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It was an average Tuesday. We were all at the local bar participating in some ruit tournament we just so happened to walk in on. Obviously, Princeton and I were dominating. Eventually, it was my turn to go get a refill so I grabbed a couple of pitchers and made my way up to the bar.

I stood there, glancing between my phone and the bartender, actively trying to avoid eye contact with Regular who was in the corner with his cunty girlfriend du jour. (Yes, I deserve to call her that.) 

Without warning someone grabbed me from behind.

“OMG HEYYYY!!!!!” the person screamed, trying to whirl me around.

As I was being whirled, I lost my footing and my feet slid out from under me. By this point, I was toward the end of the whirl, and so as my feet slipped out, the back of my head slammed against the edge of the bar. Then I fell down completely.

Mortified, I leapt to my feet as quickly as I could. Falling in a bar is basically the most fucking embarrassing thing that can happen to a person – and this wasn’t even my fault! Who the fuck just did that to me? My eyes found the person. He was dressed in a neon green shirt. I had never seen him in my life.

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?” he screamed.

“Um, yeah.” I said, casually. This dude needed to calm the fuck down.

“I’M SO SORRY I THOUGHT YOU WERE SOMEONE ELSE. ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY?!?” still screaming.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” I grabbed my now full pitchers off the counter and made my way back to the corner of the bar where we were playing ruit, eager to escape the stares of everyone at the bar.

“What took so long?” Princeton demanded.

“Sorry, some kid knocked me down at the bar.”

“Well are you alright? Tell me if you’re not alright – I’ll find a new partner.”

“YES. I’m fine. Let’s play.” I felt a little dizzy, but we were one win away from a $10 gift certificate and I did not want to let my partner down.

We proceeded to continue playing uninterrupted for about five minutes, when all of a sudden some random girl came running up to me, flailing.

“OH MY GOD SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE! RIGHT NOW! Okay, just stay calm – I need you to just follow me outside – everything is going to be okay.” What the fuck was this girl talking about.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked her.

“YOU! Have you seen the back of your head?!” she exclaimed.

I was utterly confused. What was this woman talking about, I felt fine.

“Oh. My. God. Are you fucking serious?” Hurricane screamed at me, leaning around me to see the back of my head. “The entire back of your head is covered in blood right now – you cracked your fucking head open you asshole. Seriously, you look like the kid from Sixth Sense who shoots himself in the tent.”

Now I officially felt dizzy.

The details of what happened next are a little fuzzy. An ambulance came. I took it with my friend Tulip. Hurricane and Princeton went back to the dorm after some sort of argument with the EMT’s. Tulip waited with me and got me checked into the ER.  

After awhile, an ER doctor came around to take my vitals. He informed me that they had put gauze over the wound, but wanted to take an x-ray to make sure there was no brain damage or whatever.

“Okay, sounds great.” I said.

“Okay, just need to ask a couple of quick questions,” said the doc. “Is there any possibility that you’re pregnant?”

This is one of the few times in my adult life I knew for sure that I was definitely not pregnant. I hadn’t had sex between my last period and that moment. I was certain.

“I guess there might be a chance.” I have no idea why the fuck I said that. Literally, no clue.

“Well, we’ll need to do a pregnancy test before the x-ray then.” The doctor said.

Since I was potentially concussed, and also wasted, I wasn’t allowed to stand up. The nurse brought over a bedpan for me. The banana bag they had given me was just beginning to kick in. I filled up four bedpans. By the fourth one, the nurse was cheering me on. Fucking mortifying.

The pregnancy test came back negative. Obviously. Then I guess they gave me an x-ray. It’s all pretty hazy.

At some point, another doctor came over informing me that he needed to stitch my wound, but there didn’t appear to be any permanent brain damage.

“In order to ensure the wound is properly sterilized and to put the stitches in, I’m going to need to shave off a patch of your hair.”

I knew I was woozy, but I couldn’t have heard that correctly.

“I’m sorry, I thought you just said you wanted to shave off a patch of my hair. In the middle of the back of my head.” I was no longer woozy – I was fully alert.

“Yes. We’re going to need to shave a patch. It won’t be visible if you wear your hair down.”

Was this guy fucking joking?

“Are you fucking joking?” I asked. “And what happens when I put my hair in a ponytail?”

“Quite honestly, I think your health and prevention of infection is a much higher priority than what your ponytail will look like miss.” His tone was even, obviously this man was a sociopath.

“Well, quite honestly, Meredith fucking Grey would understand this dilemma. This hospital is obviously not up to the standards of Seattle Grace. I want a second opinion. Christina Yang, if possible.”

At this, Tulip stepped in.

“I think your parents would want you to listen to these doctors, do you want me to call them?” she asked sternly.

I called her bluff. “Go right ahead.”

Within three minutes, my father was on speakerphone.

“IF YOU DON’T LISTEN TO THESE GOD DAMN DOCTORS, I’LL COME DOWN THERE WITH THE CLIPPERS MYSELF – AND YOU BETTER BELIEVE I WON’T BE CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR FUCKING PONYTAIL.”

“My body. My choice.” I buckled down. There was no way I was letting these maniacs carve a hole in my precious mane. “I want a second opinion, I’m waiting for the doctor on the next shift.”

“That sounds reasonable.” The current doctor chimed in, obviously over my antics.

“Fine. Call me when you get up YOUNG LADY.” Shit. I was in trouble.

I dozed off, Tulip took a cab home, leaving a note to call her the next day.

 I awoke to bright sunshine, and a new doctor slipping latex gloves on. He pulled my head forward, glanced at it, and then, without warning, shot five staples into my head, which had apparently been anesthetized at some point.

“You’re all set.” He said, already removing his gloves.

“Um, what?” I asked.

“You’re all set. There are five staples, keep them clean, come back in a week to have them taken out. Here’s a prescription for some painkillers – don’t drink on them.” He was all business. I was baffled.

“So … I don’t need to shave my head?”

“Nope. You’re all set. It was a good decision to get a second opinion.” And with that he walked out of the room, at the last moment turning over his shoulder, “And, just a reminder: you are not pregnant.” 

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