Hey Mom, Remember That Time

When you ran me over with our car? I know you do. Not really all that hard to forget. I know, I know, I shouldn't bring it up, especially since it was about 31 years ago, but hey, I want to tell a story and in order to do so, well...I have to tell this one.

Picture this if you will. I'm talking to you, yeah you, the readers. Pay attention. Anyway, back to the picture. It was circa December 1978, I was 4. My husband had not even been born yet. *NOT FUNNY* Moving on. We lived in a trailer park (what...bitches?) My mother drove a 1973 Plymouth Fury III. It was huge (that's what HE said).

So, one Monday morning, I came skipping out of the house ready to go to pre-school. I was a nerdy little tomboy kid who LOVED school. The night before, we had received some Christmas gifts from the church. My Mother had taken them from the passenger side of the car when we got home. Like all little kids who can't open a door that big, I climbed into my Moms side of the car (yes, kids sat up front back in those days).

As we started to back out of our circular driveway, the passenger car door flew open. What did little ole nerdy tomboy me do? I reached out to grab it to close it. What happened to me? I fell out of the car. What happened after that? Can you guess? You should be able to, I mentioned it in the first sentence of this posting. I'll wait while you go back and check. Hmmmm...hhmmmm....hmmmmm...

Back? Okay. So yeah, the right front tire ran across my chest. Yes sir/ma'm, that huge care ran over me. With my Mother behind the wheel. I was FOUR. Being the hard kid that I was, I picked myself up off the ground and walked over to my Mothers side of the car and stood there looking at her. Moments later, I collapsed. YA THINK?

My Mother is not one to panic. She didn't in this case either. She was a little freaked out as I had blood coming from my nose and my mouth and I wanted to go to sleep. However, she made me stay awake as she flew to the hospital. I remember that. She parked in the parking area of the emergency room, put me in her arms and walked into the ER and said "I ran her over with me car."

HOLY Doctors and Nurses. They came out of the woodworks like roaches when the lights get turned on. The next thing I remember, I said to my Mother "Call JD and Judy (the Pastor and his wife) and have them come pray for me."

I spent three days in the hospital. Yep, a whole three days. They deemed me the miracle child. I had a bald spot on the back of my head, a giant scrape down my right arm, a COOL tiremark embedded in my chest and a little scar from where they had to put the chest tube when lung collapsed from the puncture in it. That's another story in itself. My MOM made a nurse cry and threatened a Doctor within an inch of his life.

As for me, (because this is all about me), I was angry that they put me in a baby crib in the ICU. I was NOT a baby. I HATED my chest tube with a passion. And the old man that died while I was in there still haunts me. I remember them trying to save him.

I do still however, have the Santa from my crib, the book I was given from the present tree and the gift of life.

NO...this is NOT why I am so flat chested.

Look at that, even at four I was a clumsy hot mess.