Sunday, July 22, 2012
Before I begin, I just want to say, go ahead, laugh! Laugh as much as you, as loud as you want, and as hard as you want. Because even though I didn’t want to admit to it back when I broke my arm, it’s true, its kind of a funny story.
About six years ago, when I was around eleven or twelve years of age (is that how old you are in the sixth grade? Who knows!), my dad promised to take me out; not exactly sure for what, but I remember being excited and couldn’t wait to go!
So I did the usual things, showered, brushed my teeth, did my hair, and got dressed. I know I don’t remember what we were going out to do, I do remember it must have been pretty important and meant a lot to me, because I recall wearing my ultimate favorite pair of jeans (which were only for very special occasions, and which I hate more than anything now!).
My was dad rushing and constantly asking me if I was ready yet, and telling me to come downstairs so we could finally get going – he had me stressed! When I got to deciding on what I wanted to wear and putting it on, I just grabbed and random shirt, my favorite jeans, and quickly threw them on…maybe too quickly!
I can remember this next part, crystal clear as if it happened ten minutes ago! I grabbed the jeans, while walking to my door, slipped in one leg, and was in the process of doing the same to the other leg, until I lost my balance, causing me to fail. Human instincts told me to lean or grab onto something but, with both legs trapped inside of my pants, my right wrist hit the door frame, followed by my bum hitting the floor.
At that moment, nothing hurt, not my butt nor my wrist, so I just went on about my business and practically ran down the entire set of stairs.
The next thing I remember, is our ride home. Whenever I tried to turn my wrist, even the tiniest bit, a sharp pain would shoot from my wrist all the way up to my elbow. I told my dad, that my arm was hurting. With not much medical expertise my dad explained to me that I would be fine. But he did make a detour to the pharmacy to pick me up some bandage wrap and Icy/Hot to relieve the pain. Basically what any military man would do, when something “wasn’t broken”.
Finally getting home, my dad explained to my mom what took us so long, and why I had a wrap around my wrist. She didn’t believe it was broken either, she thought I was only doing it to get attention. Thanks mom!
A week or so later, my wrist was swollen to about twice the normal size, and I couldn’t move it at all. Knowing it was broken, I begged my dad to take me to the emergency room, and he did – all the while my mom was still claiming I was doing this for attention.
Sitting in the emergency room, my suspicions were proven correct. While getting my cast put on, I could do nothing but glare at my dad, for not believing me and not taking me to the hospital earlier. After leaving the ER, my dad took me out for ice cream, just as a sorry for not get my arm checked out by a doctor earlier. At that age, ice cream made everything better.
Even til this day, over six years later, my mom still accuses me of doing it on purpose. I don’t blame her, because all kids break their own bones for attention right? School wasn’t too bad, I didn’t have anyone who carried my books from class to class, and things didn’t really change. But of course I didn’t tell my friends that I broke my arm putting my pants on. I told them all kinds of cool stories like I was rock climbing and fell down a cliff, I was doing back flips on the trampoline and landed the wrong way. Breaking your arm putting your pants on, wasn’t exactly a cool story!
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading another one of my Life with Lisa’s!!!