But when you are 10, there is all that "pain" to deal with. I am not talking about just the normal pain of a broken bone. There is the pain of missing school. There is the pain of missing your friends. There is the pain of missing birthday parties, play-dates and overnights. Oh my. And when you are 10, it is so difficult to imagine you will heal and be back to normal soon.
It seems learning to use crutches is more difficult than I thought. It requires a bit of preplanning one's moves, body coordination, and a lot of grit, at least till you get the hang of it. Personal hygiene is a real challenge as are normal trips to the bathroom. All in all, a broken leg is no fun at all......
Grannie (me) arrived on the scene two days ago, not loaded with gifts, but with stories! I am calling them "Tales from The Broken Bone Club." They include stories about his grandfather's football break, a nasty broken clavicle which was treated (in the old days) with a cast from waist to neck, his uncle's knack for breaking his left arm every other year during grade school, usually after falling off a bicycle, or taking a nasty dive from school yard play equipment, and, his great-grandfather's "Lucky Break."
Of all my tales, great-grandfather's "Lucky Break" story is by far the most interesting and resonated most with this newest member of "The Club." It is family history and I told the story to my grandson, much as it was told to me.
His great-grandfather, Poppa Harvey, was a sailor in WWII and spent several years on the East Coast of the US patrolling coastal areas for off-shore German activity. Later he was transferred to the Pacific and was in training in Hawaii to land LST craft, unloading soldiers to overtake Pacific Islands from the Japanese. While at practice in Honolulu harbor, one of those extremely large and thick ropes tying the ship to the shore, snapped catching great-grandpa in the leg, throwing him into the air and shattering the bones in his left leg.
Not a clean break like his great-grandson's, Poppa Harvey spent almost a year at a US Naval hospital in Honolulu enduring several surgeries while doctors did their best to save his leg. As the leg healed, he asked to be sent closer to home, which for him was Chicago. Whoever was assigned to make that transfer was apparently unfamiliar with US geography and he was sent instead to Corvallis, Oregon to further recover....nowhere near Chicago.
While healing in Corvallis, a Chicago cousin of his called a family member living in Portland, Oregon, telling her about the injured sailor at Camp Adair in Corvallis. He was promptly invited to her Portland home for a visit. While visiting, he met her attractive daughter, who was home from college on vacation. And, as fate would have it, he fell in love! The rest was history! Not only did he fall in love with his wife to-be, he fell in love with Oregon! He remained in Oregon for the rest of his life, and forever walked with a bit of a limp. Thanks to this "Lucky Break" his life was dramatically changed.
My Mother's family always remembered their first meetings with him, wearing a huge cast on his leg, and walking with crutches! He was our first member of the "Broken Bone Club."
In sharing my tales of broken bones with my grandson, I hope to ease a bit of his pain, and I hope to let him know that bones break, people heal, and sometimes, like with his Poppa Harvey, their lives can be completely changed as a result!
A speedy recovery to you dear Ian!
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| Here's hoping this is the end for the "Broken Bone Club" |
