When I was about 10 years old, I was jumping on a bed in the room at the bottom of the stairs. Dyke came down the stairs with a red rider BB gun. I’m guessing that Dyke must have seen some kind of TV show about sharp shooters because he looked at me and said, “Cody hold still, I am going to shoot right above your head.” Surprised, I said, “No don’t!” Just then Dyke pulled the trigger and I felt something hit me in the forehead. I started screaming and crying. When I put my hand up to my forehead, I could feel something sticking out of my forehead. (What I didn’t know was, Dyke had unscrewed the interior portion of the barrel of the gun so that he could stuff a nail down the remaining outer barrel). I jumped off the bed and started running up the stairs. Suddenly, Dyke tried grabbing my feet and I could hear him saying, “Don’t tell mom, don’t tell mom.”
When I got to the top of the stairs, mom looked at me and screamed. She then asked Dyke what had happened. I don’t remember what he told her, but I do remember mom wrapping a cold-wet wash cloth around the nail and asking me to hold it against my forehead. As mom drove me to the hospital, I was crying very hard. Mom looked at me and said, “Do you really have to cry that loud?” I looked at her and said, “No”. From that point on, I didn’t cry again. When we got to the emergency room, they made me get all kinds of brain scans in order to determine if there was any major damage. (I’m sure that many close to me would argue that I suffered saver brain damage). But, after reviewing the brain scans, the doctor determined that it would be OK to pull the nail out of my forehead.
The doctor then explained to me how he was going to grab the nail with a pair of pliers, and then he would put a bandage over the spot where I had been shot. I asked the doctor if he was going to get blood on my new pajamas. The doctor assured me that blood would not get on my pajamas and then proceeded to pull the nail out. As the nail came out, blood squirted all over the doctors clothes, but none of the blood got on my pajamas. Before leaving the emergency room, the doctor gave me a large syringe and told me to go home and squirt my brothers and sisters with water. I was excited about the syringe, and happily returned home.
When I got to the top of the stairs, mom looked at me and screamed. She then asked Dyke what had happened. I don’t remember what he told her, but I do remember mom wrapping a cold-wet wash cloth around the nail and asking me to hold it against my forehead. As mom drove me to the hospital, I was crying very hard. Mom looked at me and said, “Do you really have to cry that loud?” I looked at her and said, “No”. From that point on, I didn’t cry again. When we got to the emergency room, they made me get all kinds of brain scans in order to determine if there was any major damage. (I’m sure that many close to me would argue that I suffered saver brain damage). But, after reviewing the brain scans, the doctor determined that it would be OK to pull the nail out of my forehead.
The doctor then explained to me how he was going to grab the nail with a pair of pliers, and then he would put a bandage over the spot where I had been shot. I asked the doctor if he was going to get blood on my new pajamas. The doctor assured me that blood would not get on my pajamas and then proceeded to pull the nail out. As the nail came out, blood squirted all over the doctors clothes, but none of the blood got on my pajamas. Before leaving the emergency room, the doctor gave me a large syringe and told me to go home and squirt my brothers and sisters with water. I was excited about the syringe, and happily returned home.
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