Ever had a boo-boo?

Marge, Grace and I were lying in bed the other night, and I asked Marge what she was thinking. I've had some problems lately with my heart, so kind of figured that was what she was pondering. (Turns out I've had a heart abnormality since birth and didn't know it.) Marge said she was thinking back when she was just a kid back in Nebraska and was helping Keith, her dad, work on some calves turning the bulls into steers. He was using his pocket knife. Marge was probably holding the back end of the calf when the calf kicked, which, in turn, caused Keith to cut Marge's arm. She commented that it probably should have had stitches but they didn't. It was probably 40 to 80 miles to a doctor so they just taped the cut shut and called it good. Common treatment was to put mercurochrome on it.

Cuts happen, especially on a ranch where there are cattle and horses and dogs and such. Marge said she was little and for some reason her puppy bit her lip and sliced it open. This time her folks took her for stitches. Her puppy bit the dust. I can't remember how many puppies I lost for this or that reason. No. 1 reason was chasing and killing chickens.

I was little and was trying to get to a bird nest in Dad's granary when I slipped and whacked open my knee. I would imagine I was crying bloody murder, so Mom and Dad drove about 30 miles north to Dr. Howell in Hyannis. He deadened it and then proceeded to sew it up. I remember him asking if I wanted to watch. Well of course. I'd watched Dad sew up horses and cows, so why not. It wasn't hurting. Seven stitches later, I was back to normal. My older sister worked for old Dr. Howell at one time. She might have been working for him then. Oh, yea, I got a tetanus shot before I left.

Crazy how one remembers the crazy details. Mick was working on the chicken pen up north of the house. I was inside with Mom and Dad when Mick came in and said he had run a wire clear through his hand and he looked like a ghost. He had pulled the wire out. About then Mick simply collapsed, passed out cold. Seems like Dad and I tried to drag him outside while Mom proceeded to drowned him. He survived. I wonder if Mick still remembers. Bet he does.

Don't know how many times I've cut my hands skinning coyotes or just being careless and stupid. Also drove several 16 penny nails through my fingers with the nail gun. Smashed my fingers with my Estwing 22-ounce framing hammer. It does a real good job. Marge complains about the kitchen knives being dull, so I sharpen them. Marge proceeds to cut herself. One thing that seems to really hurt is to get bacon grease popped on your arms or hands when frying bacon. Or pick up a cast iron skillet not realizing the handle is super hot.

We carry the physical scars pretty much the rest of our lives, and the memories are even more vivid. But there are scars that we carry in our memories and in our spirit that have no outward scars. We hesitate to share them with others so we just carry them around, and, at times, we suffer from them. Many times these scars are hidden behind a grin or smile or a life supposedly filled with joy and happiness. These scars at times cause us to violence or hurting our self or depression or a host of other things.

If you or someone you know is depressed and thinking about hurting themselves call 988 to speak to a helping voice. When I cut my knee and needed stitches, Mom and Dad took me to a doctor for some help. If you are troubled, get some help. Call 988 which is the Suicide Hotline. Talk to a local pastor or priest. Reach out for help.