The Broken Arm

I broke my left arm in my junior year of high school. It was during spring break. The worst part of this story is that I was going to Argo daily during the week off to get my time in behind the wheel so that I could obtain my blue slip, with Mr. Parisi. I broke my arm on a Thursday, meaning I only had one more day to go. Because I didn’t complete that last day (and because Mr. Parisi would not let me drive with my arm in a cast) I had to start the whole process over.

It was a rainy morning that day. I got on my ten speed as per usual and biked my ass over to Argo just like I had every other morning that week. I got there and met Mr. Parisi, Mark McBroom and some girl whose name I cannot for the life of me remember and we all piled into the 1986 Pontiac Grand Am that was on lease to Argo for drivers’ education training.

As we usually did we started the morning off running errands for Mr. Parisi. He had to drop off something at Stagg, and then he had to go to the bank. It was a typical morning even if it was a tad wet out due to the light rainfall. We started real early in the morning (At least early for my teenaged ass) and usually ended around 12:30 or 1:00.

My brother was also on spring break so, I would usually bike home to our house on Sholer Avenue to see if he wanted anything for lunch and then bike wherever to grab some food. Our options were limited as there were not a whole lot of places close enough to our house to bike to and back from with some grub. The closest place was the McDonalds on 79^th

When I got home my brother and I agreed that since it was raining we would just go to the Mickey D’s. I got his order and away I went. It was about 6 blocks from my house to the McDonalds. I had a system where I would ride my bike along the back end of the parking lot by the drive through and then swing around and park my bike by the entrance. Why I did this, I have no idea but that nonsensical route was about to play a major role in my life.

As I said, on that particular morning the ground was wet from the light drizzle that had been on and off throughout the day. I as usual was fearless on my bike. I got to America’s favorite fast food establishment and drove around the back like usual. However I was riding at a pretty good speed not taking into effect that the ground was slippery. I hit a patch of oil and water and lost control of my bike.

I started to skid out of control. I didn’t want to fall but it was of no use. An Illinois Bell Phone truck was basically my stopping point. I put out my left arm to brace my fall. After my spill I got up and started doing the typical arm shake. My arm really hurt but, I didn’t want to admit I had really hurt it. (I am still the same way. I will do everything in my power to avoid admitting I am sick or hurt. I hate being out of commission and will try to deny for as long as I can.)

So with my arm throbbing, I went in and placed my order. I went to reach for the change with my left arm and a pain shot up my arm and into my brain, and I let out a rather loud and startling bellow like I had been shot that scarred the poor girl that had rang me up. It was at this point that I knew something was terribly wrong.

Still I was a trooper. I grabbed the food and somehow was able to ride a bike with a fractured arm and bag of Big Mac’s and fries. I got home and ate my fast food all the while in agony over my limb. I knew it was inevitable that something was wrong. Without any other options I had no choice but to call my Mom at work and tell her that I think I need to go to the emergency room. She got home and off we went to the doc in the box that used to be in Justice right off 88^th Ave. (I’m not sure if that place is still there or not.) There a Doctor took some x-rays and sure enough they reviled not a full break but a fracture. I was going to have to be in a sling for three weeks. (Thank god it was my left arm or my sex life would have been ruined.)

The next day, I still biked to Argo hoping that Mr. Parisi would still let me do my driving. I reasoned that since I had biked there with one arm, I could certainly drive a car with one as well. He wasn’t buying what I was selling and because of that it I would have to wait until I was a senior before I ever got my license. (Which sucked, because I was having a hard enough time meeting girls. Try being a senior with no wheels and my looks and see how far that gets you.)

For three weeks I sat around hearing endless sophomoric jokes from Argo’s finest, all with their own sexual deviant theories about just how I had broken my arm. Anyone who has ever broken an arm at that age can tell you the drawbacks. Cutting food becomes a tedious exercise. Taking a shower became a pain in the ass as I could not get my cast wet so, I had to take one with my arm in a plastic bag. Washing your hair with one hand is a real pain in the ass.

I could not wait to get that cast off. All my friends were playing softball with the St. Fabians teen club (that teen club is a whole other blog) as I sat there watching on the sidelines. It was killing me. So, I went back to the doc in a box and he removed the cast and x-rayed it again. He told me I was okay to be out of the cast but to take it easy. My arm slowly had to re-gain strength and I was going to have to do strength exercises.

So what I did I do with his advice? I ignored it and played softball that afternoon at St. Fabians. The whole time I knew it was wrong. But, I was sixteen and logic has no place in the mind of a sixteen year old. I was bullet proof. I ignored the pain when I swung the bat. The result is that to this day my arm is still screwed up. I still feel it when it whenever the barometric pressure drops. It is like a reminder of what an idiot I was when I was young. My only recourse is that I know that everyone makes stupid decisions like that when they are that age and I was no different.