Bones I Have BrokenJuly 29, 2009
Someone asked me the other day if I’ve ever broken a bone. I said “no.” But that wasn’t true. I just didn’t want to get into it in any great detail. But as I considered that answer, I realized I’ve broken a hell of a lot of bones. Here’s a list, in chronological order:
- 1986: Right middle finger, right ring finger, tragic typewriter accident. I had to wear a splint on my hand for six weeks. You take your writing hand for granted until you don’t have it any more.
- 1992: Right forearm, right wrist, combat. I was fighting a guy with a piece of lumber in his hands. He was using it like a bat, and I took a couple of good shots to the face before I used my arm to ward off his next blows. My forearm cracked like a piece of kindling. I spent the next few months in a cast. Got arrested, too. The charges were dropped, thankfully. When the cast was removed, my arm looked like a baby’s. Note: Having your right arm in a cast from knuckles to elbow makes a lot of everyday tasks more difficult.
- 1998: Cracked ribs, slam-dancing, Northern Ontario wedding. To Nirvana, no less. Cracked ribs hurt like I can’t explain.
- 2000: The big one, car accident, icy road. I broke both legs below the knee, most of my ribs and cracked my skull. Also, my right foot came off and was bolted back on. This was a bad car wreck, and I’m still recovering all these years later. The foot still doesn’t work. Despite the 16 separate breaks in my legs, the months of physio, the medieval torture device known as a fixator and all that time in a wheelchair, it’s still the ribs that I remember as the most painful. Also the teeth. I broke most of my teeth, too. The car looked better than I did.
- 2004: Ribs again. Guess how? Yes, slam-dancing at a wedding in Northern Ontario. I remember this giant guy flying towards me, and then nothing. I should really stop going to these stupid punk weddings.