“I broke my arm”! “I broke my arm”! I hollered loudly as I ran into the house. We were living at the White House near Morton at the time. My brother Bob liked to carry me on his back and act like a horse or something. This was ok usually but then it happened. He ran under Mother Bess’ tightly stretched clothes lines. He got under the line just fine but my head and neck was above his head but also above the level of the clothes line. Guess what!
I ran into the house and was crying loudly when my sweet mother came and gently wrapped a clean diaper around the wrist and made a sling out of another clean diaper. I was able to make it to the couch and lay my head on a pillow and my sore, swelling wrist on a smaller pillow across my chest. Mother did not think the wrist was broken and therefore did not take me to a doctor.
The wrist slowly got better and within about three weeks I was back to using the insured extremity. I believe that was the last time I got on Bob’s back to take a ride. In fact it scared Bob so much that he did not offer any further rides.
How did I know it was broken? I really did not know but as I have aged, my knowledge of these events has enlightened me somewhat. It has explained to me that the babying that I received after this injury was well deserved and not just being a crybaby.
In my future career as an orthopedic surgeon, I had the opportunity to examine and x-ray numerous extremities with the same symptoms as I had that day. Almost all of these kiddos had fractures of the distal radius (wrist bone). These children had the advantage of plaster of Paris splints to stop the motion and relieve most of the pain.
It was rough growing up in Cochran County in the early and mid 30s.