Scalped at the funfair!
Scalped at the funfair!
Wednesday 3rd September 2008
Having children means you can act like a big kid and get away with it. You get to watch the latest Disney films without getting odd looks from the cinema staff, and you can sing and prance around your house without people thinking you're strange. Plus, you get to go to theme parks…
'The go-carts look great!' I gasped, watching them whizz past just inches from where I stood.
'They are,' my daughter, Larishalee, 8, giggled excitedly.
She was having so much fun, I'd lost count how many times she'd been round the race track already.
'Are you having a nice birthday treat?' I asked her.
'The best!' she grinned.
Larishalee turned 9 in two days time, 25 February 2008. But as that was a Monday, we'd decided to celebrate a little bit early. My husband, Liahona, 37, and I had brought her, along with her brother, Hona, 12, and her cousins, Tofu, 12, Pano, 10, and Winston, 9, to Fiesta Fun, a theme park near our home in St George, Utah. Miniature golf, bumper boats, arcades… The fun was endless.
Now, there was just enough time for a couple more laps on the go-carts before we headed home. Liahona and I queued up at the ticket booth.
'Have fun!' he called, climbing into a go-cart alongside the boys.
The race was full, so Larishalee, my niece, Tofu, and I, waited for
the next one. Larishalee wasn't tall enough to drive, so she climbed into the go-cart alongside Tofu. A few cars ahead of them, the teenage attendant strapped me into a go-cart of my own.
'A few safety precautions…' he barked. 'Keep your hands and feet inside the go-cart. Don't use the carts as bumper cars. Don't get out of your vehicle if you crash.'
With that, he yanked back the metal gate and we were off.
The 10 little go-carts weaved across each other's paths. It was so much fun that afterwards, we raced a second time. Then, we climbed into the carts for a third go. The gates opened, and I slammed my foot down on the accelerator. Suddenly, a force jerked my head back and an intense pain ripped across my head. My go-cart stopped dead, while I went limp, paralysed
with sheer agony.
'Help!' I screamed.
My head had been jolted back and I was staring up at the ceiling, unable to move.
What on earth had happened? Within seconds, a crowd had gathered. As they leaned in closer, I watched their eyes widen in horror.
'Call an ambulance!' someone shouted.
My head hurt so much, it felt like it was on fire. I raised my hand and felt my scalp.
'Oh…' I murmured.
There was no hair. No skin. Just wet, gunky, slickness…
'W-what's happened?' I spluttered. Silence.
I had a pretty good idea anyway. I had long, black hair that reached to my bum. I guessed it had got tangled in the go-cart's engine and had ripped out. That alone sounds horrific, doesn't it? But in fact, my injuries were far worse than I could have ever imagined. Suddenly, my husband's face appeared above me.
'You're going to be fine,' he said. 'An ambulance is coming.'
'OK,' I replied.
The Dixie Regional Medical Centre was only minutes away.
I could already hear the ambulance's siren in the distance.
'I need scissors,' my husband said.
Liahona explained that my hair was looped round the drive shaft.
'I'm going to have to cut it free,' he warned.
'Do what you have to,' I told him.
The first pair of scissors he was given were blunt, but a second pair managed to do the job. As I raised my head, warm liquid streamed down my forehead, pooling in my eyes. Blood?
I wanted to scream, let panic take over, but just then, I heard my kids crying.
'That's my mum,' Larishalee was sobbing. 'Mummy's hurt.'
I turned my head and spotted her in the crowd. Beside her, my son, niece and nephews cowered in tears.
'I'm going to be OK,' I called.
Then, I turned to the onlookers.
'Someone help my kids,' I pleaded.
A couple ushered the kids away, as my husband slapped paper towels onto my bloody head.
'I love you,' he whispered.
'I love you, too,' I replied.
When the paramedics arrived, they lifted me onto a stretcher and carried me to the ambulance, Liahona hurried beside me. The kids had called his brother, Ropati, 34, and he was on his way to pick them up. At the hospital, doctors examined me, then bandaged my head. My eyes had swollen shut, but when I felt them secure the bandages over my eyelids, I was confused.
'How much damage is there?' I asked.
'Most of the skin has been ripped from your head,' a doctor explained. He told me my left eyebrow and half my eyelid were gone, along with my forehead, my entire scalp and half my left ear. I was left with bare-boned skull. I'd been scalped!
'You're lucky,' the doctor added.
How on earth could I be lucky?
'The skin and hair hasn't been completely ripped away,' he explained. 'Your scalp is hanging by a piece of skin behind your right ear.'
It meant my detached scalp still had a blood supply. They'd be able to reattach it. The doctors planned to operate on me the next morning. Minutes later, Liahona burst into the room. He sat with me, squeezing my hand, as the pain relief helped me drift off to sleep.
The following day, I had 50 staples and many stitches and sutures to fix my scalp back to my skull. They didn't replace the bandages, but my eyes were still swollen shut, so I couldn't see a thing.
'You look beautiful,' Liahona insisted afterwards.
Bless him. But I wasn't stupid. I could feel that my hair was back
in place, but I could also feel the stitches across my eyes and forehead. I must have looked a state.
Later that day, Liahona described what had happened. Apparently there'd been a warning at the side of the track saying all long hair should be secured above the shoulder.
'I didn't see it,' I said tearfully.
When Liahona brought the kids in to see me the next day, I was nervous. Would they be scared? Cry?
'You look lovely,' they both said.
'Thank you,' I smiled.
I was discharged the next day. Gradually, my swollen eyes healed and my sight became clearer. I couldn't bring myself to look in the mirror, though. Instead, I shuffled across the road to my neighbours. She and another friend, who are both trained hairdressers, sat me down. My hair was still matted with blood and lopsided where they'd hacked it free. But my friends gently washed my scalp and cut my hair to shoulder length.
'You scrub up well,' they smiled.
When the doctor removed the staples a week after the accident,
I finally peeked in the mirror.
'Oh no!' I gasped.
My left eye was bruised and black, while the scar that wriggled its way across my eyelids and forehead looked freaky. I felt like crying. But instead, I laughed.
'You're all liars,' I half chuckled. 'I'm not beautiful at all.'
'You are to us,' Liahona shrugged.
Believe me, I've needed my sense of humour these past few months. First, my hair fell out, so I covered my head with an auburn wig. Then, a patch of my scalp detached from my skull.
In April, two months after the accident, a skin graft was taken from my abdomen, replacing the dead patch. My hair has started to grow back now, but that patch will always be bald.
'I'm lucky to be alive,' I tell myself.
Six months on, we're all trying to put the accident behind us. I've no idea if the theme park has improved their safety precautions.
I hope so, I really do. Whatever happens, we won't be going back there for birthday treats. Next year, a party in the garden sounds far more appealing.