Often times it is hard to decide what stories make it into The Magic Weekend files. Typically I will not post the story unless it has pictures provided by the sender which can be used in association with the story. I do, however, make exceptions, as in this case, it will be the second exception I have ever made. Why? Its simple really, she sent in 18 pictures with her e-mail, zero which are usable here do to what might be considered to graphic. You may or may not understand, but in her story she does take pictures and she will go on to explain why to y’all. Hers is truly a “Blood” story since it did result in 4 stitches being given in the local emergency room. She did explain that had this not happened to her then her weekend really wouldn’t have been to special. I give you Liz’s story now, she is 23, married, no children mentioned, and lives in Las Vegas Nevada. Warning: there are graphic descriptions of the female anatomy as well as graphic language in the following post.
“This weekend started out as many do for us, get off work late Friday afternoon ready to get home so we can go out on the town. My husband (Justin) and I had decided we wanted to try out a new dance club here in Las Vegas that a few of our friends had been to and said the partying was great. I got home first so I took a quick shower to was my day. As I sat in my towel afterwards, starting my hair, my husband comes in to let me know he had spoke with everyone earlier and we are still on for going out this evening. Pretty soon it was time to get dressed, so I called the girls to find out what they were wearing, we all tend to dress the same as each other already but its nice to check. Last week I had bought a new pair of blue jeans. The store didn’t have my size so I had to go one smaller, no big deal, the tighter the better, and I don’t ever get any complaints from Justin for them being too damn tight. I’m lucky in that regard, my husband is still I’m love with my ass. A common practice I have is going commando in jeans because it leaves absolutely no noticeable lines plus I don’t have to worry about getting all bunched up in the wrong tight places.
Laying on the bed completely naked I grabbed my jeans to wrestle them on. My husband gets a kick out of the show as he finished up shaving. It takes me a few minutes before I get the jeans convinced to be on me. Last step was just zipping them up to seal the deal. All of of a sudden my eyes flashed over white because of the hellish pain I was now in. It hurt so bad I couldn’t even scream. When I sat up carefully to get a better view of what happened I couldn’t bear the pain. I laid back down and called Justin to get in the bedroom. When he came in I explained what I was doing and he tried to hold back the giggles, but failed miserably. I needed him to explain what he could see to me so it could get fixed pronto. ‘Well……shit ……babe…….all I can see it what looks like bloody skin’. He then went in to explain that I zipped over a good bit of skin. When he tried to pull the zipper back down it wouldn’t budge a bit and it hurt so fucking bad I could only scream. But nothing either if us tried did any good, that zipper was very stuck with my flesh still in it. He took some pictures “just for the record” as we made plans to get me off the bed, into his truck, and down to the emergency room. And let me tell you, it was a flesh tearing effort just getting to the e.r. for sure.
We parked in front of the entrance and Justin went in to explain the situation and get someone to help get me inside. A triage technician (Ron) came out to take a look and gage the severity of my injury. Very lucky for me is the fact that I am the only person here right now so I can get seen immediately. I couldn’t begin to imagine having to wait any length of time in the waiting room. In the room now, laid back on an exam table, I feel a cool liquid beginning to run down to the back of my legs. Ron tells me it is an antiseptic to clean the area so the doctor can get in there and get to work. Enter the doctor, his name is Jack, he looks about 13 but assures me he is in his late 30s and I have nothing more to worry about since he will take care of my complaints. Yes, I do have a complaint, the is a zipper holding the fleshy parts of my vagina hostage! The first thing they do is cut away my jeans leaving only a patch surrounding the zipper. Then doctor Jack makes an announcement, the zipper has entrapped aproxamately 1 1/2″ of my right labia majora. That’s right, I zipped a chunk of my labia right up. After six separate shots into the labia and surrounding areas to deaden everything I was feeling no pain. I watched as it took four people to forcibly unzip the zipper to finally get it separated from my now very swollen, very bruised, and somewhat bloody labia.
After a deep cleaning I was taken to have an xray to confirm that no metal remained unseen under the skin anywhere. After the no metal check cleared the doctor gave me 4 stitches to permanently close the four puncture like wounds. I am guessing this will be a fine place to have stitches for the next three weeks. Now that it is time to leave we realized I didn’t have any pants but the nurse was kind enough to give me a pair of disposable scrub pants. I just wanted to go home at that point, lay on the couch a while, put an icepack on my labia, and hope like hell the swelling would go down so it would stop throbbing so badly. Now I can look back and laugh about this entire ordeal. My stitches ate out now yet I am still really tender, I haven’t wore anything but sweat pants and skirts since that night and I think my husband is getting a little concerned. I’m not sure how a person rehabilitates her labia, but so far it has been time. So, that’s that, this is how a pair of jeans can not only change one’s weekend plans but also for a long time after. Too bad there’s not a warning label on or near zippers. I wonder if this has ever happened to any other women. I can’t be the only one, can I? I’m not worried, I know that all will be well in due time. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and I hope the pictures helped explain the predicament.”
A natural choice of footwear for me is my last remaining pair of Air Force issued combat boots. I have had many pair of combat boots over the years, starting back in 1988. I don’t remember them all, but there are a few that stand out in my mind because of what I was doing when I was wearing them. Currently I have only one pair left out of my collection as I have had to retire so many before it. My very first pair of issued combat boots were in United States Air Force BMT (Basic Military Training). I recall the thoughts of how uncomfortable they felt on my feet since I was in the habits of wearing my cowboy boots which were worn, haggered, stunk like shit, but were the most comfortable boots (shoes) I have ever worn. My new pair of boots were rigid, stiff, and lace up. I can’t remember how to tie my boot at first, I had to watch other new airmen as they laced and tied their boots, as I haven’t had to tie a shoe in a long time, in fact I couldn’t really remember a specific time when I tied a shoe last. I was at a loss. I was going to get kicked out on my first day because I couldn’t tie a shoe, I guess that is what I get for wearing boots for as long as I could remember. I went from owning 2 pair of shoes, cowboy boots & flip flops, to a single pair of combat boots. I better learn fast I thought, I better learn fast. I knew I was excited, this was my first day as a soldier.
After successfully completing BMT and Technical school in Denver Colorado it was noticed that my boots did not fair so well, it was time to get a new pair. Of course, I was told to wait until I got to my first base, Misawa AB Japan, where I was told I would be issued another pair as part of my in-processing. When I got to Japan I was impressed, they don’t mess around when it comes to boots, I was issued 4 pair, two summer weight and two winter weight (insulated) pair, also, I was issued my first pair of mukluks since it was winter in full force in Japan just days after Christmas. Everyone knows that if your feet are cold, your whole body is cold. I wish I would have known that before I got to Japan. How in the hell am I supposed to know how to deal with snow, I’m from Houston in southeast Texas. In late 1990 I was given orders to go to Turkey in support of what will become to be known world-wide as Desert Storm. Time to let go of the snow and the black combat boots, it was time to get introduced to desert styles. The military has a boot to fit most functions, most terrains, and most weather. This was a long 6 months for me, it was the first time I had to remind myself to do the right thing whether anyone is looking or not. I watched people lose focus, make mistakes, and basically ruin their career, I didn’t want to be that guy. I was also involved in the Liberation of Kuwait where I got to see for the very first time in person, up close and personal, the destruction that was causes. Most people think war is a physical element of destruction because we can see physical damages. I saw things beyond that, I walked over the remains of what appeared to be a family caught by surprise as a bomb that was dropped exploded just outside their house. Walking across them was an accident and when I realized what it was I had stepped on I was a bit shocked, it hurt me to see them. Our team leader explained to me that they were not “my” problem and we must move on since we were in the process of locating an area to set up shop. After that day I never wore those boots again.
Soon enough I returned to Japan to finish out the remainder of my tour. After a few years I left Japan and headed to Iceland. Unfortunately I was only in Iceland a matter of a few weeks as I was diverted to be stationed at Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico. I already had some experience living in the desert so the transition to a zero humidity environment wasn’t that hard on my system. From New Mexico I would truly see the world beyond what I knew. I visited many places for many reasons doing my assigned job. Leaving became easier over the years, it was the coming home that was hard to do. In mid summer 1995 I was sent to Osan AB Korea to assist in the inspection of some specific munitions components which had been in long term storage. It was time to determine if they were still serviceable and if so prep them for shipment to a variety of bases world-wide. 18 months later I rotated back to the world to be reunited with my family in New Mexico. Things were not good at home, but that is another story, in fact I think I have written about it here once or twice.
In late 1998 I was in Las Vegas Nevada for the 3rd or 4th time for training and I was given orders to go an undisclosed area for the initial drive of what will become known as Operation Desert Fox. My views had really changed about the United States’ role in the world and it really impacted how I performed, I turned off the emotion, I turned off the feelings, and I just did my job. This would be the first deployment I did not get issued fresh boots, probably because of the timeline, who knows. However, when I got back there was a shiny new pair waiting for me. Well, they weren’t shiny yet, but they would be in no time. Eventhough I had a grunt job, I worked in and out of warehouses, a variety of shops, drove a variety of equipment, and walked everywhere as well, two things were always important, a persons attitude and a persons appearance. The first thing a person notices, unfortunately, is a dirty pair of boots, we always were cleaning our boots, making sure they were taken care of and shined with a reflection that rivaled most mirrors. I eventually left the Air Force, I was medically retired due to previous injuries which happened while active duty. I had no idea what being label a disabled veteran meant. I had no idea how I was going to function in the outside world. I was divorced by this time, a single parent to my daughter who didn’t know what civilian life was all about and I had all but forgot. Luckily my dad was there to catch me, offered me and my daughter a place to call home, and gave me a job working with him in his concrete contractor business. Not knowing any better, on my first day of work, I laced up a pair of my steel toed combat boots. Eventually I traded them in for a pair of work boots, finally no laces!
I always fall back to the combat boot as a boot to wear when I know my feet will be in an unruly environment. After the Air Force, my combat boots continued to see service protecting my feet from the elements and my daily life. I have one pair that has been bitten by two different snakes and has seen more blood of animals killed in the hunt than most shoes should ever have to endure. These boots are my “go to” boots. Over this past weekend I was getting dressed to go weed-eat the perimeter of my fence-line. When overgrown like was, it is a fairly dangerous place for feet because one doesn’t know what is in the tall grass. As I laced up my boots Sunday morning I found myself remembering what I wrote about here today. Interesting how a single pair of boots can trigger memories both good and bad. I wore them without incident, I don’t bother cleaning them anymore, I just knock off the big clumps, and then hang them back on the hook, ready for the next time they will serve me well.