I was 12 when I broke my first appendage. Most children would be grateful and behaved if their parents brought them on an annual vacations to paradise. Karma is a bitch. Growing up, our family went to Puerto Rico every Thanksgiving. We would forgo the turkey and fixin’s and replace them with Domino’s Pizza or mofungo. I have a lot of great memories of that island, and only a couple not-so-great ones.
It was just another day at the pool, 88 degrees and sunny. There was a light breeze and the water was more cold than refreshing for my taste. All the retired snow birds, with their thick NY/NJ accents, were basking in the sun, adding another layer of leather to their already tanned hides. My brother and I were the fairest of them all. Literally. Before 100SPF sun block, there was zinc oxide. My mother would apply it to our faces like we were some bizarre tribe of pale people. Not my sister though. She was blessed with my father’s skin. Every year she looked native within two days of being in P.R., and little Puerto Rican children would approach her and speak to her in Spanish.
Bingo would be starting up in an hour or so. Oh how I loved Bingo. One dollar got you a card and a chance to win money or bottles of rum (which my parents were hoping for). And the money pot was big, especially for a 12 year old. It would range from $20 to $150 or more! Every year either my sister or I would win at least 2 times in a week and really piss off the “residents” who lived there for months out of the year, playing every day, rain or shine.
As I was basking in the shade, listening to Midnight Oil on my Walkman, my brother came up and ripped my towel out from under me. Oh heck no. He started to fast-walk away from me and I was right on his tail. This is the point in the story where I must remind you of the #1 rule at any swimming pool. NO RUNNING! My brother burst into a full sprint and was still right behind him. He ran down the steps of the entrance covered in that green indoor-outdoor carpeting. I was right behind him. Sort of. I missed a step and fell down five, landing upside-down and backwards against the thick iron gate that keeps trespassers out after hours.
Ouch, my whole body hurt. I stood up and realized I could not lift up my left arm. My hand was just dangling down there with no hope of lifting it even to waist height. My brother was gone, off hiding somewhere, knowing he would either receive the wrath of me, or one of our parents for (1) Running at the pool, and (2) Breaking his sister’s wrist. OK, he didn’t break my wrist, but that was the way I saw it at the time. I panicked. I ran to the elevator to go up to our room on the 8th floor, where my mom had gone to get more zinc oxide. When I say ran, it was more like a gorilla run, swinging both arms side to side below my knees, and moaning from the pain I was in. Yep, can’t say we didn’t evolve from the apes.
When I got up to our room, I rang the bell, and no Mom. A housekeeping woman saw me, ran over, and unlocked the door for me. I went inside, no Mom. We must have passed each other on the different elevators without me knowing. “¿Esta bien?” the woman asked me, trying to calm me down as best as she could. “¡NO! No estoy bien. Estoy mal, really really mal!” I moan, as I gorilla run back to the elevator bank. I finally find my mom, back at the pool, sitting next to my brother, who is crying. She sees me from the other side and gets up and doesn't run to me.
My parents were hesitant to take me to a Puerto Rican hospital. Please keep in mind, it was the 80’s and the ‘Rico was not as progressive as it is today. Fortunately Angel and Puppy, the lifeguards at the pool, were trained in first aid. Yes, that is what I needed, first aid. Who needs a hospital and x-rays when you have 2 fully capable lifeguards? They ace bandaged my wrist and gave me a handkerchief sling and send me on my way. We were leaving for home the next day, and my parents thought it would be better to wait until we got back to the States before we went to the hospital.
Turned out, our flights were delayed, and it took us an extra day to get home. Do you have any idea how much turbulence on a plane can hurt a person? I didn’t until SJU to JFK, then JFK to SYR. By the time I got to an emergency room, it was 3 days post injury. The Dr. said I was “lucky” that they didn’t have to reset the bone. Lucky? Hmph.
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