Delaney

The Day I Almost Died

                        I remember that it was hot. The sun was scorching southern California, shining and radiant just like always. Ten years ago almost to the day, my seven year old self was being slathered in sunscreen from head to toe, in a feeble attempt to protect me from harm. Jumping into the deep blue abyss of our backyard pool, a billion tiny bubbles exploded into existence and ascended up to the surface, tickling my ears as they raced past. My two older brothers were playing pass at the bottom of the deep end with a toypedo, the red and blue pattern blurring as it was briskly launched back and forth. It zoomed right past my face causing me to jerk backwards.  That was close I thought to myself. As I made my way to the shallow end a few legs and arms thrashing around me, kids who still needed floaties bobbing up and down at the mercy of the water. My mum was hosting a few of her friends and their families for a backyard barbeque. The children were playing, the parents were gossiping, and the burgers were cooking. I was practicing my handstands in the shallow end amongst the floaters while a girl one year older than me was throwing toys for the smaller kids to play with. Just as I surfaced, a hulking, hard plastic orange submarine, the kind not meant to be played with in the pool at all, made contact with the center of my face. A resounding thwack echoed about the yard, all other noises silenced.

            I remember that it was painful. At first it was a sharp shooting pain in the center of my face, but spread slowly into a dull ache that radiated throughout my entire head. Dissembling the pain and agony from my face as best I could I dunked my head under the water to try and numb the discomfort somewhat. Opening my eyes and looking down I saw red ripples forming around me, and drops of blood flowing off my face and into the water. I tentatively reached up to my nose and pulled my hand back only to find it drenched in my blood.

            I remember thinking I was going to die. Wholeheartedly believing that this would be my last day on Earth was terrifying. That I had been robbed of the opportunity to graduate fifth grade, see my friends and family again, all by a toy submarine. That something so miniscule and inconsequential could have such a great effect on my life.

            I remember that it was cold. The waiting rooms in hospitals are never as warm and comforting as they should be, especially the emergency room. The air conditioning was on full blast, my wet hair chilling me to the bone, and the bleak walls with empty chairs in endless rows were few filled by only a few coughing occupants. A wet dishrag sat atop the bleeding gash, a sobbing second grader underneath it, questioning her mother as to why the sniffles of others took precedence over the slash on her nose.

Ever since I was a child I’ve always had a flair for the dramatics. No point in denying it now. Feel free to ask my best friend my view on pancakes; according to her, I don’t hate pancakes, I HATE pancakes. So in all actuality, I probably came nowhere close to meeting the grim reaper on this occasion, but in my seven year old mind, the situation was dire. I had never seen so much blood in my life, and was convinced I was going to die. I kept repeating the phrase “I’m going to die” and even called my best friend to tell her she was the sole heir to my barbie doll collection. That day opened my eyes to the reality that life is fragile, precious and fleeting, and that every moment spent without blood gushing from your face is one to be thankful for. Today, between my eyes, atop a few freckles lays a tiny scar from where the wound healed and every time I look in the mirror I smile at the memory.