Friday Fictioners~ Stuffy


The original picture is really great…gotta love a pic that sends the imagination into overdrive. I can’t imagine what kind of genetic engineering such an animal would take, though…

Copyright – EL Appleby Thank you for the picture!

Copyright – EL Appleby
Thank you for the picture!

Ach, but as much as the picture given for the prompt is really great…it has led me down another path and begs me to use a pic out of my own files. I beg all your forgiveness this once as I bend the rules….Also, this is non-fiction.


(Picture: This is me, right after the surgery to restore some semblance of a face after the accident that changed everything.)

Mom tucked the stuffy under my arm. It wasn’t fancy, Mom never wasted money on gifts. Knowing that, I squeezed it with half a grin. There was only one reason she’d give me something, now. I blinked up at her, and mumbled through broken jaws.

‘Am I dying?’

Mom looked me square in the eye. ‘You just might, Sweetie.’

‘It’s okay, Mom. I’m ready to go back Home.’

With that, the nurses came and wheeled me out for an eight hour surgery wherein I fully coded on the table four times. The stuffy is now tucked in my cedar box.


60 responses »

    • yes, my mom did. For all the drugs and alcohol, we had one thing between us…honesty. We didn’t sugar-coat things. I grew up unafraid of death, or dying. It was just part of life, and I was used to it.

  1. I can definitely see how the first picture reminded you of the second one. It must have been a life altering experience. There are a million ways you could have written it — but I think this way says it all.

  2. That was quite uncomfortable to read. I feel as though I have witnessed a personal and horrifying event. On the other hand I am grateful I did not have to live it. I hope writing about it helps you to heal.

  3. I’m glad you are still here to tell us your story, if perhaps you may have a different view.
    A powerful piece, thank you for sharing it with us

  4. Great truth-telling. I echo the others’ sentiments, that we are so glad you’re still here.

    I also understand the reaction when you’re in excruciating pain for an extended period of time, and someone says, “Well, you’re lucky you’re still here!” It’s natural to want to respond in the negative, because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like luck. But you are right to think that people would misinterpret that and become alarmed.

    They don’t know what else to say, except to point to what they think is the positive side of the experience. And we don’t know how to tell them, politely and with grace, that they seem to be misunderstanding or minimizing our pain. So we just smile and say, “Yes, thank you.”

    All I can say is, God bless you and thank you for sharing this.

    • Spoken in truth and clearly, thank you. I know that feeling all too well. Mom made such a big deal of what a “miracle” i was that hubs eventually moved me over 300 miles from home just so i could have peace. Oddly, I didn’t get homesick because the memories just weren’t there. But it was a relief not to be around all the well-meaners who kept saying, “Oh, you remember when… don’t you.” I’d say “no”, and then they’d bore me to death with details as if that would magically make the memories return. It’s better living with people who don’t remember who I was “before”, less stressful for sure and for certain!

      • Ach, I thought you were responding the “Captain America” entry. “Captain America…” is pure fiction. Sorry, I really shouldn’t try to comment at night when I’m so tired I can’t see the screen straight.
        The stuffy is non-fiction, mom really did say that to me.

      • it is, It’s me that’s confused. I was functioning way too tired, and responded to the wrong comment, thought I was responding to the “Captain America…” entry for Trifecta. Sorry for the confusion.

      • No worries – it was a powerful story – I am sorry you went through this but glad that you’re here to tell the story.

    • coding is a medical term, aka flatlining…it means that there is no heart beat and no breathing at all…by all rights dead.

      Cedar box…a hope chest, a wooden chest where very special items are kept like baby clothes, momentos from weddings, that kind of thing.

  5. I followed your link. That’s one hell of a story. That this soft toy – along with all the lighthearted fantasies – has opened so many windows on frightful experiences!

  6. Your simply stated dialogue and frankness made this a very powerful piece, darling. Thank you for being brave enough to write about this.

    • It was. I survived! Now, I warn others about working too too many hours and not getting rest. They’re not sure if I heat-stroked before or after the crash, or if my body just shut down from exhaustion. I was working two full-time jobs which amounted to 20 hrs a day and with travel about an hours sleep.

  7. glad you shared it. You must still have great things ahead. I too once used Friday fictioneers to tell a story about my youth. It’s a good place to do so.

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