February 14, 2001
Broken bones: No humerus situations
By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
There are no lucky breaks when it comes to the humerus bone.
Last Saturday, I received a phone call that my father had slipped on a patch of ice. Unfortunately, the bone between his shoulder and elbow broke the fall. To make matters worse, it is the arm he uses to write, brush his teeth and swing a seven iron.
"So are you doing your own stunts now?" I inquired, subscribing to the theory that laughter makes a better painkiller than Demerol. He half-chuckled like someone in excruciating pain wearing a plaster cast.
As the story goes - and every fracture, bump and bruise has one - it all started with a trip to the post office. While bringing back the mail to my parent's Real Estate office, dad slipped in front of the door. Minutes later he was being rushed to the hospital. His biggest complaint 10 hours later - losing a good turtleneck sweater to the paramedic's scissors.
While I am my father's son in a multitude of ways, including hairlines and sense of humor, I've yet to have my big break. After 30 years of cuts, bruises and concussions, I'm far from anxiously awaiting.
Ever since I took my first few precarious steps, life has been full of brushes with hairline fractures. Luckily, I've been able to walk away - sometimes without crutches.
Starting with my off-road tricycle days, bikes have been an accident waiting to happen. From banana seat single speeds to 21 speed mountain bikes; you name it, I've crashed it. Of course, building a ramp at the end of your driveway doesn't help. I even managed to give myself a gravel road facial after tumbling off a 10 speed - on the way to driver's training class no less.
Most of my accidents have been self-inflicted, like jumping headfirst into a kitchen cabinet door to get down a load of bread. I did get the bread, along with nine stitches in my forehead. Other accidents, like getting a proboscisful of steel shovel, were sibling-induced injuries.
Technically, however, your nose has cartilage, not bones.
While some injuries don't leave scars, they certainly make an impression - in the form of a plaster cast. Tearing tendons in my ankle during football practice at Adrian College left me with two firsts: crutches and a cast. It seemed high schoolish to have people sign the cast, so my roommate drew a picture of Calvin (from Calvin and Hobbes comic strip) as Space Man Spiff.
The novelty of having a cast wore off faster than the scent of magic marker. Unfortunately, sweaty foot odor permeated the dorm room well into spring.
Putting myself in harms way has led to slipped discs, jammed fingers, and the occasional bruised ego. Somehow I've avoided breakage; even my heart when girls wouldn't be my Valentine in fourth-grade.
As we get older, however, the resilience of youth starts to wane. When I take a header off my bike these days I rarely spring up and take a triumphant bow. Instead, I check to make sure my Blue Cross card is in one piece.
I once read that daredevil Evel Knievel broke every major bone in his body at least once- including his humerus. Perhaps I'll mention this in my dad's get-well card. I figure his funny bone could use a good tickling.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com