In the beginning...

Hello to all my fellow blog readers. This is my official first blog because I don't think the ones I posted on MySpace count. They don't count because, 1. MySpace has gone the way of slap-on bracelets and pet rocks, and 2. Those entries will not be graded by my Adv. Comp. instructor. I don't really know what I should blog about but I guess I can start with the telling of my existence. I read somewhere that if you wanted to be a good writer one of the fist things you should do is write stories about yourself. This sounded somewhat coincided but, after I gave it some thought, it does make sense. Childhood stories would be easy to write about and it's a great warm up exercise for the real novel you will be writing. So, I will begin with my leg story.

I was born with a bone disorder called pseudoarthrosis (false joint). The doctors told my parents my leg would eventually break and the best option would be for me to have my leg amputated. Sure enough, on September 11, 1980 my leg broke. I was nine months old. My father had sat me down on the ground (it was also his birthday) and he thought he heard a twig snap. I whimpered a little but wasn't too fussy. My dad told my mom that he thought my leg broke. He was right. My parents did not want the doctors to amputate my foot, (the break was right above my ankle), which is understandable. They wanted to try any other options first. After four years and five operations, my leg finally healed. I had to wear a brace for awhile. My left leg was shorter by almost two inches and my foot was half a size smaller, but it was straight. The doctors said it would bow and break again eventually. I was pain often, and I grew tired of walking after short distances but I kept going. I was used to it, so I didn't realize I developed a terrible limp. I just played like any other kid. I remember getting emerald stud earrings when I was five. Acting very coy, I brushed my hair behind my ear and turned so a boy could see my earrings. Yes, I was flirting at five years old. No, the boy did not notice. Typical. Anyways, I digress. To make this long story somewhat shorter, I will skip ahead to where I am 13. My leg has bowed and the rod the doctors had put in my leg to help keep it straight has been removed because metal rods don't bend. It was quite painful. Two weeks after the rod removal, my leg broke. It was third period. I was in band. I had stood up to buy a reed and I was going to hobble to my purse to get money. I hated using crutches. The band director said not to worry about it. I went to sit back down and I remember my weight being on my good leg. That didn't seem to matter. My first thought was I had somehow wedged my left foot between the slats of my crutch and the wood had twisted and bent up my leg causing it to break. I was momentarily paralyzed. I was afraid to fall back into my chair because I thought I would hurt my leg more. I finally collapsed back and started screaming, "My leg, my leg!"

I'm not making this shorter am I? Okay, it was broke. The next day,they amputated it seven inches below the knee. I had to wear a horrible cast to help "shape" it. Eventually, I was fitted for a prosthesis. Remember when I said I hated using crutches? Well, crutches were like Christmas after trying to wear a fake leg. Eventually I got used to it. Marching band is the best physical therapy you can get. My leg doesn't hurt me any more and I no longer walk like Quasimodo (I'm sure that's spelled wrong). I have phantom pains once in awhile. Right now I can make my toes wiggle. It looks like my leg is breathing when I do that....pretty weird. I do have some problems once in awhile but overall, it is better than my real leg. No one knows its fake unless I tell them, and then sometimes they forget...which I guess is a good compliment.

So that is the story of my leg, more or less. I guess it could be compared to a Greek tragedy...not a butterfly and rainbow ending...but I still came out better in the end. At least for now.