From Wicked to the Hospital
Content Warning: mentions of blood and injury
Talk about some Monday. I saw Wicked and cried during Defying Gravity that afternoon, read the script of a reading I was supposed to be a part of in two weeks that evening, and then my head was cut open an hour later. Mondays.
I have been contemplating writing this for months.
My accident happened in November 2024, and it’s April 2025 at the time I write and publish this.
Accidents happen all the time. It’s a part of life, and no matter how hard you try and avoid them, they still find a way to happen. It’s an accident. That’s how it goes. I’m not oblivious to that, I know that at the end of the day I’m not invincible, I’m a human being. It’s bound to happen in some form or another. Yet somehow, despite all of that, you still never think or imagine it will happen to you. Until it does. And suddenly your entire perception of life changes.
While working on a theater production back in November, I was in our theater space when one of our set pieces, a metal pipe, fell on me and cut my head open. It’s been months, and I still remember every detail from that day. The clothes I was wearing, where I was kneeling, how warm it was in that theater, who was in the room and where everyone was, the intense pain I felt once the pipe made contact, the initial confusion, the deep concern on my friend’s face as he ran over, the feeling of a warm liquid gushing down my face and trickling onto the floor and down my clothes, the red that was all over my hands, hearing my heartbeat rapidly increasing while everything else was getting quieter, entering a state of shock and not knowing how bad it was, seeing myself covered in blood in the restroom mirror as blood was going into my eye, feeling myself grow weaker until I lost consciousness while a friend was holding me up and putting pressure on my head, and gripping onto that sink with all the strength I had left so that I wouldn’t collapse.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say this was a near-death experience, but it could’ve been so much worse than it was. I am incredibly grateful that I was not alone when this happened, and as much as I wish it never happened in the first place, above all else, I’m thankful that’s all it was and nothing more. That was a realization that was incredibly difficult for me to wrap my head around, and admittedly, I still struggle with this; if the pipe had landed in a different way, I would’ve had a much different outcome.
It’s a scary and hard thing to grasp. How if things were different, that could’ve been it for me. I’m only 21 years old. I feel like I haven’t even begun living the life I want to yet.
I received five staples in my head. I had them in for ten days before going back to the emergency room and getting them removed (which she did so in the waiting room, much to everyone’s shock when I told them the details). My recovery, if nothing else, was a smooth one. It was Thanksgiving break, so I had around a week of bed rest. With much appreciation, over the course of that week I received an outpouring of messages and check-ins from friends, family, and colleagues. In an attempt to retain my spirit, I’d joke with my friends how this Thanksgiving, when asked “what are you thankful for?”, I’d reply with “my life!”. I couldn’t sit up or stand for longer than a few minutes as it was too much pressure on my head, I couldn’t brush or wash my hair normally because of the staples, I couldn’t stand seeing the traces of silver in my head, I didn’t touch nor look at the shirt I wore when it happened for three months, I had to clean the blood off my shoes, and somehow through all of that, despite how much I was struggling, I still wrote a personal favorite play for my playwriting class that was due the following week. I still spent time with my hometown best friend as she was home for the weekend. Life goes on. Despite all of that, life goes on.
The reason I had been so back and forth about publicly writing and addressing this is because what would be the point? There were a lot of safety changes that went into effect almost immediately after my accident (which I’m thankful has happened), but I still find myself thinking that more can be done. This is something I have to live with, I don’t have the privilege of forgetting. It’s been around four months since, and my hair has finally started to grow back where my scar is. I do recognize that no matter how many safety precautions are in place, accidents can still happen. That is precisely what makes them an accident. However, by implementing firmer safety measures, it can lessen the severity of potential injuries and consequences, teach and instill what to do if there ever is an accident, and serve as a reminder that accidents can happen and should be taken seriously, and that no one is ever truly invincible.
One of the aspects that I love about theater is its fast-paced and lively nature. Ironically, my growing discontent resides with that same sentiment: it is a fast-paced environment. It can create a sense of urgency, people may become stressed or feel as if they are fighting against the clock, which could potentially lead to carelessness and a lack of concern for working and operating safely. With every project that I am a part of, with every set I help to build, with any theater space I walk into, safety is now always at the forefront of my mind. It’s a tricky conversation because though I harbor these frustrations and am determined for a solution, realistically, I’m also aware that addressing these grievances is not a simple through line. There’s always a catch involved.
At the end of the day, I simply do not want to feel demeaned in asking for help. And with whatever production, process, or theater space I am a part of, my goal is always to ensure a safe space (literally and figuratively) where everyone feels comfortable enough to voice their concern. My head getting cut open was a freak accident, but it never should have happened in the first place.