, I love you.”
“I love you too; I know you will be okay.” The deep state of shock she was in would not let her shed a tear.

I waited in the ER. Pain swam through my body. I was not allowed to drink anything. My mouth felt like a desert, dry, and in need of water. Within about half and hour I was being taken into to surgery. My heart pounded to the rhythm of the monitor. I was anxious. What if the surgery didn’t go well? What if I don’t wake up? They slowly and cautiously brought me through large silver doors. Through those doors was a new life, the next time I would go through those doors I would be a new person.

When I got into the operating room I looked at the doctor and asked, “How long is it till I fall asleep?” the surgeons reply was quick and easy.
“Very fast,” he replied. I saw two of the many surgeons walk a few steps away, looking as if they were whispering. Nervousness enveloped my body, and then…nothing.

After three hours of stitches and three hours of facial reconstructive surgery, my face was gradually put back together like a puzzle with some bent and missing pieces.

Unless I am still dreaming, my worst nightmare is my reality. The moment I realized that my life was changed forever. Nothing as dreadful as this had ever happened to me before, it came out of nowhere. How could it have been possible for me to change my fate? Life would be a different place if those ideas were tangible, you know…changing fate. This is one of life’s games that I just could not win. I might forgive for the pain, and self-consciousness put upon me. And even though the dark tunnel I went through was frightening, it helped me realize that there is always a light at the end of a tunnel. And you may have to look for it but it will always be there. My light is that I am here alive able to tell you this story and not still stuck in that tunnel with the people who couldn’t find their light. Forgiveness is one thing, but this memory is in my soul just like a tattoo, never to let me forget the day that I was on the news. But everybody knows the news only tells the sad stories.

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