Help Scout Unscripted: Broken Bones

It was 1995. I was in 7th grade. Hootie & the Blowfish were everywhere, my boot-cut jeans were in full swing, and every social outing seemed to revolve around one place: the mall.

It was early-release day at school, and my friends and I were hanging around waiting for our rides. That’s when I spotted some skater (sk8) boys nearby. In a flash of middle school brilliance, I decided this was my chance to borrow a skateboard and impress everyone.

One of them handed me his board. I climbed on, convinced I was destined for the next X games. Within seconds, I was airborne like a budget version of Tony Hawk. The landing was less “gnarly trick” and more “ankle origami.”

The ambulance ride was a blur of potholes I felt personally, followed by an X-ray experience I can only describe as medieval. Diagnosis: ankle broken in three places, requiring surgery and three shiny new screws to keep for life.

My friends went to the mall without me that day, and I’ve never set foot on a skateboard since, which is probably for the best, because I am not now, nor have I ever been, a skater boy.

Oh yeah, I’ve broken the same arm twice: first at age four then again at ten. The second time they even sent a helicopter for me. I always wanted to fly one, I just didn’t imagine it’d be with a broken arm as my ticket!

The only bone I've ever broken is my thumb when I hit a tree root on my bike and went over the bars as a kid. It was the slowest crash ever.

Yes, I was around six or seven years old and was staying with my grandparents. I fell and couldn’t tell if my arm was broken. My grandpa suggested that if I could do push-ups, it wasn’t broken, so I tried a few. 

I woke up in the middle of the night in terrible pain, so we rushed to the ER. The doctors confirmed that my arm was indeed broken and were more than skeptical that I had managed to do push-ups with it! :D

In 8th grade I broke both wrists at the same time by running into a wall at basketball practice. The pain was second only to the teasing and embarrassment that lasted for weeks in school.

Yup! I broke my arm in second grade while walking on a concrete parking block in the rain. We were right outside the local candy store, so I brushed off my fall because I didn't want to miss out on candy. I didn't go to the doctor until three days later; I was in complete denial. I was happy that I broke my non-dominant hand so I could still write and draw.

A few: Most recently my radial bone snapped clean (but didn't detach) when I blocked a shot from close range while playing football (soccer) in a friendly game, two minutes before the end. Folks who went to the Dublin retreat might remember me and my cast! :)

Before that, I crushed my thumb and cracked my ankle. The most fun was actually a dislocation of a joint that I didn't know existed — sternoclavicular joint — that holds the collarbone attached to the breastbone. I spent six weeks in an old-school Desault bandage (and it also happened while playing football, of course).

Oh boy, have I ever. A car ran into me while I was riding my motorcycle, and I ended up with a compound tibia and fibula fracture. I'd share a photo but don't wanna gross anyone out. 😅

Just one! When I was 13, I was walking home from my best friend's house on a snowy November evening, and I slipped on ice and broke my right tibia. I couldn't walk and was trying to figure out how to get help when the neighbors across the street saw me flailing in the snow. They came out and got me and took me home!

I broke my right wrist running backward in a relay race at school in 6th grade.

OK, so I thought it would look sketchy if I just said "yes, two knuckles, from fighting" and left it at that. 😳😂 While true enough, the actual story is a lot less unsavory than it sounds.

I was eight years old. My mom's sister and her son, my 11-year-old cousin, were visiting from New York. We were out in our backyard, and he was needling me ceaselessly. I was trying to do something I thought was very important, and he kept coming along and messing it up, over and over again. I got mad and yelled something about "next time you do that" at him. So of course he did it again, whereupon I jumped up and started trying to punch him.

As anyone who's a parent (or indeed anyone who's been eight years old) knows, the difference between eight and 11 is pretty vast. He was taller, outweighed me, and, crucial to this story, had taken some judo. So when I tried to punch him, he would just block or evade and then gently flip me over his shoulder onto the ground. 

Well. This, of course, could not stand. 😜

The idea that he wasn't even taking me seriously enough to actually fight made eight-year-old me just furious. So furious, in fact, that I literally hauled off with an old-fashioned "give it everything you've got" roundhouse haymaker. You know, the kind of punch you can see coming a mile away? So my cousin put out his arm to block me and I misjudged it just enough so that I connected squarely...with his elbow.

I'm sure that didn't feel good for him, but for me it broke both pinky and ring-finger knuckles on my right hand. 🤬 I spent the next six weeks in a cast and had to learn to write with my left hand, but it was almost worth it for the withering look my aunt gave him when we came in from the yard looking all sheepish (and me crying). 🤣

Yes, I broke a very little bone attached to a shoulder rotator. I fell hard on a mountain bike when I was 14. I had an MRI 10 years ago, and it is still broken and mostly painless. I've declined any surgical fix.

Nope, but I bruised the bottom of both my feet when I fell into a basement and landed hard on my flat feet.

I'm amazed I didn't break a bone!

Not unless you count chicken wishbones.