I have never broken a bone (knocks on wood), but when I was 8 years old I did fracture my growth plate in my right hand by the ring finger knuckle. This was my first year of public school after being homeschooled for a couple of years and I was enjoying my time at recess. When they blew the whistles and it was time to line up to go back to class, I started running down the hill and on my way down I tripped and fell. As I went to catch myself, my middle finger and ring finger on my right hand basically did the splits, and I felt immediate pain.

When I went to get myself up, I took a look at my hand and my fingers were stuck split apart and I remember feeling scared and just crying out in pain. A teacher took me to the nurse and they called my dad to come and get me, and he ended up taking me to either the hospital or some sort of urgent care that had imaging available.

They took x-rays and brought the doctor in who let me and my dad know that I dislocated my ring finger, and that they needed to put it back into place. My 8 year old self was immediately scared, because something told me I was about to be in pain again. Of course, I was right and they told me that they needed to pull on my finger and move it back where it’s supposed to be, and that they really want to do it in one try to that they don’t have to do it again.

I cooperated mainly because the idea of me flinching or messing it up and having to do it all over again sounded worse than just getting it done in one shot. I did as they said and relaxed to the best of my ability and as I sat there on the table the doctor quickly grabbed my hand, pulled and shifted my finger back where it was supposed to me. In the midst of that I definitely let out a little scream and began to cry again, and immediately asked “do you have to do it again!?”

They told me they’d need another x-ray to know for certain so they started that process. Once they said it was all in place, I was so relieved to find out that I didn’t have to go through that torture again. I remember them telling me and my dad that there was a fracture and I’d have to wear a cast, and that I was excited for, because I’d seen other kids have people sign their casts.

I left with my fingers tapped together with a wrap bandage that they put all the way to my elbow for whatever reason, and a whole ass sling. We had to make a separate appointment elsewhere to go get the hard cast, and once we did that I only had the cast on my hand- it was cut off right by the wrist. I got hot pink because that was what I wanted, and I don’t remember how many weeks I had to wear it for, but I do remember seeing a very colorfully bruised (and kinda smelly) hand once they removed it.

I didn’t have to get recasted or do anything different in life once the cast was removed, other than going back to writing with my dominant hand that was out of commission for a few weeks (bet my teachers loved trying to read my homework during that time). I remembered being told that later in life I could feel aches or pains associated with the fractured growth plate, and this past winter I started having days where it would just throb in the exact area that was injured. It took 20 years, which was likely exacerbated by cell phone and computer mouse usage, but they were definitely right.

I really would rather not do that again or break any bones, which means I probably should be working out more and working on my balance to help me as I continue to age. I just checked the weather right now after writing that and it’s 66 and sunny out, so I think that means it’s time for a walk! I’ll make sure not to run down any hills.