taking stock

When I was a young one, the majority of the young-one injuries I sustained were silly cuts and bruises from playing hockey in the basement(!) with my sister, or getting caught up in the rose bush while sliding into "home plate" in the backyard. And that one time, I twisted my ankle falling from about halfway up to the top bunk. But I never broke any bones as a child, which honestly kind of bummed me out. In a sick sort of way, I was jealous of my friends with their casts to sign, and my sister, with her physical therapy appointments following her shoulder dislocation.

Jealous no more. In the past two years or so, here in my Second Childhood, I've seriously injured myself more times than I did in my First Childhood, which, if I had to quantify it, was a good six or seven times as long as this one has been. And I'm developing the little physical signs that write the narrative of my life, or at least the injurious parts thereof. A quick inventory:

- The little creak in my jaw when I chew sometimes.

A reminder of October 2003, when I fell face-first from my bike, going seriously about 4 miles an hour, and broke my jaw on either side. The tedious six hours in the emergency room was a great deal more painful in nature than the injury itself. They didn't believe me when I said it was broken; I clamped down with my teeth on the little popsicle stick thing and held it in place when they tugged at it, and that, they explained, meant it probably couldn't be broken. They did x-rays anyway, JUST IN CASE, and it turned out it was hairline fractured on either side. I didn't eat anything solid for many weeks, and in exchange I didn't have to get it wired up. It all worked out.

- The recurring pain in my right wrist.

A reminder of the spring of 2004, when, on same bike (no longer in service, thank goodness), I was accelerating up Pearl Street, my chain jumped gears and I went down on my right side. I guess I sprained it but didn't realize it at the time, but a few days later it began to hurt a bit, and it didn't help that this was at the point in history when I was just starting to play drums. Other features of this accident: The big scars on my right shoulder and right elbow.

- The weird shape of my pinky finger.

I know this just happened, and it's not even fully healed yet, but the segment of my right pinky between the knuckle where it meets the hand and the knuckle that's sort of in the middle of the finger is kind of concave anymore. I'm hoping that's not a problem in the future. Time will tell.

Runners-up in this contest include:

- The gaps in my teeth on either side of my mouth.

This actually occured freshman year of college, not within the last two years. There are two tooth-spots where I don't have adult teeth, and my baby teeth were still hangin out there when I was 18, and we all knew it would become a problem eventually. It became a problem in mid-April, actually the same day I bought my green Doc Martens at Bovvers and Q and Not U and El Guapo played in Shawn Brackbill's basement on Parkview, and the day before I was to leave for some protest in D.C. Probably for the better, considering what happened the next fall when I actually DID manage to get to D.C. for some protest . . .

- The scars all about my hands and arms.

Mostly from playing drums with great intensity and little formal training, and one from operating the hot glue gun at the arts festival.