Fall

It is about time I explain the Lion Rock-like scar on my forehead. 

The short version: I fell down the stairs and bumped my head against the steps, which opened a big gash  on my forehead, leaving behind a Lion Rock-like scar.  

The longer version: On February 5, around 1:15 pm, I was walking from campus towards Tsim Sha Tsui East for lunch, going down the stairs at the end of the pedestrian walkway.  When I was perhaps 10 steps from reaching the bottom of the stairs, I slipped and fell down the steps.  My head bumped heavily against the steps before I came to a stop.  I found myself sprawled on the last few steps, my head higher than my feet, facing down towards the steps.  I was dazed but did not lose consciousness. I heard passersby screaming: “So much blood!” “I can see bones!”  I opened my eyes and indeed saw a big pool of blood. At that point I thought I might have cracked open my skull!  What happens now?  Will I die? Other than that, not much came to mind.  Not that I can remember anyway.   

A man handed me something white, perhaps a stack of tissue, and told me to put them on my forehead to stop the blood.  I took the white pack of stuff with my right hand, put it on my forehead, and felt my hand getting wet and sticky.  That must have been my own blood; but I did not dare to check.  A person said I should sit up; another said no, because they didn’t know how badly I was hurt.  Someone said to call 999 emergency;  another said he has already done it. A man claimed to have medical training and said firmly I should sit up.  He held my left hand, and helped me to sit up on my own power, on the last couple of steps. I felt I could use my hand and legs.  My wrists and knees hurt; but I did not feel anything broken.  At that point I felt perhaps I would not die yet.  

I started to look for my mobile phone and eye glasses.  A woman to the left in front told me that she had my glasses and phone, and that I should not worry about them.  About this time, I realised that my boss, whom I was going to meet for lunch, had arrived by my right hand side.  Another colleague passed by and offered to take her backpack back to the office.   A doctor at the university health service (as well as a family friend) passed by, offered to call my wife, and directed her to meet me at the emergency room at Queen Elizabeth Hospital.   By the time, the ambulance had arrived.  I was taken into the ambulance and checked. My boss went with me to the hospital and handed me over to my wife.  

My head was CT scanned and my neck and wrist X-rayed.  After the scan, the doctor suspected that there might be a fracture in my skull. I was plunged into another round of abject fear.  Will they have to cut open my skull to repair something?  Or just let it heal by itself? My skull was X-rayed and I was admitted into the neurosurgery ward.  Fortunately, X-ray revealed no fracture.  It was 8 pm when they started to clean my wound and stitched it up.  I could feel every injection of local anaesthesia.  It was particularly queasy when the doctor pulled up my scalp to clean under it, even though it was not particularly painful.  I could barely bear the feeling of the thread pulling my skin tightly together, 16 stitches in all. When it was done, roughly an hour later, I was soaked in my own sweat. 12 days later, the stitches were removed.  That was how I got a 16 cm long scar in the shape of the profile of the Lion Rock on my forehead.  Honest.  My wife has been at my side throughout the whole ordeal, fighting for better, quicker treatment for me, looking after me in all aspects.   

Many people, including doctors, told me I could have died.  I am eternally grateful that I have so many guardian angels hovering around me, helping me pull through this ordeal.  I feel that there must be something that God wants me to do before I actually die.  I shall do my best to fulfil that responsibility.