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Stubborn Ways

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The windows were open to fill the house with the autumn breeze, smelling the fall air with every push through the window. With such nice weather I would never have guessed what was going to happen that day. My whole family in the kitchen was getting ready to cut carrots from our garden so we could freeze them for later. The table was full of orange carrots, and my attention was far away. I did not want to be there, my stubborn self was extremely bored but this changed fast.


Very fast.


I wasn’t doing much, just watching everyone and helping where I could, kinda hoping I wouldn’t have to do anything. Until my dad said “come here and do something, take this knife quick.” I walked over and touched the big grip of the knife, the blade looked like it could cut through the rays of the sun. Now the blade became very intimidating. Keep in mind my dad is a hunter, and has worked on a farm his whole life so this knife is nothing to him. So with this power, I start to cut away at the carrots while feeling invincible. Easily slicing right through the carrot, no problem or trouble. I was doing good, so I went on for a while but, I got bored and a little cocky with the knife. I decided to mess around with the sharp knife. I started to chop at the carrots, easy clean cuts right through it. “What else could I do?” I thought to myself. Now I started to slide the tops of the carrots across the impenetrable blade of the knife. “This is so easy.” I said to myself. Not the best idea I’ve ever had, but I did it anyway. Soon after this shenanigan I decided to put the tops on the tip of the knife. Genius.


One carrot gave a fight, I flipped the knife over and started to stick carrot tops on the end. The carrot gave me what I deserved because I never thought anything could go wrong. The carrot top flew across the table, my hand flew with it too snapping like a turtle's jaw. Nothing hurt, but there was a different feeling, a feeling of something was wrong. Just by curiosity I looked at my hand and noticed the white of bone in my finger. My heart raced with urgency, I could see the bone, that’s not normal! I started screaming, the knife slipped through so fast blood couldn’t even keep up with it. I ran over to the sink, by this time the blood was caught up and not holding back. I watched the red sea pour into the sink at a scary rate. Then the pain came. As I ran over to the sink the only thing my dad could say was “He's fine, just put water over it and he’ll be good.” At least my mom thought it was a little more serious than what they thought. My mom has always babied me a little bit more than everyone else in the family. She was more worried than I was about my finger.


She worried just enough to send me to the hospital for stitches. The only problem with this is that our hospital is not very fast and took an hour to just get into a room. Almost felt like I was getting punished for being so narrow minded. Even when I was in the room, no one came in to help me with my wound. I was furious about how long it was taking, the blood was still pouring out of my hand, making a pretty big mess with the red, oozing blood. The only good thing that came from sitting forever was watching T.V. Three hours later someone finally showed up to stitch it up and clean the destruction of my finger. He was impressed with the puddle I’d made. He stitched up the wound, wrapped it up in gauze. Then the doctor took a look at it and said I probably cut my tendon. Which meant no more football that year. I was devastated. I thought to myself why was I so careless and impatient. That moment I knew it was time to fix my problems and start to think about my actions.


The Fargo hospital was big and had a clean feel to it, not even one germ could get in. A barrier to the horrible stuff outside, nothing bad could get through. We waited for an hour for the nurse to come get me to be prepared for surgery. The wait felt everlasting, time forgot to exist. They brought me into a room and I got all prepared for it. The nurse walked in and told me it was time to go. She walked me to a room that was all white, everything was white, the walls, the ceiling, the equipment, the clothing on the nurses and doctor, it was like being prepared to be sent to heaven. The doctor told me what was going to be done to me “We are going to reattach your tendon and your nerves in your finger, the nerves might never get their feeling back, but we have to try.” Never thought I would lose feeling in my finger because of my own ornieness. They laid me down and the nurse talked to me as she put in the I.V. I don’t remember a thing she said, the anesthesia was kicking in. Her words flowed through my ears but my mind could not read them, and as I slowly faded away the worry went with it.


I woke up after what felt like one second. How did it go? Did I lose my finger? Did they mess up? Did I lose my hand? Then the guy in the bed next to me started screaming and thrashing, a bunch of nurses ran over there, moved the curtain so no one but them could see them. It felt like a sign telling me that everything went wrong. While that was happening I realized I had a big cast on my arm. Bigger than any cast I’ve ever seen. Now I have something to look at to remind me how stubborn I was. Everyday I could look at it and motivate myself to become the person I want to be.


I changed a lot in these couple days, mentally and physically. After they took the club off my arm I finally got to see what it looked like. It was deformed, a bulge of scar tissue, the marks of the stitches, and my finger could not extend all the way. But that is only a scar to make me remember the day I changed. Even to this day I can’t feel the tip of my finger.






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