Never Healed

Do you have any scars? I’m not talking about the emotional scars from a previous relationship or your childhood emotional traumas, but a physical scar. A scar from when you fell out of a tree or when you tripped over a Lego block. This is the story of my physical scar. It started on a hot summer day in the beautiful British Columbia of the campground known as Eliston. We have been going there for years and as always we would be setting up the tent and my dad would be screaming at us while we stood there holding poles. Finally, we had it set up and things would go as usual. Campground fires with marshmallows roasting to a perfect crisp, short hikes up easy mountains, and swims by the beach. That’s what I loved most about camping; it was going down to the beach and swimming for hours and then stuffing my face with salty snacks such as chips and goldfish crackers. We would take down the floaters and fight over them in the water.

Anyways, it was a hot summer morning, you could hear the crows cawing at each other but in a peaceful manner where you do get annoyed at them for doing so. The tent was already hot and stuffy from the hot sun. I had already changed into my swim suit under my clothes. I sat down at the table with my two older sisters and we ate pancakes which were already made by my mom. We sat around for a bit while I whined and complained for my sisters to hurry up changing so we could go to the beach. I got tired of waiting and decided to blow up the floatation devices. I wanted to see if I could do the whole thing just using my lungs, of course this was much easier than pumping it using an air pump. I finally had the thing filled up and my older stubborn sister was done waiting for my oldest so she headed down the path to the beach first. My oldest sister and I carried down the remainder of the floating devices. I chose the hot pink air mattress that cost about five dollars. I flip flopped down the path and next thing I knew I tripped over my own two feet and fell face down onto the pavement. My hands stung a bit but no damage. Then, I looked down and blood was streaming from my knee I could see specks of dirt around the injury. A flap of skin hung onto leg. The scar was deep at the sight of this I started to cry. My oldest sister was behind me and she helped me limp to the bathroom where we ran into a hiker. She dove into her backpack and fished out a band-aid it was small, but at least it was something. My sister ran back to the campsite and brought my dad. I tried walking as best I could, but no dice. My father picked me up and carried me on his back like I was five again, except I was ten and much heavier. He made his way up and we got to the car we took off for the nearest hospital. The wait was not very long, the doctor was very young and he said what all doctors say “you are very brave”. He stitched up my knee and I watched him do it. He suggested I laid down but I rejected his suggestion. Needles never really phased me. The doctor made sure the stitches were good and he sent me and my dad on my way.

A few weeks later we were in the backyard playing in the RV. And I was on the carpet and i was bleeding. The wound had reopened and I put a band-aid over it.

Now, I still have that scar on my knee. It never healed properly and you can see it whenever I wear shorts and skirts. The scar on my knee reminds me how easy it is to hurt. It also reminds me about how much I love camping and despite the stitches I got I still love going into woods and camping.