Broken Arms
It was a pleasant summer afternoon – not too hot, not too cold. My friend, Antonio, and I were playing a small game somewhat like tag in my backyard, which is about 10 yards wide. Antonio was “it”, and I had to get from one side to the other without him tagging me. The fence I started from was chain link; the other fence was wooden. I started to run across, I got by Antonio, and started to sprint. But I was too fast for the space. I stuck out my arms to stop me from hitting the fence. Then there was a snapping noise. It wasn’t the fence. My neighbor across the street and three houses down heard me scream from her front yard.
I went inside the house and to my room to ice my arm for a while. My friend Antonio, stayed at my house for about an hour, until I fell asleep and my parents sent him home; he was still hoping I’d feel better and be ready to play more.
Then, to make matters worse, the next day my mom sent me to school with a broken arm. My teacher called my mom and talked to her about how she thought I should be going home and probably to see the doctor, because I was having a hard time at school. Mom came and picked me up, then my parents took me to the emergency room, where I got a cast on my arm. Ten weeks later, I got the cast off. My left arm was a little smaller than my right, but healed.
The next story is in 2001.
My friend, Olin, and I and Olin’s dad are walking out of a movie theatre, the Cinerama after seeing The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. We got into Dean’s (Olin’s dad’s) black Accura SUV and headed Olin’s house where my parents would pick me up later. On the way back, Olin and I were fighting over the middle seat playfully, because it was really cold outside and those were the only heaters in the backseat. There was an armrest in the car; we had the armrest down, leaving a large open area from where the armrest folded out. Olin got his whole body underneath the lowered armrest (closer to the heater) and pushed up using his back, while at the same time I had my arm pressing down on the top of the armrest in order to keep Olin down, so as to try to make him surrender. But this went very wrong, as my arm was forced up into one of the corners of the armrest dock. I pushed down with my arm, at the same time that he pushed up with his back, and his back was too powerful for my arm, causing my arm to break. On the way back, we didn’t know that the arm was broken, only that I was in a lot of pain. I could feel it; they could hear me. Olin’s dad asked if there was anything he could do, besides keep the car on the road. Since on the way over, I had just been introduced to the Monkees, sobbing, I said ‘yes, you can play the Monkees.’ So we drove back to my house with me sobbing and singing along to “Hey Hey We’re The Monkeys.” Dean had already figured out that I needed to go straight home, skipping the playing-at-Olin’s part of the evening.
Later that night, I was taken to the emergency room once again. Once again, my left forearm was broken. This time, I got my arm in a sling for two weeks, through Thanksgiving. A week after Thanksgiving, they put a cast on. But first, the doctor had to take x-rays of the arm. He said my arm hadn’t been broken, it had just been “bent” like a cardboard toilet paper roll. I had to have the cast on for the same amount of time, 10 weeks, through my birthday, which was NOT one of the highlights, and through Christmas, another non-highlight. After the brutal 10 weeks were up, we got the cast off. Once again, my left arm was a little bit smaller than my right arm, but it was healed.
The next time I saw Olin, he apologized and I said that it wasn’t anything to worry about because we were just playing around, and it just happened – it wasn’t his fault.
So now you know about my two broken arms in three years. I’m a lot more careful now, because I know how much it hurts and how long it takes to fix, so I try not to hurt myself or let anyone else hurt me. I still run hard, wrestle with my friends in cars, but now I try to avoid armrest battles and running into fences.