Stitched ☠️

Hushed voices made their way through the dark and up the stairs. I quietly followed them down the hall and down the stairs.

I could see a dim flickering light coming from the kitchen. Just enough to make out the avocado green stove and dingy linoleum floor. I crept closer the smell of alcohol burnt my nose. Glistening blood spatters formed a trail from the door to a chair in the middle of the kitchen.

My uncle sat there pressing his bloody t-shirt against the left side of his stomach, as he motioned for my mom to get the first aid kit.

His blood soaked shirt dropped to the floor as he poured what was left of the whiskey over the open wound. He let out a dull groan. I looked at his face bruised, his left hand swollen and stiff. His hands and clothes stained with blood. This happened too often and he had a different excuse each time, but they were always lies. Everyone knew they were lies, he’s wasn’t a good man, but he was a likable man so they never questioned him.

He usually stitched his own wounds, his body was covered in scars which I found endlessly fascinating. But this time he needed help. Between my aunt’s needle phobia and my mom jumping when the needle popped through his skin, he’d be lucky to survive the night.

I stepped into the kitchen for a better view, half expecting to be banished to my room and locked in for the night. Strangely they looked relieved to see me. My eerie calmness an antidote for their anxiety. My mom handed me the needle trusting my eight year old hands to finish the job.

I widened the cut slightly with my fingers and peered inside. The cut was deep, the knife had pierced the thin layer of fat under the skin and into the muscle below. I could see the muscle tensing as I wiggled a finger into the wound. He fought back a groan, he knew not to give me the satisfaction.

He held the wound closed with his good hand as I pushed the needle through his skin over and over. Slowly pulling his skin together. The“pop” of the needle piercing his flesh with every stitch was almost hypnotic. The wound closed faster than I’d wanted, I didn’t want this moment to end.

I secretly grabbed the iodine bottle off the table and splashed it on the fresh stitches. Surprise! He responded with an angry grunt

and I giggled.

As he faded back into the night, I knew with a town full of patients, willing or not, I was going to be an amazing surgeon…