I’ve made reference to my leg and it’s tumour before, but I haven’t yet told you the full story (I don’t think…I’d better just do a quick search…ok, I haven’t told the story before). So here it goes:
I was 16 years old. It was April 21st. Yes, 2 years later, that would be the very date that Aaron and I started going out. We were having a talent show at (yes, that same 4-H that Homer Simpson makes fun of in an episode of the Simpson’s). I was going to play a few songs with . I was the guitarist for the evening. Mind you, I wasn’t very good. I’d only had my guitar for 4 months at that stage.
Hopped up on sugar, I was standing near my friend, who was sitting down, trying to get her to roughhouse with me. I leaned in and pushed her shoulder. She pushed me back. I bent over a little bit and shoulder barged her. We giggled. She pushed me away gently with her foot, barely touching my shin with her shoe. CRACK!
The colour drained from my face instantly. My eyes bulged out of my head as my mouth went from a smile to stunned mullet gasping. I froze right where I was. excruciating pain like I’d never felt before crippled my leg.
“Are you ok?” My friend asked me. “What’s wrong?”
“My leg.” I somehow managed to croak out. Maybe I was over reacting or being a total wuss. I shifted some weight from my right leg back to my left. Oh. My. Gosh.
No, there was no way I could even stand on it. I somehow got to a chair. Or maybe one was brought to me. I can’t even remember, my mind kind of went foggy with pain. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I knew my leg was broken. I heard the horrible crack it made as it broke. I felt the horrible pain – was still feeling the horrible pain. But my friend barely touched my leg. How could it be broken? It didn’t make any sense.
“Mom, there’s something wrong with my leg.” I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t a crier. Never have been. Except now if I see something sad about kids. Gets me every time. That’s what motherhood does I suppose.
My studied me for a couple of seconds, attempting to determine if I was truly hurt or just being wussy “Just sit down for a while and see how you go.” She told me. Or something like that. It was a long time ago.
The talent show started. People did stuff. I couldn’t tell you who did what or even how many people performed. I was too busy sitting in my chair trying not to think about the pain, willing my leg to not be broken.
“Your turn!” Someone said. The rest of the band was already ready.
“Um…I can’t walk.” They still thought I was being wussy or making the whole thing up, so they humoured me and carried me to the stage in my chair. Instead of rocking out, I played Louie, Louie like an old lady, sitting in my chair, wincing as I played. I don’t even know how I got through it, but I did. I don’t even think I messed up.
A couple hours later, it was all finished. My leg wasn’t any better. If anything, the pain was worse. Trying to put even a tiny bit of weight on it sent searing pain through my body. The throbbing was terrible.
“Alright, I’ll take you to the after hours doctor.” My mom told me. It was in the next town. I held onto two people’s shoulders and hopped my way down to the truck. Or maybe they carried me. I’m not sure. Haze of pain, remember?
We drove 15 minutes to the next town, only to find the after hours doctor was closed. Sigh.
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” My Mom asked me.
“No, I need to see someone now.”
“Ok, I guess I’ll have to take you to the ER then.”
We drove 15 minutes back to our town. The hospital was on the other side of the railroad tracks. Oh. My. Gosh. My leg jarred as we drove over the tracks, nearly putting me in tears. Pretty much the only thing I remember about that car ride is going over the railroad tracks. It was bad.
I took hold of my Mom’s elbow and hopped my way into the E.R. where I was given a wheelchair to sit on. I have no idea how long I was waiting for, but after a while, someone came over to where I was sitting and started asking questions.
“Where does it hurt?” She asked me.
“There.” I pointed to the spot just below my knee.
“And how did it happen?”
“I was roughhousing with my friend, and she pushed me with her foot. But not very hard.”
“On a scale of 1-10, 1 being no pain, 10 being excruciating, how much does it hurt.”
“10.” Actually, I probably tried to be hard core and said something like 7. Or maybe I was just getting used to the pain by then.
“Well, no one really breaks their leg right under their knee, that is the strongest part of your tibia, if it was broken, it would be at the thinnest part. So how about you just go home and try to walk on it, and see how you go in the morning?”
“No. You need to x-ray it. I’m not leaving.” Seriously, I was not leaving until they checked it out. Even if I had to be a little feisty in the process.
She must have seen the determination in my eyes as she took me for an x-ray straight away, then wheeled me into a consultation room.
When she returned, she was not alone. There were a couple of other doctors with her. The look on their faces said it all. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
This is getting rather long now, so I guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happend next.
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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson