My one trip to the hospital

So I've been kind of lucky throughout my life, I've never broken a bone and I have only been to a real hospital for myself once (while I have had other 'emergencies' only once did I go to an actual hospital)...and it was a long time ago....apparently the experience was traumatic enough that I haven't been for myself since.

I was about 4 or 5 I'd say, I really don't remember my specific age, but I was old enough that I wasn't always being watched constantly, but young enough to still get a whole heap of trouble without knowing it.

My family had gone to my grandparent's house in Payson, Utah. I don't remember what the occasion was, but it must have been either a holiday or a birthday because my cousins were all there as well.

It was a warm day, probably either in the spring or summer, and I remember that we were playing out in the yard. Most of my siblings were out in the front yard playing in the maple tree that grew right on the curb. Trees are always a great source of entertainment to kids whether you are climbing them or being chased around them. However, I was not quite tall enough to master the ability to climb the tree yet, and also was young enough that playing with the siblings and cousins meant me losing, and therefore my interest was drawn by something else entirely.

The week before the neighbors had been playing baseball and one of the balls had broken a basement window of my grandparent's house. I clearly remember my sister telling me...stay away from the broken window, glass is sharp. However, the interest was too great, I mean how often do you get to see a broken window as a child? Well, for me, it wasn't too often as a child.

I drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly I was there standing right by the window. All the adults were inside in the living room chatting away about this and that, and all the other children's attention is focused solely on the game that was taking place on the front lawn.

Now was my chance. This window didn't look that sharp to me. I stuck my hand in the hole. Slowly, I lifted my middle finger to the edge of a window only to discover that the glass had pierced my skin. I quickly pulled my hand away slicing my finger open from the middle to the tip.

Everyone's attention was suddenly changed as my screaming caught them off guard. I was rushed inside the house in the bathroom where a there was a quick venture with the sink and a washrag...which is actually where my memory ends, but not the story.

I was immediately rushed to the Payson Hospital, where, for a time, it was feared that I might lose my finger. Clearly the pain and trauma of the whole adventure was a bit much for me to handle and I refused to keep still enough for the doctor to attempt to stitch up my finger. Drastic measures had to be taken. Why exactly, or how it was done, I don't know, but the story goes that my finger had to be first stitched to the bed so that it could be kept still enough for the cut to be sewn up.

Luckily, I still have full use of the finger, however, I have a long scar down my left middle finger reminding me, that yes, glass is indeed sharp.