Whenever I see one of those wall-mounted nightstands in a hotel room, I'm reminded of the time I managed to fall into one.
My parents would tell me when I was very little, I was asleep on the hotel bed. My parents had set it up so I had barriers to keep me from rolling off, but somehow I still managed to roll right out bed, cracking my head on the corner of the nightstand on my way down.
The impact created a pretty bad gash on my forehead, and I began bleeding pretty badly.
Once my father found out where the nearest hospital was from the hotel staff, he rushed me there in the family car. I was too young to remember all the details myself, but when my father would recall the incident, he'd tell me there was so much blood in the car, he didn't know if I was going to make it.
Luckily, I was okay, albeit bandaged up for a while until the wound on my head healed.
Though I may have been too young to remember all the details myself, I've been told the story over and over again to the point I feel a little traumatized when I see one of those hotel nightstands. 🤕
