Broken Bones

I was in pain when I was only four. I was playing baseball with my mom, my mom’s boyfriend, and his parents. While I was playing, I wanted to make a solid swing (of course), so I kept backing up in the batter’s box, which is a strategy that gives batters more time until the ball reaches the plate. I kept backing up and backing up and, before I knew it….I fell off a surprisingly short cement wall. I fell backwards onto a cement pavement surface and basically blacked out from the impact.

The next thing I remember is that I was on the ground crying, and my mom picked me up and brought me to the hospital. We waited almost a full hour all together at the emergency department, which for a head injury seemed like an eternity, until, finally, the doctor we saw said that I had broken my right arm. He also said I was going to have to wear a cast for a few months.

When I got back from the hospital, my mom sat me down on a soft chair and put an icepack near my arm/cast so I would feel better. I had to wear a hard bright pink cast. When I was taking baths it wasn’t hard because I would hold the broken arm out of the water. Six years later I coincidentally broke my other arm by falling on ANOTHER cement surface. I had a very similar experience when I broke my arm when I was four. I didn’t have to participate in my Physical Education class at school for 2 months, which I didn’t mind at all though they just had me sit there with no alternative, non-physical activities.  

Perhaps these experiences are responsible for my lack of desire to play sports in high school, for fun, or anywhere else. Psychologically I will always remember what happened and maybe someday I’ll be ready to try again, but NOT TODAY.

Felicia E.