When I was in the 9th grade, I broke my arm at the skating rink. It was a Church thing that I was pretty much forced to go to so that I could meet new kids. My dad had been stationed overseas, so my mom moved back home to be close to her parents while my dad was away. For some reason we couldn’t go.
So, I went to the stupid thing. I had never skated in my life. Within 10 minutes I was on the floor with a broken right wrist. My uncle Jim, who was a senior at the time, drove me to the hospital. They set my wrist and put a cast on it.
My mom was at home. She didn’t even know it happened until Jim drove me home. It was 1972 and we didn’t have cell phones. There were pay phones at the hospital, but we didn’t even think about calling her. We were teenage boys.
The way the cast was put on was weird. My hand was pointed down, so I walked around with the look of a limp wrist in a cast. Of course kids made fun of it. I was new at the school, so that made it worse.
I was a drummer in the school band, so within a week a had figured out how to stick a drumstick in that hand and attempt to play. After a while it became easier. Of course, all of that movement caused the bone to slip a little. So, it fused back together a little out of wack. The doctor had told me not to use that hand for stuff, but I didn’t listen. Again, teenage boy.
After about 5 weeks, they put on a half cast. From the forearm down. The wrist was straight this time. Of course, a week later, I stuck a wrench down in the cast ( because I don’t know why) and it wouldn’t come out. So, back to the hospital. They cut off the cast and decided not to even bother putting it back on.
They took an x-ray. That’s when they saw that it grew back weird. The doctor looked at me like they do when you don’t follow their advice and screw shit up. He told me that I would probably develop arthritis when I got older. I never did. Well, so far.
Aside from 3 toes on my right foot when we went to Disney World in 1975, that was the only bone I’ve ever broken. My sister broke her collarbone playing football with the boys. The way hers was set was way worse than mine. Plus, my mom was there when she had her cast put on. My sister was crying in pain and my mom was not the least bit sympathetic.
How many times have I told you NOT to play football with those boys?!
Anyway, that’s my broken story. It’s the only thing I could think of that didn’t involve a heart, or some kind of depressing nonsense.