The Leg Bone's Connected to the Hip Bone...

It was the summer of 87 and I was all of 8 years old. I remember that I had just learned how to ride a bike (yeah, a little late in life- what can I say), but didn't have one of my own. Instead, I depended on my good old buddy, Jason, to allow me to mooch bike privileges from him. It was so freeing to ride around with my hair blowing in the breeze. Until the damn thing turned on me.

We were taking turns zooming down Jason's driveway, which was at least a 45 degree angle and I was up. I jumped on the banana seat and was off. Problem was, I didn't make that turn that should have put me into the street and on a straight path of smoothness. Instead, I slammed into the curb of the driveway across the street and flew over the handle bars, landing on the concrete curb. Immediately, my friends ran for my parents, who then came rushing out, picked me up, got us in the car and took off for the hospital. My leg had swollen up to the size of a small Chilean boy and HURT. I mean, HURT, y’all.

Like most hospitals, they gave me a toy when I was admitted to the ER to help take my mind of the swollen-ness and hurt-y-ness of my leg. It was a ragdoll with a green dress and apron that I instantly fell in love with. She’s still tucked away in the attic, safe in my trunk of memories to be shown to the future generations. Like they’ll care, but whatever.

Now, to explain a little more clearly, this wasn’t just any bone that I had broken. Oh, no. It was the femur. Which, for those of you who don’t know, that’s the thigh bone. And it also happens to be the largest one in your body.

I was laid up in traction for the next 6 weeks. A pin was pushed through my left calf, just below the knee and was attached to a pulley with 10lbs of sand suspended from it. This was supposed to straighten the leg and ensure proper healing. I don’t know who came up with the idea of correcting a bone this way, but I hope they didn’t quit their day job. It sucked. Then came the body cast. You know that trend from a few years ago, where people shoved one pant leg way up and let the other hang normally? Picture that. Only 50lbs heavier and itchier. Very much itchier.


Going home was probably the worst part. As much as I missed it, I knew it was going to be down hill from there. My sisters teased me unmercifully, tickling the toes that I couldn’t even reach, moreless protect. Sometimes, I was toted outside to watch the others go swimming in the backyard (Did I mention it was July? H.O.T.). It was torture. But, the most embarassing things were not of any of my sisters’ doings. School registration came up while I was still mending and my mom had to pull me around with her in my little red wagon. On top of that, or maybe I should say under that, I was forced to wear adult diapers. They were the only things that fit over my cast and covered up my nevermind. Wait. What? I didn’t tell you that the cast had a big hole cut in the crotch for bathroom purposes? Well, in that case, I won’t mention how my poor mother had to lay me across the commode in order to take care of business and that by the end of summer, all the toilets in our house were roughed up and the paint was gone from the harsh plaster scraping it. No, I don’t think I want to talk about that.

7 weeks later, it was time to get the thing cut off. Now, if you’ve had a cast removed, you’ll understand what I’m talking about. The nurse comes at you with a circular saw buzzing at about 200 miles and hour and tells you to lay still. Riiiight. They cut and I freaked, but soon it was done and the cast was off. Which exposed the flesh underneath. Which was not pretty. Sometime during the healing process, hairs had sprouted and grown, skin had dried and flaked. Course, I didn’t care at the time. Pronouncing myself well enough to go home, I jumped from the table and immediately dropped to the floor, like an anvil on Wile E. Coyote. Kerthump! The muscles had atrophied and it took months of physical therapy to get it all back in working order. Therapy that could be painful at times and was totally not fun.


But! Every cloud has a silver lining. I got to miss the first month and a half of 3rd grade.


It was sooo worth it.