Now if this was all that happened to me in my life then I would have very little to complain about and I would probably be arranging to climb Kilimanjaro this summer! Unfortunately though I seem prone to injury which all began from the age of around 5 years old when I was learning to ride a bike, put the brakes on and did a front flip over the handle bars and face planted the ground.
Unfortunately I grew up with an older brother who used to find enjoyment out of telling me I was the 'unwanted child' or that I had been adopted. He would also tell me to do things which when I was too young to know the difference from right and wrong.. I would do them, and Chris would miraculously disappear and I would be left getting an earful from my mum whilst I cried my eyes out, confused about why Chris had told me to do something I shouldn't.
Anyway as I got older I also thought I was getting a little wiser. After having a fight with Chris resulting in him pushing me on to the floor and stubbing my thumb - I saw this as a golden opportunity to exaggerate my injury with the hope of making him feel terrible! This was my first 'accident' trip to the hospital where I came away with a metal splint around my thumb. Proud of my trophy war wound I was intent on making Chris feel guilty for as long as possible and I had no problems showing it off to everyone at school letting them know what a mean and horrible brother I had.
It is only now through writing this that I realise that perhaps all of my actual injuries since this time are karma for exaggerating my thumb injury... :-/ woops!
Knees and Chin
This is where the injuries began. At the age of about 7 I decided it would be a good idea to show off on my rollerblades in front of a boy I fancied by holding on to the back of a truck whilst it drove around the compound I lived on in Saudi Arabia. (I never told my parent's this part of the story as I realise it was a very stupid thing to do and didn't need them to also tell me so... now I just have to pray they never read this blog!!) Unfortunately the compound was also covered in speed bumps which I hadn't considered when first grabbing on to the truck, so travelling at around 15 mph I hit this speed bump, shot up in the air and came crashing back down - still attempting to hold on, I was now being dragged behind the back of the truck with the skin being taken completely off my knees. Realising I had no option now but to let go completely, I did... and my face ploughed the ground. The boy I fancied now came running over to me lying in the middle of the road, looking extremely helpless and asked if I was ok. I jumped up, brushed off my knees, smiled and said I was fine. With blood now pouring down my legs I made my excuses and hobbled home. Once the boy was out of sight I burst into tears and couldn't believe I'd destroyed my knees. Back at home it was then clear that my knees were the least of my worries as my chin had been split open and hospital trip number 2 was on the cards so that I could be stitched back together again.
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| my 30 second sketch of the incident! |
Wrist
This is probably the most gruesome of stories to tell. This was about 2 years later - we had left Jeddah and were now living on the other side of Saudi in a city called Dammam. A friend and I had been planning for me to go and stay at her house for several weeks so when the day finally came we were both extremely excited and desperate to have a lot of fun. We got back to Albha's house once school had finished and decided to go rollerblading. As you may have gathered by now this was my all time favourite hobby. So off we went... and we discovered a half pipe. Now when I was younger I definitely had the mentality that I could do anything and no harm would come to me... boy did that half pipe prove me wrong! I remember being on top of it and building up the courage to go down it.. then the next thing I remember was my face being pushed into the cold concrete floor, a very blurry vision and the distant cry of Albha in the background shouting 'help, my friend is dead, help!'
The impact had knocked me out and as I came round my first instinct was to stand up - after all I needed to let my friend know that I wasn't in fact dead, or I at least hoped I wasn't. As I went to stand up I put my arms out in front of me to push myself up. As I did this, the pain that went through my arm was like nothing I had experienced before and it is literally impossible to capture in words. Looking down at my wrist I could see my bone sticking out through the skin.
Before I knew it there was a woman running towards me down the street. I told her I was fine but that I'd broken my wrist. She asked if I was sure.. 'definitely' I said. As she got nearer she went from questioning whether my wrist was broken to arranging for me to get to hospital. Remember in Saudi women can't drive and this was at a time when all the men were still at work so there were a lot of women running around the compound desperately trying to find a man who could drive me. By this point I was lying on a sofa with blood soaked tea towels wrapped around my arm.
Eventually a man was found and rather than sending me straight to hospital everyone seemed to think it was a great idea to send me home first?! Now it is probably worth mentioning those speed bumps on the compound which came back to haunt me on this day. Going over speed bumps with a broken wrist is one of the most excruciating pains I have ever experienced in my life as my bones moved around and protruded further and further out of my skin. So finally I'm handed over to my dad - and up until this point I had been a brave little girl - more concerned about my mate worrying I was dead than the fact that I had broken my arm... but as soon as I saw my dad the tears started flowing! And the first thing he said to me was 'are you sure it is broken?' Again it only took me to lift up the now dripping with blood tea towel to reveal the bone hanging out my wrist for us to suddenly be half way towards the hospital.
I think it is only possible that the Arabs would decide it would be a great idea to have to climb up 50 steps to reach the entrance to the hospital - so imagine my dad carrying me, running up these steps in 35 degrees heat, having not eaten or drunk, coming straight from football practice and already feeling light-headed from the sight of my mangled hand.
The doctors realised straight away that my arm was bad so I was sent straight to the x-ray room and shoved with a Philippino nurse who I have no doubt never actually received a nursing qualification. My arm was placed on the x-ray table - it was clearly out of line, it had grown a few inches, there was blood everywhere and it soon became clear that the only thing holding my hand to my arm was skin and fat. With all this in mind the Philippino nurse walked up to my arm, picked up my hand and plonked it on its side. The result being I screamed the whole hospital down as my hand moved and the rest of my arm stayed in exactly the same position. She tutted to herself, pushed my hand back down, grabbed my arm and plonked that on its side. By this point not only had I hit the roof but my dad had too. She had twisted my arm on its side and obviously this time my hand had stayed flat on the table. The concept that my wrist was completely broken with nothing holding my hand to my arm seemed to completely pass this nurse by. In the end it took several people to get my arm and hand on its side, my dad had fainted and my mum was running up and down the corridors in despair that two of her loved ones were in trouble and chris was sat helplessly on a chair with no clue what to do!
It took an operation and 2 metal pins holding my bones together to fix my arm as well as a cast which I had on for 10 weeks. After this I had to have the wires pulled out of my arm under local general anaesthetic by a trainee doctor which my parents promised wouldn't hurt. I can assure you however that this experience was more painful than actually breaking my wrist but this is another story all together that I will not bore you with.
Knuckles
Once back in the UK and probably around 14 years old I once again found myself on rollerblades playing street hockey. A friend behind me 'accidentally' tripped me up and i went flying. Another friend then accidentally (i hope) rollerbladed over my fingers with the result of my knuckles being bare to the world as all the skin had been ripped off. Barely able to move my fingers I went in to my house where my mum looked at my hand and straight away suggested another trip to hospital. However, after my last experience I put my foot down and refused point blank. There was no way I was going back to a hospital. So mum spent the next hour bathing my hand, tweezing out all the grit and bandaged it all up for me. The next few days were extremely painful.
Not long after this final event the rollerblades went into a drawer in the garage, where I imagine they still are today, covered in cobwebs, dreaming of the days they saw sunlight. Here ends the injuries related to rollerblades and rather than ending my injuries all together they have continued but through other means...
To be continued...
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