Head Cheese

When I started writing these posts, I just figured I'd begin at the beginning.  So...that's what I've done, but I've written 13 stories, and am still only up to when I was four years old.  I'll never get done at that rate, and besides, my mind wanders.  From now on, I'm going to just jump around in time and space for no particular reason..and see how that goes. :-)

One disadvantage of growing up in rural West Virginia was the absence of medical care.  There was no doctor anywhere in our area, and it was a two and a half hour drive over mountain roads to get to one.  As a result, you had to be pretty darn bad off before you made the journey to see a real doctor. However, I am probably one of the most accident prone, most injured people on planet earth.  By now most people like me are long ago dead for one reason or another, and I know that surviving to my advanced age is only a result of balancing my stupidity with extraordinary luck, and toughness.  I'll describe some of my misadventures in other postings, but would like to jump a bit into the future for this one. 

This lack of local medical care worked fine for my mom anyway because she held a very dim view of modern medicine and doctors in general.  She said that you should only see a doctor two times: once to sign your birth certificate, and once again to sign your death certificate.  This perspective worked most of the time, except for having me as her son.

Since she didn't like doctors, she preferred to handle medical matters on her own.  She always used the same protocol no matter what.  She'd start her analysis by asking "Does it hurt?".  If you said no, then that was the end of the conversation.  If you said yes, then her next question was "Does it hurt when you touch it?".  She asked me this one a lot because most of my pain events were caused by obvious injuries, and not illness or other problems.  If you answered this one yes, then her analysis again ended when she'd declare "Then leave it alone!".  If you answered "No - it just hurts all the time", then her analysis ended with "Well...let's just wait and see what happens!".  In some rare cases we'd get an aspirin, or a band aid to staunch the flow of blood.  But mostly we'd just go our way, try to forget about it, and it would eventually stop hurting and heal.

Here's a simple example of what I mean.  I used to have a little hole in the bottom of my lower back where fluid would leak out.  I don't remember just how I found it, but when I did...I was curious.  It wasn't exactly like water...clear and slippery to the touch. So, I asked my mom...."Mom why does water come out of my back?" Her response "Where does it come from?".  I showed her by pointing, but she didn't take a look.  She started her diagnosis.  "Does it hurt when you touch it?"  Me - "No".  Her - "Then leave it alone.".  Me -"OK".

Quick, simple and often effective.  I found many years later that I was born with a condition known as spina bifuda.  It is a birth defect related to the mother not having sufficient folic acid in her diet. The severity of impact varies, but it can be fatal to babies.  The defect causes a problem because the spine doesn't completely form before birth.  In my case, only the bottom disc in my spine (L5) is affected.  It's like a "C" with the open part to the rear, instead of like an "O".  So, my spinal column is exposed there and any sharp blow could cause permanent paralysis.  Also in my case the casing surround my spinal nerve column didn't close fully, nor did the muscle/skin over it...so I had a small hole that leaked spinal fluid.  It eventually sealed up...and although my spinal column there is still unprotected, and my spine only partially supported...I no longer leak...which makes me ever so much more socially acceptable.

So, I got hurt a lot, and never saw a doctor.  However, I do recall a time when we were living in Huntington, West Virginia, and were no longer such a long way from doctors.  My mom's attitude about doctors was strongly fixed in all our minds.  So even with a family doctor only half a mile away, and a hospital about 5 miles away, visiting either was not really an option.

I was about 12 years old and my cousins were visiting.  We were running all over the place playing tag, and I ran into my dad's workshop - also known as "The Building".  It had a concrete floor covered with loose sawdust, and so I managed to slip and fall while running.  Now there's nothing much unusual in me doing this, except that this time I ran my head into my dad's table saw.  Not just anyplace on my head, but directly into my right temple.  I don't remember much except hearing a noise very much like a loud Chinese gong, and then doing a face plant on the concrete floor before I blacked out.

I've never taken wood working shop, but my daughter did.  In fact, I still have a wooden paper towel holder that Abbey crafted for me.  I do know that they warned her a lot about minding her fingers and even arms when operating a saw.  They didn't 't have much to say about keeping your head out of a table saw, probably because they never imagined anyone sticking their head into one.  But, then again they don't know me.

Back to me slicing my head. By the way, I called this story head cheese because that's what came to mind...cutting it just like cheese.  Heads may be tough, but a table saw just goes right through them like cheese.  You may have thought I was referring to the "food" called head cheese.  My dad used to bring it home once in a blue moon.  I ate some, and actually kind of liked it.  It had pepper in it, and a bunch of bits of stuff embedded in what looked like brown jello.  I thought it had a funny name, but figured that "head" was like a brand name.  When I learned to read well enough, I made the mistake of looking at the ingredients label one day.  Need I say more?

Anyway, when I came to, my cousins were standing around me and yelling to high heaven about something.  I was pretty confused, and it took me awhile to understand that they were alternating between yelling at me, and then about me.  Finally my mom and dad showed up, and the blood drained from their faces.  Like I said, I'd decided to lead with my right temple.  It had a very nice sharp groove cut into it along the side of my head - maybe 4 inches long.  It had started to swell rapidly, and the skin was parting as a shape looking for all the world like a shelled, boiled egg started pushing out.  The most amazing thing was that there was hardly any blood.  I've cut my head many times, and in many ways, and there's always a flood of blood to contend with.  But this time it was different.

I put my hand on my temple, and felt the open wound, and the egg swelling rapidly.  I pulled my hand away, and it had only a little spot of blood on it.  So, I thought "Great...I hardly hurt myself this time".  But the reaction from my mom and dad was not reassuring.  Dad bent down to get a closer look, but my mom was holding her hand over her mouth, and taking big breaths.  Mom was not good at triage and wound treatment, and dad wasn't a whole lot better.

So, my mom finally dropped her hand and started down her usual path.  "Does it hurt?".  My dad's head whipped around to stare at her with an open mouth.  He looked at her, then at me, and it was like I could read his mind for a little bit there.  I could tell he thought her question lacked a bit of insight on her part.  He said of course it does...but I just answered "No".  It actually didn't hurt, but I was in shock and already beginning to feel thankful that I hadn't put other parts of my face or head into the saw.  Like my eyes, or an ear, or my nose.  I was already ugly enough, and that would have probably caused babies to cry when they saw me.

Dad just said, "He's not feeling it yet Lou".  My mom's name was Louella, and dad called her "Lou".  They made a nice couple - Lou and Kell.  Mom said, "Well it can't be too serious then if it doesn't even hurt."  Again my dad gave her a very odd look, and said "Look how big that lump has gotten just while we are talking."  He then said the dreaded words..."I think he needs to see the doctor".  I felt like it was a death sentence.  Mom had always been so negative about doctors, and often said that people would go see them for a cold, and the next thing you know, they were dead because the doctor made a big mistake.

Besides, my head really was beginning to hurt now, and I felt like I'd had all the punishment I deserved for running near a table saw.  But dad insisted, and my now got mad.  She said something like "He's always hurting himself, and never needed a doctor before."  I think somehow that she felt that dad was making her look bad by wanting to take me the doctor.   Dad took another look at my head and gave me a wet wash cloth to hold over the wound.  I think it was more so they wouldn't have to see it, than it was to help me feel better.  He said without looking, "I think he needs to go this time"

I looked at my mom hopefully, just knowing that she'd be able to carry the day, and keep me away from a death sentence visit to a doctor.  She screwed up her eyes, and open and closed her mouth a couple of times.  I could see the gears turning, and waited for her sage arguments to flow forth.  However, she just said "Uh........OK."  I was in shock all over again.  How could this happen!?  Mom was supposed to save me, not toss me to the wolves.  With that "OK", my dad pulled me to my feet, and started walking with me to the car.  I know it was the last time my dad ever held my hand as he walked with me.

We drove the long drive, and I was feeling pretty darn bad by the time we got there.  I suspect I'd done more than just sawed a slot in my skull, because I'd also slammed my head hard enough on the metal table to knock myself out.  Not that I hadn't done that before, but it felt different this time.  My eyes kept not wanting to see just one of things, and I'd have to try really hard to not see double.  And I was getting very nauseated too.

We finally got to the doctor, and I stumbled inside.  I don't remember much of what all they did.  I do remember them telling me that it would hurt when they started sticking needles in my head to numb the wound.  But it didn't hurt...just made a crunching sound each time the needle went into the bone.  Then the pain stopped, and I just kept my eyes closed.  The doctor came in to look, and the nurse made clucking sounds.  The doctor said to her "This is odd, how did he get hurt".  She said "The dad told me that he ran his head into the table saw.". The doctor laughed before he could stop himself...and then said something about how dumb can you be?  I felt some anger and tears at this comment, but realized that he was right.  It was pretty dumb, and I was lucky it wasn't worse.

So, he got out his curved needle and thread, and started sewing.  Or at least tried.  He was soon cussing under his breath, because the "egg" had swelled so much that the edges of the wound were almost an inch and a half apart at the center.  He put the thread through one edge, but then couldn't get the other edge to close.  He finally yelled for the nurse again to get him some pliers.  Between them, they used the pliers to pull the skin back together enough so that he could sew the edges together.  I don't remember how many stitches, but I could hear every single one of them going in as the thread would feed through the hole.  Made a really funny sound, and kind of tickled too.

Finally it was over, and they were done.  I realized that my hands were like claws and every muscle in my body was fully tensioned.  I relaxed and fell back onto the bed.  As the doctor walked away, I was totally amazed and happy that I was still alive and hadn't been accidentally killed somehow - despite everything my mom had told me.   As we drove home late in the evening, I reflected on what had happened.  My mom had been wrong about the doctor, but I thought maybe I'd just gotten very lucky.  So, I swore that I'd be more careful in the future, and so wouldn't have to take a chance on seeing a doctor ever again.

Lessons learned:  Don't eat head cheese (or at least if you do - don't read the label), and keep your fingers and head out of table saws.