I remember when I broke my arm. It was just a couple of days into first grade, and my family was attending a church picnic at a local park in the Wheaton, Illinois area. I have always enjoyed climbing trees, so it was no surprise that I would be climbing an apple tree during this picnic. I was about four feet off the ground in this particular apple tree when I somehow slipped and fell to the ground. I must have landed funny, because something in my right arm hurt.
After resting at one of the picnic tables for a little while, my parents showed my arm to someone at the picnic who was a nurse. She thought it would be best if my parents took me to the hospital.
When I arrived at the hospital, the X-rays showed a hairline fracture in my right wrist. This meant a plaster cast all the way up to my shoulder. I’m not sure why it had to go so high, but it was the late 70s. What do you expect?
Initially, it was kind of cool to have a cast. All my friends and classmates got to sign my cast. My school pictures were taken with the cast (see above). And I got special attention and help to complete my school work. I think those cool things wore off quickly as I was forced to sit out of gym class. Bath times were pretty awkward with one arm sitting out of the tub. And as a right-hander, it wasn’t easy to write.
Six weeks after I broke my arm, I went back to the doctor where they sawed off the cast. The saw was a little scary, but I quickly learned that it didn’t hurt. When they took the cast off, my skin was pretty nasty. What had been tanned from the summer sun was now pealing.
Besides a chip fracture to my ankle, I haven’t had a broken bone since. And that’s okay!
Have you ever broken a bone? Tell us about it!