Some years ago, I hired a marquee for an event and several days after, frustrated by the slow collection, decided to take it down by myself. Having systematically released all the locking bars inside the tent and standing back to admire my work I realised that my efforts had destabilised the tent totally and it fell on me. The centre pole dropped down to the crown of my head, knocking me to the floor. Indeed, it pinned me to the ground, broke the skin and came to rest against my skull. Another 1cm and it would have killed me.
I am OK with it, felt both lucky and rather sillyatthe same time. The hospital told me that it was a close call.
Do people notice your scar?
Only at the barbers.
Would you change your scar if you could?
No, scars sign your journey. I am reminded of the moment when I wash my hair and reflect on the funny stories that attached themselves to the incident at the time.
I have always been at ease with this and other scars and have enjoyed the sharing of their adventures.