Part of me wishes I could tell you it was from some innovative new brain surgery technique where they go in through the leg. The other part of me is glad I've never needed brain surgery.
Nope, it turns out my scar is a casualty of the lifestyle of a neurosurgeon. Or in our case, a pretend neurosurgeon.
Y was exhausted after a week of waking up at 4 am to assist with observe brain surgery. So, he went to bed at 6:30 one night. When I tiptoed to bed 4 hours later, it was pitch black. I thought I might be courteous and leave the light off.
Apparently (in a lack-of-sleep induced state?) Y hadn't thought about being courteous and closing his dresser drawer -- the corner of which, when opened, is right in my path to the bed. It sliced right across my leg. (Commence wincing.)
Hence, my neurosurgery scar.
haha love this - Yesterday I forgot something and as I was rushing to work Matt must of gotten home at 7am so when I went back and tried to swing open the door, the dead bolt was on. He proceeded to open it and then as we both were reaching for the cat slammed heads so hard I think I had a concussion...
ReplyDeleteIts dangerous.
Ouuuuuch!
ReplyDeleteYou can go with the awesome surgery-story. I'll never tell!