I don’t have a lot of memories from first grade, but I do remember breaking my ankle at the end of that school year.
Some friends and I were playing on a swing set that included a two person glider. For some reason I put my right foot down as the glider came back, making my foot twist backwards at a painful angle. I hobbled home and my mom, a nurse, looked at the swelling, wasn’t too concerned, and had me put some ice on it.
I went to school the next day and hobbled around as the pain got worse and worse. When I got home, it was more swollen than the day before, so my mom took me to the doctor. This was 1964, so the family doctor was your one stop shop for medical care. The doctor took an x-ray, saw the fracture, and wrapped my ankle up in a heavy plaster cast. For the next four weeks, I hopped around school on crutches as the ankle healed.
Finally, the four weeks were up, and it was time to remove the cast. The doctor used a special circular saw designed to cut only the cast and not the skin beneath. Once he took it off, I remember my right leg floated up as if it were weightless. But just for a moment. Then I was back to normal, assured that an ankle with a healed fracture was stronger than one without.
I found one picture from my dad’s old slides of me in the cast. Looks like I’m having a good time!
Waite for it... 