A Piece of Me

I could describe myself in detail, or even show a picture. However, I do not feel that accurately portrays who I am. No little post can achieve that. I am no cliche, nor meme, nor simple man. The best I can do to convey who I am is to share with you a memory. One that is dear to me. Maybe then you can see just a small corner of the person behind the text.

This is a piece of me.

As a boy growing up in Montana I naturally enjoyed sledding in the winter months. My friends shared this sentiment. We often got together and marched high into the wooded hills of our backyards in search of the perfect slope. Perfect, in our eyes, simply meant no rocks or trees, and maybe if we were lucky some type of jump near the bottom. During one specific winter we almost succeeded in our hunt. Almost.

Two friends and I were about a mile from one of our houses and decided that the hill we found was perfect for a long, fast, sled ride. We hiked up to the peak of the slope, sleds towed behind, and prepared ourselves for the ride. My friends went first, both having a great time descending. My turn.

I jumped on my sled and began to accelerate. Soon I was going faster than I was comfortable with and the sled began to lose control. Thinking quickly I attempted to steer the sled into a slower incline. I failed. The sled tipped over, throwing me out. My body hit the snow, penetrating the small layer of fresh precipitation. My knee struck a stone hidden below and ripped a giant hole in my pants. Luckily by then I was frozen from the long trek to the hill and only felt the impact. I rolled for a time, and then finally stopped.

My friends were laughing playfully as they walked towards me. It was then that I noticed my torn pants and a growing discoloration around the area. I inspected the damage and found a massive gash covering most of my kneecap and blood was flowing steadily from the wound. My friends stopped laughing and decided the best plan of action was to use the sled as a makeshift stretcher for the mile journey to my friend's house. The hill quickly became too bumpy for this to work. So, not yet feeling any pain because of the cold, I grabbed a glove full of snow, jammed it on my destroyed knee, and began walking. I was struck by the humor of being a human strawberry snowcone machine.

About half way to safety the pain began. Even the snow was unable to stop it. Since I had no choice, I kept walking. The bleeding steadily got worse and worse until finally we reached the house. My friend's mother took our her tiny first aid kid and attempted to dress the wound. We tore the leg of my pants off and I could see how drenched my pants, shoes, and socks were. Red everywhere. My family was called, and I was taken to the ER.

This was the first time getting stitches, and it was an odd experience. After only 9 stitches I was released from the hospital with a huge bandage over my leg. I was told that I could not bend my knee for 3 weeks or else I would reopen the wound. I can tell you from experience: knees are important. Walking up stairs with 1 peg leg is rough!

Through all of this, even as a boy, I didn't cry or complain. I just did what I had to do because there was no other option.