Them’s The Breaks, Part 1: It All Begins in Your Head (1/3)

I was pained yesterday by a spot in my ribs I broke nearly 11 years ago. This started me thinking on a couple of things. Number one is that there is no scientific proof of old fractures being able to “sense” rain, snow, etc. I read this in Reader’s Digest, so you know it’s true. Secondly I started thinking about all the breaks, sprains, etc I’ve experienced in my body. Now, I consider myself a somewhat healthy person, but I realized that my injury list was somewhat long. The following series of posts investigates this issue, giving explanation of how and what I have injured. Boring to some, good stories to others.

Starting somewhat chronologically, I also begin at the top: My Head. My poor noggin has seen more than its fair share of injuries. Beginning in my high-school years I would tell people not to hit me in the head (it’s surprising how many of your “friends” like to whack you upside the head for little or no reason…). I had a clever little saying that I’m sure impressed the ladies, “Don’t hit me in the head, I’m a guy and can’t afford to lose brain cells.” I seriously do worry sometimes about getting dumber as time passes on; forgetting what I once had good grasp on and having a harder and harder time learning anything new. Sure, some of this may be paranoia, but how much of it can be attributed to the following vicious blows to my skull?

The earliest injury to my head that I can remember came by way of a less-than-docile Doberman. I was supposed to be taking a nap in an upstairs bedroom of my grandparents’ house (isn’t that how many a story begins?). I had an overwhelming urge to have to pee, normally not a problem. Unfortunately, this day there was a Doberman tied to the top of the stairs. Why, you may ask, was there a Doberman tied to the top of the stairs? Good question. I have no idea. Apparently it was there for the sole purpose of barring me, like some present day Cerberus, from getting down the stairs to the bathroom. I was a young child, not well versed in my Greek mythology as of yet, and knew not the reputation of the horrendous Cerberus (or the bad rep. of the Doberman…). Instead, being a young lad and seeing a doggie laying in my way, I did what any young child might do: I sat on his back and played horsey, using the dog’s ears as my reins. The last thing I remember is the Doberman wresting the reins from my hands and turning around with all 8,000 of its teeth showing.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the couch downstairs with my mother (a nurse) bandaging a wound on my forehead. Alas, I do not remember if I ever made it to the bathroom, but I don’t remember wetting myself, so chances are I made it past that worthy guardian and won the day only taking a flesh wound. Is that a brave little kid or what?

This went on longer than I expected, so I’ll separate the head stories. Next time: Go South, Young Man, When The Evil Go North

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