I should add that it wasn’t so much consideration for Mom as fear of treatment that kept me away from home for about an hour, but it really wasn’t stopping. I remember the small, long piece of glass as it left my hand and carved out a strip of flesh as it flew away. I saw a piece of my finger lying on the ground. It was super gross.
In the US and elsewhere, parents would drag their child off to the hospital for treatment, but this wasn’t elsewhere and people tried to avoid going to the hospital unless they were dead.
I remember a kid-friend of mine who had many small white scars around his nose. He’d crashed his sled into a tree on the way down an icy hill (oh, the fun!) and one of the metal rails of the sled practically sliced off his nose. He was taken to a hospital where the doctor stitched his nose back to his face without anesthetic. (He wasn’t a sadist, anesthetic wasn’t always available). The kid said, “It hurt at first, but then it didn’t. If you’re ever having your nose sewed on, just wait a bit.” I assume he just went into shock from the whole thing. Sometimes the treatment is almost as bad the problem, but hey, you can’t just have your nose flapping around on your face. He was a tough kid and we had romantic feelings for each other, as much as 6 year olds can have them.
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