December 21, 1983

Twenty-five years ago, during a Christmas caroling outing with members of Hope Lutheran in Milton where my dad was pastor, I ran into the street in front of a blue Chevy pick-up. But let me back up. I remember it was a Wednesday. We had had school that day, but not the next day, so it was the first night of Christmas vacation. My friend Angie was spending the night. I had a piano lesson, and then we went to the church to gather with other members to go carol to shut-ins who were members of Hope. This caroling event was an annual affair. Everyone would gather at the church and make Christmas ornaments to give to the shut-ins, and then we would all head out to carol. After we had sung at a few places, it had started to snow. I believe it was the first snow of the season, but I can't be sure. As we left one house, my brother and his friend were throwing snowballs at each other, at me and Angie, at my sister. I decided to get them back, so I made a snowball. My plan was to throw the snowball and immediately turn to run away so they couldn't get me back. I threw it, and I ran. Right into the street without looking. I remember hearing my dad yell, "AAAAAMMMMMMYYYYY!" I looked to my right, and he was stopped, looking in terror at something beyond me. I turn my head to the left and saw headlights. That's all I remember, until I woke up with Gary Getchel (a high school senior) slapping my face and saying my name. (He had run back to where we just caroled, and actually ripped the screen door off its hinges to get inside and call 911.) I was on my back, lying in the middle of the street, with my left leg bent and my right leg straight. I was going into shock and just wanted to go to sleep. He had been told to keep me conscious, so there was a lot of slapping. When the EMTs arrived, they asked me questions - my name, age, etc. I had broken my left femur (thigh bone). They would need to straighten my left leg so they could put me on the stretcher and get me into the ambulance. The female EMT told me it was going to hurt a lot, so if I wanted to scream, I should just scream. She placed her right hand above my left knee and her left hand above my left ankle. She slowly straightened my left. I didn't scream. I felt my leg moving, but it didn't hurt. (I have since learned that because the femur is the largest bone in the body, the brain shuts down pain receptors when it breaks to spare you that level of pain.) They got me in the ambulance, and we headed to Mercy Hospital in Janesville. I remember the ambulance ride being very bumpy, which is rather unpleasant when you have a broken leg. They took my blood pressure several times, and kept asking me questions to keep me conscious. I had to be in traction to align the femur and allow it to heal correctly and be the same length as my uninjured right leg. Luckily, I had a clean break, and my only other injury was a cracked left clavicle. I was in the hospital for 23 days and went home with a cast that started just above my belly button. It went around my hips and then cut over to go down my left leg all the way to my toes. I could move and bend my right leg, but I could not sit up. I don't know how much school I ended up missing, but I had a home-bound tutor who would bring my homework and teach me my lessons. And now, except for a scar high on my left thigh, you would never know I had broken my femur.

My family has slightly different memories of this event, as does Angie. I hope they will share their recollections in the comments. . .