Breaking bones

Breaking bones, is a excruciating encounter for anybody, even the most resilient individual will have to shed a tear, and I have shed more than most, being less resilient than others. I guess having hurt different parts of my body in every year of secondary school, is an achievement, a feat to beat. In year 7, I almost fractured my wrist through a crucial 90-minute diving save. I won the team 3 points, but I suffered the repercussions afterwards. In year 8, I hurt my elbow, by inadvertently  hitting myself with the bat in a rounders game. Yep, I thought I was dying…turns out i just squashed some muscles. In year 9, I twisted my knee, during a basketball game, by trying to trick my opponents. Turns out I’m no Kobe Bryant. 

Then In year 10, during a P.E lesson, our usual teacher was absent, so we were forced into a monstrous lesson of Zumba. Now, I loathe Zumba, I think it’s pointless beyond oblivion. So when this supply teacher, starting thrusting her but everywhere , and squatting vigorously, I half-heartedly followed. And to top this, we hadn’t warmed up, which I find crucial, we could have all broken several legs, and pulled muscles. Which is what had to happen in the end, I guess.

God forbid.

God forbid.

To this day, I don’t quite know what happened, I vaguely remember not doing anything, because I was annoyed that we were doing Zumba in the first place. I then turned, and felt my entire knee- yes, let me repeat that- my entire knee, turn with me, in a agonisingly distressful manner, and ended up in an awful crying heap, on the dance floor. The supply teacher was confused, as to why this girl had just fallen crying to the floor, pulling at my knee, which was only making matters worse. Until somebody called the head of P.E, I stayed in that exact position.

He laughed at me, and asked me if I had danced a little too much, to which I snapped, no because I hadn’t been doing anything. He then lectured me on how concerned he was with my skeletal system, because apparently nobody’s bone’s just twist on there own accord like that. When I refused to get to my feet, he pulled me up, and put my injured leg on a chair.

When I got home later on that day, I didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell anyone anything, because in the past when I ‘d been hurt, my gran had forced me to take the entire week off, something I couldn’t afford to do at the moment. Something, I didn’t quite want to do. Think something along the lines, of cabin fever.

Next year, I sincerely do hope that this pattern doesn’t continue, because it bloody well hurts breaking things. I think I know the way to Newham General- which is a hospital- off by heart. 

Good luck to me, I guess.

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