WHITE TURNS RED Madison
Amos
There was a lot of blood coming from my nose. Maybe it was a bloody nose coming from the dryness in the air, or maybe from me being a small kid playing around stairs just asking for an accident to happen. When it happened, I don’t really remember where we were going. All I knew was I was excited. I was running through the short halls and down the stairs with practiced ease with my older brother, Brandan, not too far behind me. I was stepping down the last flight of stairs, slightly more tired than before when I tripped and fell face forward into the metal-rimmed dirty stairs with a loud bang. I don’t remember anything being said at that moment. A lady from the first floor came out of her unit with a concerned look at the loud bang and must have quickly taken in the sight of my busted face because next thing I knew she had a white towel in her hand and was bringing it to my face. She guided me to tilt my head back while applying a heavy pressure to my nose. I remember the irritating headache and the white towel that changed color with the darkness of my blood. Next thing I knew, I was in the ambulance, then at the hospital in an uncomfortable bed with a needle poking somewhere into my nose bridge. Before getting the needle, the pain I felt was not really remembered due to my shock, but I assure you the pain was there. After the needle, all I felt was a weird numbness that I never felt before. When the drug set in, they soon started to sew my nose gash back together. I thrashed in the uncomfortable bed while my mom held my legs to keep me still the whole way through. My injury wasn’t serious enough to have had them knock me out completely, it was just strong enough to numb the pain from getting stitches. I remember seeing the blurred faces of the doctor and how they steadily did their job despite the struggle I gave. I don’t know the exact number of stitches I was given, but I do know it was enough to cover almost my entire nose bridge. 283
