I was in 2nd grade when Aaron Gregory walked into class one Monday morning with a cast on his arm. Everyone gathered around touching and signing it. After watching this go on it became clear to me that I needed a cast.
My plan was to break my arm and become the 2nd grade celebrity I deserved to be. That night I hopped on my bike and raced for the huge oak tree in the front yard. I flew head first into the tree. After picking myself up, it was clear my head hurt more than my arm. I had always heard of hitting your head as “having your bell rung” but they don’t tell you it’s like the bells of Notre Dame taking residence in your head. Mom found me wobbling around the yard in circles, scaring our neighbors. She threw me in the car and headed for the emergency room.
I was having visions of the crowds gathered around me at school the next day fighting to sign my cast. Perhaps the visions could have been caused by my concussion though.
X-rays were negative for a break in my arm. I needed a better plan.
A week after recovering from that accident, I tried again. My dad had taken his precious El-Camino out for a joyride, so the carport was empty and full of bone-breaking potential. I started at the street and rode as fast as I could towards the carport. It had four metal beams holding it up. My plan was to ride as close as possible to one and stick out my arm while riding by. I hadn’t really planned on being thrown off the bike backwards once my arm whacked the beam. Poor planning on my part, but my arm looked really messed up this time. I had finally done it.
Another trip to the emergency room… another effort to obtain a cast gone to waste.
I tried to break my arm two more times. The last trip we made to the emergency room, my mom met with the doctor out in the hall.
“Chanin’s teacher tells me that she thinks Chanin is jealous of a boy in her class. He broke his arm and has had a cast for a month. Can you please help me put a stop to this insanity?” she asked him.
The doctor came in the room and told me I had a horrific sprain that would require me to wear an Ace bandage. I couldn’t wait to rub my super cool bandage in Aaron’s face. No one could sign it but at least it could be removed when my arm got itchy.
Looking back now, I feel pretty horrible. As an adult, I realize the costs associated with all my trips to the emergency room. If I had a child that pulled something like this, she would be forever locked in the attic or sold on ebay. I am the reason I chose not to procreate.
You can read more from Chanin Bissinger on her blog.