I run in the day care center’s playground. Somewhere past the slide, the jungle gym and some swings, I slip and fall. My left hand thumps hard against the ground.
I stand up. The hand throbs. I turn it over. Blood covers my palm and runs down my wrist. I scream. A day-care attendant — and Mom — run over.
A Phelps Memorial Hospital emergency room doctor gives me my first stitches. After I come home, I lie on the plaid-upholstered couch in our wood-paneled family room. Looking at my white-bandaged hand, I moan over and over.
putting aside another
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