Sunday, March 27, 2011
I was rushed to the hospital when…
We were living in the old green house on Ridge Street. I think I was four or five years old. I was a wee lass, that’s for sure. I was wearing these enormous socks that were pulled up to my knees and still hanging off of my toes. I think they were Steven’s socks. I have no idea why I was wearing them, but it was a very bad idea. I went running down the basement stairs (also a very bad idea) and the loose, floppy tails of one of those socks caught on a nail that was sticking out of a stair. It caught me. It pulled my foot back. And down I went, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. Pretty sure I lost the sock.
Now here’s where the story gets a little fuzzy. Steven has insisted for years that he was there at the bottom of the steps and caught me. I am almost sure that I remember crashing into the cement wall. Whatever happened, I was in a lot of pain. I don’t think I could move. I do remember that Steven carried me (maybe upstairs).
Mom and Dad rushed me to the hospital. I distinctly remember Mom putting me into the car, because every way she moved me, I cried from the pain! When we arrived at the Emergency Room, they put me in a wheelchair, which gave some relief because I didn’t have the jarring from walking; however, sitting upright hurt worse than lying down. And then, of course, they took x-rays. Have you ever had x-rays taken? Not a big deal, really, unless you have a broken bone. Every position they moved me to seemed to hurt worse than the last.
I had a broken clavicle. That’s a collar bone, for those of you who don’t know. I had to wear a brace for I-don’t-remember-how-long, and I was absolutely miserable. Looking back, Mom must have been just as miserable as me, because about the only position that wasn’t excruciating for me was for her to hold me to her chest with my arms around her neck.
That’s the only time I’ve been rushed to the hospital. It was also, coincidentally, the only time I wore socks that were too big and falling off my feet.
All my love,