Whoops!

I don't think I have always been clumsy. I'm sure my parents will read this and beg to differ, but I honestly don't remember being so accident prone when I was younger. It all started when I was about fourteen, and after that, it seemed like I landed myself in the emergency room for something new every year after.

In October 2001, I suffered my first major injury: I broke my arm. In half. Go big or go home right? I was at my Dad's union picnic where they had all sorts of fun carnival rides and games, including one they called a "Bungee Run." It's one of those inflatable games, that looks like a giant bowling alley. You strap a bungee cord around your stomach and then you run down the lane, jump up, and let the bungee cord snap you back to the ground. Sounds fun right? Well it totally was! I loved it like the first four times I did it. My whole family thought it was hysterical. Turns out though, the fifth time wasn't quite as fun as it was before...

All I remember is trying to run as fast as I could, so the cord would really whip me back. What I obviously did not take into consideration was that my left arm might twist behind me, causing me to land on top of it, creating a pretty loud *snap*. Huh, that didn't sound right. It's clear that at the point I went into shock, because I don't remember pain, I just remember knowing I needed a medic, and I needed one ASAP. The color must have drained from my face, because the game attendant could clearly see that something was wrong, and I needed help. They chauffeured me to a bench where I waited for the strapping medic to cycle down on his bike. Man was he hot! My fourteen year old self was quite upset at the fact that I was not having a better hair day.The medic decided that since I couldn't move my arm, my shirt needed to be cut off, to better examine what he thought might have been a dislocated shoulder. That's when the tears started rolling. I swear I was totally in control, until he took giant scissors and sliced right down the middle of my favorite San Francisco 49ers shirt. There was no stopping the waterworks then.

After some discussion with my parents, and whatever things needed to be said to make sure I didn't sue the location, I was strapped to a gurney and taken to the hospital in an ambulance. My broken arm was apparently not "life threatening" enough to warrant sirens and lights, so I had to just lay in the back in silence. Booooring. When we arrived at the hospital they wheeled me in, and in typical Emergency Room fashion, they asked me to please get up from the gurney and go sit in the waiting room to be helped. I bet those sirens would have gotten me some VIP service... Lots of X-rays and Vicodin later I was put into my parents car and sent home with my arm secured in a sling, strapped to my chest. My arm had broken in half right under my shoulder, and then my shoulder dropped so the two pieces of the bone were sitting right next to each other. That's the kind of thing you get to go to an orthopedic surgeon for! I woke up in my bed a couple hours later, and that's when the excruciating pain set in. Chocolate milk laced with some Vicodin and I was in and out of consciousness the rest of the night.

Luckily a few days later they were able to get me into surgery, where they had to cut open my arm to push the bones back together and then stick three pins in to hold it in place while it heeled. The pins had to stay in my arm for six weeks or so, where they stuck out from my shoulder, Frankenstein style. So with my new metal hump of a shoulder and a sling I was able to go back to school a week later. I quickly found out that no cast means people not considering it a real injury. This lead to not a single one of my friends offering to be my official back pack carrier. What kind of demented teenager wouldn't want to leave class early and arrive late to their next one? Or at the very least help their supposed bestie... Oh wait, that would be my sucky ass high school friends. They didn't want to "miss anything" in class. Should have dumped them then instead of having to deal with the devastating break up four years later, but eh, that's a whole different story. I survived carrying my own backpack.

The pins were pretty gnarly, and I absolutely refused to look at them while they were sticking out of my arm. They had to be cleaned every few days and I left that up to my Dad, he was pretty stoked on how grotesque it looked. I remember the first time we took the bandage off I was sitting in the bathroom with my eyes shut and head turned the other way, and all the sudden I was noticing flashing lights. "Are you taking pictures?!" "Absolutely", my Dad responded, "This is gross. Gotta show the guys at work." Faaaabulous. Six weeks later I went back to the Doctor where he pulled the pins out, which surprisingly barely hurt at all, and I was left with a weak arm in need of physical therapy, and a pretty sweet scar.

Years later the scar has faded a lot, but it's still there and pretty noticeable. It doesn't bother me at all, except sometimes it stings when it gets cold. That's right, almost Harry Potter status! Jealous? When people notice it, I get all sorts of different reactions. Everyone always wants to know what happened. to which I usually reply, "got knifed, you should see the other guy." Every once and a while people ask me why I don't keep it covered or suggest that I should use make up to make it less apparent. First off, I am not as offended by my scar as you obviously are, and second of all, I can barely get myself together to get makeup on my face every day, there is no way I'm going to sit and paint it on my arm. I'm lazy, remember? Plus the scar adds to my personality and I like it! I can't even remember life without a scarred shoulder...

And why would I want to, life's been pretty sweet since then. Plus I hear after nine emergency room visits, you get the tenth for free!