Welcome to week 9. As always, feel free to leave comments, suggestions, and other neuronically-fired feedback either in the comments here, or on Twitter or Facebook!
My Challenger: Jen O.
My Challenge:Write about something that makes you very uncomfortable. Maybe it's a style you're not comfortable with or a subject. Jump out of the box.
Who I am Challenging: Karla V.
What I Challenged Them With: The life and times of purple...
Previous Challenges I have answered:
[Week 1: All of Me] [Week 2: Child's End]
[Week 3: Seeking Bonds] [Week 4: Just So You Know]
[Week 5: Justice & Mercy] [Week 6: Tale of a Fateful Flick]
[Week 7: Hell or High Water] [Week 8: Streaming Summer]
(This moment of clarity brought to you by Websters.)
The definitive moment in my life of "discomfort" had to be when I was about eight. My knee hurt. HURT. My mother handed me some Tylenol, and mentioned something about growing pains. After all, I had outgrown my older brother by the time he was two and I was one. And never stopped. I'm assuming I was in a constant state of "growing pains," but then again, there were six other kids running around her house, only four of which were also her children. The Tylenol was handed to me at breakfast.
By noon, my knee was the size of a softball and I was writhing in pain. PAIN. A few phone calls later and the other mothers whose children my mother had been babysitting were there to get their kids so my mother could take care of me.
Oddly, from within the screaming haze of pain, I had an urge to pee.
The three mothers standing there knew I was in no position to walk the twenty feet to the bathroom. So they lifted me up, carried me to the toilet, pulled down my pants and underwear, and said, "Okay, pee."
I no longer had to pee. Something about three old women, one of them your mother, balancing you on the commode, trying to not move your now-larger-than-a-softball knee, scares the piss right back up into your bladder. THAT, my friends, is:
I'm pretty sure that's when I passed out. I woke up once, on a stretcher, in a pure white hallway, next to an extremely old man in a wheelchair, patting my hand.
I woke up again one month later, much to my parents delight.
Ninth grade. More pain. Stomach-centered this time. I head to the nurse's office. Crawl, more like. Gripping my stomach.
I had awoken that morning with pain. My mother handed me some tums. That was at breakfast.
Now it was about noon, and the Tums, for some reason, were not working. The nurse glances up at me: "Do you think this could be related to the cold you had last week?"
To this day, I don't remember having a cold the week before. I also don't ever remember having a cold that involved stomach pain. But that could just be me.
Suddenly mom was there, and off we went to the hospital. She mentioned something about me being "green." I was on the floor of the passenger seat, not caring too much one way or the other.
The hospital sent us to a doctor's office. I know I heard mom yelling. But then we were back in the car to an office some miles down the road. An apology left her lips for every pot hole she hit. But remember, these were Pennsylvania roads. They're made of pot holes.
At the doctor's, he sits me up on a table--and yanks my pants down as I lay curled in a fetal position.
"Doctor?" my mother practically screams. "What are you--"
"Now just relax, Jason. I have to check to make sure your appendix hasn't burst. This... well, this may hurt."
There were not any words for that pain. It was also very
My appendix had, indeed, burst. I also pissed myself a bit.
We raced back to the hospital.
They let us stay this time.
There isn't much in this world that makes me uncomfortable anymore. (Don't tell the silverfish...) I like to think of myself as a "go-getter." (Not that I always do...) If I have something to say, I usually say it, regardless of who may or may not be listening. (Although I will say it diplomatically when the occasion calls for it...)
One day, back in bible college--yes, you heard that right, bible college--a group of us were walking down one of the roads when I suddenly announced: "I have to pee." One of the newer girls in our group practically fainted. Another friend piped up: "It's okay, Jason. She's just not used to you yet."
Until that moment, I hadn't been aware that I was an acquired taste.
There were other near death experiences. Other moments involving pee. Granted, there were also some that did not involve pee, but what's a story without a bit of piss and vinegar? (I heard an old lady say that once...)
But when it comes to being "uncomfortable," it won't stop me. That, of course, makes my husband uncomfortable.
But that's a different story...
"The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off."