Broken Brain

It was death defying. I shouldn't be here. The doctors said I should have died. Considering the severity of my skull fracture, accompanying concussion, and consequential troubling abscess, I should have been a goner. I was barely past my first birthday when it happened. My father said that, apparently, I had just gotten my one-year inoculations. Something about them, however, set me off-and badly. As a result, I was evidently overly fussy due to one of the drug's impact on my small body. I was in my highchair and angrily pushed my little legs firmly against the dining room table. I essentially propelled myself backward. My still pliable head struck the hard wooden floor. The floor was okay; my head wasn't. The impact fractured my skull and I went Humpty Dumpty on my soon frantic parents. The fracture to the back of my head and the resulting scar of baseball-sized stitching was vital evidence that what happened was both serious and life-threatening. That singular accident would have a profound impact on me. Even from my childhood perspective, I wasn't entirely right in the head and wouldn't be for years thereafter.