The 9 Lives of Cat in Rabat: Life the First

It was only a matter of time: I finally had my first accident this weekend. As I broke the news to my brother, his initial reaction was, "did a taxi finally hit you?" Amazingly enough, I have yet to be clipped by a cab, or a car for that matter; he seemed oddly disappointed. In short, I cracked open my head.

Injuries to the head can be caused by traffic accidents, sports injuries, falls, workplace accidents, assaults, or bullets.

Assaults! Bullets! Such drama ..... but my accident was self-induced and involved the insalubrious meeting of my head with the very sharp corner of a marble table. If it sounds lame, it's because it was; in fact, I was sorely tempted to embellish the details, introducing a pack of thugs, a crowbar, and a rottweiler (the dog was just for effect - I haven't actually seen a rottweiler in Rabat yet). Alas, it is what it is: I hit my head on the kitchen table. A complete spaz by nature, I am wont to injure myself with sharp and blunt objects. Stairs yield a special challenge to me.

(Note to reader: I am the first person to concede that this isn't a terribly interesting subject matter for a blog, but for now we'll chock it up to my post-traumatic brain injury).

So, head met table and bloody mayhem ensued. Much blood. Much mayhem. Head wounds produce an inordinant amount of blood - I knew this, but I wasn't thinking terribly straight. - it may have been the blood coursing down my face. My kitchen looked like the-discovery-of-the-body scene in any Law & Order episode. There was blood on the walls, blood on the fridge, blood on the table, blood on me. My clothes were drenched. My head sprayed blood along the hallway, as I ran down to fetch the towels.

Head wounds must be treated with particular care, since there is
always the possibility of brain damage.

I ran to the bathroom and grabbed towels - all of which I have since thrown away. I feared the reaction of the attendant at the laundromat. One look at my towels and she would have called the police. I wrapped my head in a towel, made a perfunctory attempt at sopping up blood and laid down. I was feeling a bit weak - possible because 2 pints of my blood had just been scattered throughout the apartment. It has been suggested that I should have gone to the hospital - contact Rabat's 911 equivalent - or grab a taxi. It didn't really occur to me. One thinks rationally when other people are injured and are dismissive (at least I am) when it's oneself. I could have called my supervisor, Mr. N., who severely chastised me after the fact for not doing so. I kept thinking of his brand new car and how my head would have stained the upholstery and irreparably adulterated that "new car" smell. He later assured me that he would have wrapped my head up in a big plastic bag first. I was touched. Nonetheless, I have seen the insides of one of Rabat's hospitals. It seemed to me, even in my irrational state, that there was less chance of contracting a staff infection in my own home than in the hospital.

After a head injury, there may be a period of impaired consciousness followed by a period of confusion and impaired memory with disorientation and a breakdown in the ability to store and retrieve new information.

So, in the spirit of "impaired consciousness", words like "skull fracture", "intracranial hemorrhaging", "blood clotting", "concussion, "permanent brain damage" held no particular meaning for me; instead, I went to sleep. I have since learned that going to sleep was the one activity I should never have engaged in. Had I had a concussion, the results could have been disastrous. Oh well, live and learn. Woke up the next morning with a bloodsoaked towel around my head, a bloody pillow and sheets, and little memory of what happened.

As the patient recovers, memory slowly returns. Post-traumatic amnesia refers to loss of memory for events during and after the accident.

When I walked into the kitchen & saw the blood that I had missed cleaning up the night before, I checked the apartment for another body. In a somewhat confused state, I sat down & tried to piece the events together. Then I went to the bathroom and tried to piece my cranium back together - which is a bit of an exaggeration since the congealed blood seemed to be holding my scalp in place. Did I require stitches? Probably. Did I eventually go to the hospital or to a doctor? Nope. Thanks to the unique child-raising efforts of my parents, I abhor doctors and only visit them when a limb goes astray; rather, I attempted to wash the dried blood out of my hair but gave up when tears of pain impeded my vision; instead, I squeezed an antibiotic ointment into the continental divide traversing my head. By the next day, I could finally see the 4 inch gash. Frankly, it was better when I couldn't see it.

It's been 5 days now, and I think I'm healing rather well. In fact, I was able to wash my hair this morning without having to quell a rolling wave of nausea: a good sign!

Recovery from a severe head injury can be very slow, and it may take five years or longer to heal completely.

I add this last comment to explain away any dull postings that may pop up in the next few weeks. If I've lost my spark, we'll blame the kitchen table. By way of compensation, I do hope that I'll have a fabulous scar to show for all of this - if it's as jaggedy and sinister as I think it will be, I'll add a couple of bolts to the side of my neck to complete the effect.

One life down, eight to go!