Scar stories: Right knee

It was the first day of camp during the summer of '96. My family had just moved to a different town and I knew absolutely no one at that camp. I was nervous about navigating through my new surroundings, but everyone was really nice and I instantly hit it off with a handful of girls in my group.

Of course I had a good time. That first day of camp was long but full of excitement. There was an outdoor pool! We made boondoggle keychains! We inspected each others tongues after eating popsicles! Every activity seemed fun and new, and I already couldn't wait to come back tomorrow and do it all over again.

When camp was over we were allowed to either stay in the gymnasium or play in the playground until someone picked us up. Obviously my friends and I (of course we were all already friends by then) opted to play in the playground. The new (well, new to me) playground, which was infinitely better than the tiny one at my old school. It had a bigger slide, a merry-go-round, three seesaws, rubber bottom AND plastic flat-bottomed swings and plenty of space to run around. Truly, a wonderous sight to behold. I had to go on everything and do it quickly, before one of my parents showed up.

I never liked anything that involved lots of spinning; I hate getting dizzy, and get car-sick easily. Still, I figured that I'd give the merry-go-round a go, since I'd never been on one, and I would make sure not to go too fast. But I hadn't considered my new friends' feelings about spinniness. While running to push the wheel around I felt like I'd be fine, but once I jumped onto the platform I realized we were going fast. Too fast for my liking. I lowered my outside leg to the ground, thinking I could slow us down by dragging my foot in the ground. Somehow I lost grip and found myself flying off, my right knee scraping against the ground.

I thought I was okay. My palms and forearms burned from impact, but weren't scratched. My knee, though... it hurt. It was covered in dirt, so I spat on my right knee and rubbed at it with my fingers and revealed a thumbprint-sized wound, bleeding thickly around the edges. Then a counselor called my name, and I collected my backpack and hurried toward my mother.

We headed to the camp nurse's office, where my knee was cleaned, iodined, gauzed and bandaged. I wouldn't be able to go swimming for a few days and would have to change the bandage regularly, but I'd be okay and still able to enjoy my time at the camp. The next day I learned the word "gangrene", and of course I showed all my friends what had happened to me. We boycotted the merry-go-round for the rest of the camp session.

image source