Confessions of a scaredy-cat
When I was 11, I was attacked by a farm dog.
The dog wasn't unfamiliar to me — his name was Max and he was one of three dogs who belonged to the owners of the farm we were living on. I'd never had a problem with Max before. On this particular day I'd even stopped to say hello to him before the incident as I walked past him on my way to see my parents in the dairy.
Ten minutes later, when I walked past him again on my way back to the house, he jumped at me. I got very lucky. His owner was just around the corner. She grabbed me straight away, and one of my older sisters was just inside the house.
Most of my memories of the aftermath are blurry.
I remember my sister getting me into our backyard. I think the farm owner had gone to grab Mum from the dairy, because she was there, telling my sister to get me into a chair because I was going to faint. I remember laying down in the backseat of the family car with Mum, and my sister driving us to the hospital because an ambulance would have taken twice as long.
I don't remember much of the emergency waiting room, but I do remember when we finally got to see a doctor and he asked me to open my mouth1. I remember him saying "holy shit" or something to that effect, and my Mum scolding him for it before, I'm pretty sure, I fainted again.
I remember that one of my nurse's had gone to school with my eldest sister. I knew her and found that comforting, although a little less so when they decided they'd have to cut my t-shirt off with scissors. I remember that as they were putting me under for surgery, one of the nurse's was a mother of a girl a few years below me at school. She kept me calm by talking about the school production and my role in it.
I don't have very many clear memories after surgery. I just remember feeling scared, but Mum was there the entire time.
Most people would think that getting attacked by a dog is a pretty unlucky experience. Around 40 stitches? Inside your mouth, your cheek and your eyelid? But I was very lucky.
I had a great surgeon. I have very minimal scarring, that most people don't notice unless I point it out to them. And I'm not scared of dogs. Apart from the dogs on the farm, we had a very sweet Cavalier King Charles Spaniel at home named Monty and we spent a lot of time on the couch together when I got out of hospital. I love meeting dogs and I'm very prone to stopping people with golden retriever's so I can say hello.
So, if I'm not scared of dogs. What am I scared of?
It's only taken me 15 years to work out how the dog attack affected me, but I think I'm scared of hospitals.
That sounds very silly to say out loud, but I've never had a "normal" experience. The only time I've been in hospital was for the dog attack, and the only thing I remember strongly from that time is being scared. But I had Mum there the whole time.
Later today I'm off to hospital to get a septoplasty to correct my deviated septum, so I will hopefully be able to breathe out of my nose soon. I'm not scared of the operation or going under. I've got to spend the night at the hospital and I am scared of being in hospital alone, which seems quite embarrassing to admit at the ripe age of 25. But sometimes you just still want your mum around you know?
So, I'm a bit of a scaredy-cat. But I'm pretty sure I'm about to have a very boring, very run-of-the-mill hospital experience and I'm going to realise there is in fact nothing to be scared of. Kyle will even be around to pester me post-op for a bit. But I think saying it out loud (or writing it down) makes it feel a little less scary.
Other than my lack of ability to breathe out of my nose and the fact that I'm a big scaredy-cat, life is overwhelmingly good. I got a roll of film back and it was full of snaps from morning swims and friends and picnic cheeseboards minus cheese knives. I've been reading a lot of good books, and I've been playing The Sims 3, and listening to good music. I bought a pack of Maxibons the other day because a friend reminded me how good they are.
And I now have an excuse to eat ice cream and jelly2. And I still have a teddy that my eldest sister bought me while I was in hospital the first time, so that's going in the overnight bag too because I've been feeling a little homesick lately. But how lucky am I to have family I miss that much?
Signing off as a scaredy-cat, who will hopefully be less scared next time I write a blog post.
