Cast of Character

It wasn't until years after the incident that my sister told me what my Dad said the day I broke my wrist on the playground at school when I was in fifth grade.

The only photo of me with a cast (bottom row)

"She couldn't just break her wrist. It had to be a compound fracture. And they had to call in a specialist to fix it."

To be fair, I knew he was just blowing off steam. My Dad was genuinely worried about me. And as a parent, I can understand the financial burden it placed on him.

But falling in spectacular fashion was not my intention. And if given a choice, I'd rather not have had a compound fracture. (Or any broken bone, for that matter.)

In fact, considering the doctor didn't use any anesthesia, it's difficult to imagine why the cost of repairing my arm was so much more expensive. But doctors will be doctors, and they have to pay for their Mercedes somehow.

Thinking back, I find it difficult to believe that if I'd broken my arm today I'd be treated with the same "suck it up" attitude I got as a child. I remember vividly that they sent my Mom out of the room and down the hall while they fixed my wrist.  

A compound fracture meant that not only did my wrist break, but the bone separated. The procedure they used to fix the break took advantage of all the advancements in science to that point. 

To wit...the doctor held my elbow, the nurse grabbed my wrist and they yanked in opposite directions until the two parts of the bone shifted. Then they squeezed them together to realign them.

Again, this was done without so much as a bullet to bite on. 

The reason they sent Mom away became apparent very quickly. I screamed. Loudly. Again. And again. 

After the deed was done, Mom returned, looking ashen but relieved that I had not been murdered after all. At that point, Dr. Demento and Nurse Ratched were applying the plaster cast to my arm. It went from the top of my hand to about six inches above my elbow. My arm was out of commission for the next six weeks.

Alas, the accident happened shortly before school let out for the year, so my normal summer-fun activities were severely curtailed. Plus, I had to relearn basic activities like bathing and dressing. And new ones such as how to scratch an itchy, scaly arm in a cast using a drinking straw.

A couple of weeks before I was to have my cast removed, I was playing tag with the neighborhood kids. I whipped around a little too quickly and clocked Donna in the head. Thankfully, there was no lasting damage, but my mother chewed me out vociferously for quite some time – mostly because I had been running around willy-nilly, disobeying her strict orders that I engage only in sedate activities. 

"What if you'd broken that cast? Do you know how expensive it would be to make another trip to the emergency room?

And so, we came full circle. 

Fortunately, the cast was removed on schedule. Aside from having a shrivelly, pale, disgusting appendage for a time, all was well.

Until about a year later, when my younger brother broke his thumb. 

Lucky for him, it wasn't a compound fracture.