In fifth grade I was a wild and hyper kid. During spring break, I asked my baseball friend if he could spend the night. He said he could, me not having many sleep overs, was excited. So, my mom picked up my friend and we went to my house. When we got home we played outside for a while. We played a variety of games ranging from basketball to football. When we were done playing we went to go eat lunch.

There is no better place to eat lunch than Chick-fil-A. We went to Chick-fil-A and ate lunch and talked to each other about baseball and who we thought the best players were. Then we came home and we were bored. So, to break the bored silence, I wanted to show him my pocket knife collection. He went through it and picked out his favorite one. Me letting him take one knife out of the box might have been the worst decision of my life.

Tony, my friend, put the knife on the living room table. I didn’t really pay much attention to it as I should have. We just continued playing in the living room with a squishy ball, pretending to be a professional baseball player. We did some baseball tricks and goofed around saying that I was better than him. It felt like a good day until my friend tackled me, trying to get the ball saying it was his turn to try and do something cool, right into the table the pocket knife was on. This was the start to an experience I will never forget.

When my friend tackled me into the table the pocket knife, the one that he picked out and had a curved blade, fell on my hand as we wrestled to the ground. All I remember was me and him going to the ground and me feeling the most pain I had ever felt.

“Mom help!”, I screamed as ran upstairs into my mom’s room trying not to look at my bleeding hand.
“What’s the matter?” She said as she came out of her room with a concerned look.
“Mom…” I said as tears started rolling down my face as I showed her my hand. I saw her face turn pale and my stomach became uneasy.

My dad came out the room, leading me to the bathroom. He wrapped my hand and we went to the Emergency Room. During the car ride my mom kept telling me that everything was “ok”, just doing the normal mom job when you get hurt. The car ride felt like it took 3 hours when it only took about 25 minutes. My legs were shaking as I walked in the main entrance of the ER. I could barely walk, so my dad had to support me. When I sat down I didn’t know if I was going to get stitches or not. I didn’t know what was going to happen but I trusted God and knew he had a plan and solution for me.

When my mom said, it was time for me to go in I stood up and looked around. It was my first time in the ER. I saw people that looked like they were in pain stare at me. I walked in the back where there was a designated room for me. I sat down and the nurse checked my blood pressure and made sure I was healthy. Just the normal procedure. The nurse told me that I was going to have to get stitches. That’s when my heart sank and my face began to turn the palest it has ever been.

I waited in the room for about an hour until finally a woman with purple hair walked in. She told me that she was going to be the one to take care of my hand. But, first I had to take theses pain killers. There were three pills I took before going into surgery. One of the pills was too big for me so they had to cut it in half. Within the first 10 minutes I became very sleepy. My eyes became very heavy as I started to fall asleep. This being the first time I’ve ever had surgery, I asked the purpled haired women’s assistant if I could go to sleep. She said I was allowed to then she asked me what movie I wanted to watch. I picked The Avengers. I started to watched the first couple of minutes of it, but it was becoming hard to stay awake. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

I woke up and it felt like had been asleep forever. The purple haired doctor had left it was just me and her assistant. I was done with my hand repairs and it had taken over an hour. When I walked out of the room my parents were so excited to see me. Their worried faces had worn away and relived ones took over.

After the surgery, I had a long recovery process. I had physical therapy twice a week for three weeks. During that time, I had to wear a soft cast on my hand. In class my teachers said that I still had to do all the assignments except I had to write with my left hand. When I was recovering, it was probably one of the most stressful times in my life. It took me an hour just to do a fifteen-minute assignment because I had to write with my left hand.
Looking back at it I’m glad it happened because it brought me closer to God. I never trusted God more than when I was in the hospital getting surgery. I now know to not play with knives and to always trust God especially in tough times.