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When I was about 8 yrs old, I was living in Mongolia (thanks mom and dad!! ). I busted the back of my head open on a old fashion swing set, ie all parts made of cast iron, including the "chains". I went to the best hospital in town, and was waiting to get stiched up, whilest bleeding profusely.
Let me describe the room though, one chair, one desk, one basin with various bloody gause, one cabinet with sore excuses for medical supplies.
This guy ahead of me (see there was a queue) had a bandaged pinky. the doctor unwrapped the pinky finger, and promptly it fell off! Plop, into the basin. It had been severed for some time. So, the bandage when back on, the pinky stayed in basin.
My turn. I sit on the chair, the doc bends my head over the basin. I'm staring straight at a dead, smelly, decomposing pinky finger as he shaves a section of my head off with a single blade razor, and proceeds to sew up my gash with a sewing needle and thread. (No local painkillers either I might add.) Severaly tramatised at 8 years old from this experience.
I'm seriously cringing while writing this. 
And on that note, it's time for lunch....
Last edited by apostrophe on Jun-13-2005 at 05:25
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