The summer before third grade I fell off my bicycle while playing bumper wheels with my little girlfriend. The fall wasn’t too far from the house but I sobbed the whole way while trying to walk my precious bike home with one arm. The pain was like none other I had experienced, I could feel a lot of throbbing up and down my arm.
I don’t remember why my mom was out of town that weekend but Pops was home to care for us kids. I screamed and cried as he twisted my little arm back and forth while asking, “Does this hurt? How about now?” I spent the rest of the day on the couch watching cartoons with a homemade dishtowel sling around my shoulder.The next day, Pops saw that I was still on the couch in pain and the swelling hadn’t gone down and knew it was time to bite the bullet and call the doctor. This is the part where I explain in Pop’s defense, I was kind of a crybaby back then so there was no way to be sure if this was me crying wolf or not.
We couldn’t go to the regular doctor’s office (I think because it was Sunday) so I made my first trip to a hospital. There, they x-rayed me, called it a broken elbow (who breaks their elbow?), and fitted me with a hot pink cast.Pops felt so terrible during the ride home because I had been hanging out with a broken limb for a day and a half. So, we made a stop at Target where I picked out a being-a-good-sport treat and all was well with the world.