06-04-2007, 11:14 AM
Would most traumatic event qualify as agitating? Well, here goes.
It was the Fourth of July, when I was seven years old. My grandmother had a summer cottage, near a lake, that we used to visit on holidays and so on.
Well, a bunch of my relatives and I were swimming in the lake, when I had to take a piss. Now, instead of going in the lake, like probably everybody else would, I was stupid enough to get out of the lake and run up a hill to take a leak behind some trees. On my way down the hill, I was running, because I wanted to get back into the water. Suddenly, I felt a sharp stabbing pain, in my right foot, and I collapsed to the ground. I began screaming at the top of my lungs as I saw the blood pouring out of my foot. Apparently, I stepping on a broken beer bottle, as I ran down the hill, which cut my food directly across my arch, almost to the bone. My relatives can running from the beach and wrapped my foot with beach towels. I probably filled two or three of them with blood.
Anyway, when the ambulance arrived, my father was nowhere to be found. Apparently, he was saving one of my relatives who was water skiing, in the lake. His tow line got wrapped around the boat's propellor.
I was driven to the hospital, which was a way's away, because this cottage was in the sticks. I had to have an injection of anesthetic put right into the wound. I ended up with over 100 stitches, and spent most of the rest of the year on crutches.
(Pretty stupid thing to happen, just because I didn't piss in a lake.)
It was the Fourth of July, when I was seven years old. My grandmother had a summer cottage, near a lake, that we used to visit on holidays and so on.
Well, a bunch of my relatives and I were swimming in the lake, when I had to take a piss. Now, instead of going in the lake, like probably everybody else would, I was stupid enough to get out of the lake and run up a hill to take a leak behind some trees. On my way down the hill, I was running, because I wanted to get back into the water. Suddenly, I felt a sharp stabbing pain, in my right foot, and I collapsed to the ground. I began screaming at the top of my lungs as I saw the blood pouring out of my foot. Apparently, I stepping on a broken beer bottle, as I ran down the hill, which cut my food directly across my arch, almost to the bone. My relatives can running from the beach and wrapped my foot with beach towels. I probably filled two or three of them with blood.
Anyway, when the ambulance arrived, my father was nowhere to be found. Apparently, he was saving one of my relatives who was water skiing, in the lake. His tow line got wrapped around the boat's propellor.
I was driven to the hospital, which was a way's away, because this cottage was in the sticks. I had to have an injection of anesthetic put right into the wound. I ended up with over 100 stitches, and spent most of the rest of the year on crutches.
(Pretty stupid thing to happen, just because I didn't piss in a lake.)
