Anyway, one show NPR does is, "It's Only A Game," and this is actually pretty good. Well, not entirely. But it sometimes has good human-interest stories. (In sports, there are amazing human interest stories, btw. Like runners who win the Olympics despite virtually dying on the track). This morning, this show did a bit about some parents who took their son, James, to a baseball game. After an eerie premonition, a baseball hit their son on the head.
They took the boy to the hospital, where everyone declared him to be fine. On the way home, he had to vomit. Because, it turns out, he had a fractured skull. This reminded me of my life. Because, when I was about 5 years old, our family was hit by a drunk driver. My mother went through the windshield, and her head was all bloody. So, they kept her over. But I looked fine, so they sent me home.
But, because I had flown from the back of the car into the front, I had hurt my head, and ended up vomitting on the way home. I can still remember the poor plant I singled out to suffer this expression for some reason. That night, things were woozy. I went into my mother's bedroom and started putting on her clothes, probably as an attempt to bring back the security she offered. Stupidly, my siblings - and father - stuck their heads in the door of the bedroom, giggling at me, tauntingly.
This shows you the sensitivity of my family. I had a fractured skull, and I was home, where they were laughing at me. Need I say, my sisters used to dress me up as a girl. I don't know if this happened after the accident or before. But, I did have a fractured skull, so I was eventually brought back to the hospital. Where nothing much was done. But. This trauma is probably why I have CFS today. Because. It's only a game.