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A Stitch in Time or Maybe Two

An OMG Moment

By roy SlezakPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
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The Author

An OMG Moment

As a teenager, sports were always part of my life. We played football in the mud and on occasion, we gathered as many players as we could to play real full-contact football games. We would choose sides, or our neighborhood would challenge another neighborhood to a friendly game.

One Sunday we all met at the High School Stadium and scaled the wall for the big game. As I remember it, we had two full teams and we even had fans who attended the game.

The game proceeded and playing full-contact without equipment was taking its toll on some of the players. I cannot remember anyone scoring, but I do remember one thing very vividly. The quarterback called a play, and my job was to block the defensive end while giving the QB time to complete a pass.

As we came off the line things went black. I opened my eyes and was on my knees facing my opponent who was also on his knees trying to get up. He looked across the line at me and said, “You are messed up!!” I put my hand to my head just above my right eye where I felt some pain. As I looked at my hand, I realized that it was covered with blood.

Now, many people would panic, but I was an old hand at this. I had split that eye and my other eye open several times in the past. This was “old hat” for me. Two of the girls who came to watch put me in the car and took me to the hospital. They already knew me at the emergency room because I think I have the record for the most stitches ever given to one person over many visits.

The doctor took one look and said oh you are going to need some stitches. A few sticks to numb my eye and a mask over my face that just exposed the wound and the sewing started. He said, “it’s going to take about 5 or 6.” As he sewed away, he suddenly stopped and in his East Indian accent said, “Oh my God.”

This is not something you want to hear when someone is sewing you up. The doctor said, “I sewed the mask to your eye, I have to start over.” He took out the 3 stitches already done and proceeded to re-stitch the eye, a total of 6 stitches plus 3 do-overs.

After I was all stitched up, we headed back to the stadium where I insisted I was going to re-join the game. The young ladies who took me to the hospital, Paulette and Carol had a little more sense than me and made me stay on the sidelines and watch. Paulette and Carol have since passed away, but they probably saved me from an additional injury that day, so thanks, ladies.

The following week I wore sunglasses to school to hide my black eye.

As a postscript to this whole story, I was in Atlantic City visiting my sister a year or two after this incident. We had to take my nephew to the emergency room because somehow, he had swallowed a coin that seemed to be lodged in his throat. When we got into the emergency room, the doctor arrived. I heard his East Indian accent and quickly turn around. The doctor was none other than the “Oh my God” doctor who stitched the mask to my face.

I told my sister the story but reassured her that my nephew was ok since he did not need stitches.

Everything turned out OK for my nephew and I never reintroduced myself to the doctor.

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