When something fairly important, or strange, or just plain odd happens, you tell the story to get help. Then you tell the story to your friends. Then you tell it to everyone who asks after that, which is... everyone. Then you tell it on xanga two weeks later. So. November 10th right? Actually, strike that. November 9th, right? I'm feeling slightly flu-ey. Achey and cold and whatnot. At 12:30 am I wake up and toss my cookies. By cookies, I mean beef and brownies. It wasn't quite the same the second time around. I thought we had Sprite, but we didn't, so I decided to just brush my teeth and go back to bed. Not that important. WRONGWRONGWRONG. November 10th. I already decided I wasn't going to go to school. Everyone was going to be out of the house by nine. Mom wakes me up at around seven so I can take my temperature. Not a bad idea since it was 101 the previous night. So I'm feeling a tiny bit woozy, but it's nothing too deserving of suspicion, so I stumble down the hallway and get the thermometer. And then the next thing, I know, the thermometer drops. I don't see black. I don't see color. There is no time lapse in my mind. It is like I instantly went to the floor. I am on the floor. My family is freaking out. Why are they freaking out? My teeth. Something's wrong with my teeth. They are in the way of my tongue. "My teeth... What happened?" "You hit your head," Dad says. I hit my head. This explains the blood dripping on my legs. My arms. Dad's sleeve. It's not spewing or anything. I can't grasp what's going on quite yet. I freak out a little. "Do we call the ambulance?"
"Well maybe should we just drive her."
"Where will we take her?"
"St. Joe. We'll go to St. Joe." I'm in my pajamas. I yank some pants over shorts, throw on a jacket, put some socks and shoes on. I wish I had shaved. Like I'd look presentable if I had. Ha! The ride to the hospital is a blur. At first I didn't feel anything, but my head hurts now. I didn't bring my glasses, and I can't really see anything. Everyone at St. Joe is very nice. I don't have to wait. I get asked what happened. "She passed out and hit our corner where the hall meets the entryway." "She must have hit hard." "I suppose she did." I get wheeled around in a wheelchair. MRI. Not fun. I get an IV for the first time, and it's not as scary as I thought it would be. They give me morphine, and my head feels better. After awhile, I get some shots in my head (ow) and fourteen stitches. They remove actual pain chips from my wound and say that if it had been one level deeper, my skull would have been showing. The MRI comes back and says that besides the fracture in my jaw, I am fine. No concussion or anything. I'm alright. Then the orthodontist. I get shots of novacaine (ow), and my two teeth dragged up to the front of my mouth [almost] where they belong. I get a prescription for painkillers that I am dying to have because the roof of my mouth is torn up very badly, and that's the worst part of it so far. So. I missed four days of school and a week of work to get better. The gash healed up pretty well. It's right on my eyebrow so I look like Scar from The Lion King. My tooth is a little crooked, I've got a wire on my teeth so my jaw heals correctly, and I may need a couple root canals. But all in all, I'm lucky. Thanks to mom for waking me up early, or it would've happened when I was all alone. Moral of the story- It's really not so bad. | 
