Let's take a trip down memory lane...well it is my memory lane and it isn't so much a trip as it is me rushing head first into a world of pain.
One lunch time when I was around 10 or 11 (the details are a little fuzzy from time to time) we were doing a gymnastics session so we had dragged out the vaulting horse, mats and all that stuff. Some of my more co-ordinated friends were doing some impressive things on the vault and I was watching on, tinged slightly with the green haze of jealousy. (I've mentioned how uncoordinated I am, right?) Anyway, one of my more athletic friends managed to convince me to attempt a tricky vault. There was something about a handstand and round off or something equally as stupid or insane.
So, I stand in line, trying to push away my nerves when my turn rolls around. Taking a deep breath I run at that vaulting horse like it is the only thing in the world. That is the last thing I remember until my friend starts screaming and I realise that I am sitting on the ground with the vault at my back. I grin for a moment until I realise that my friend is screaming the same thing over and over again.
"Your arm, your arm."
At first I thought she'd just become jealous of my mad skills until I realise that, although my right arm is where it should be my left arm definitely isn't. Pretty soon my screams are joining in with my friends as I realise that my left hand is still holding onto the edge of the vault.
After several minutes the teacher on duty wanders over and takes in the scene calmly. She kneels next to me and tells me not to panic and that I've just dislocated my arm and she'll put it back into place. Being so young, I didn't question what she did next. She gripped my wrist and wrenched my arm around. I can't remember exactly what happened next because the pain was pretty intense. I might have called her a rather nasty word but my focus remained on my arm, which now hung limply from the elbow socket place. Every time I moved bolts of agony shot up my arm until I realised that I had to grip my wrist to stop the grating of bone against bone.
My teacher then did what any normal teacher would do. She puts me in a dark room and tells me to calm down. So, picture this, I'm alone, gripping my wrist for dear life, snot and tears mixing as they race down my face. Half an hour goes by and suddenly my mum storms in, takes one look at my arm and promptly realises that it is broken.
My mum rushes me into hospital where I am kept in the waiting room for three hours before being shuffled into surgery. The next day I'm out with two metal pins holding my elbow together along with a massive cast from fingertip to shoulder. Did I mention it was summer as well?
This is just one of many random childhood traumas which goes some way to explaining the way I am. Plus, I'm tired today and didn't have a clue what to write about.
I apologise in advance for bad grammar and spelling.
Hope you are all having a great evening/day/morning