Childhood is often a time of scraped knees, a few broken bones.  We all have our great horror stories.  I was reminded of my first serious injury, while watching a movie earlier this evening.  So, figured I’d write it down.

I can hear my friend yelling from the small play tent, that at long last, she had gotten my cat inside.  The simple exclamation of excitement broke my concentration as my body swung around the swingset, I wasn’t going to land this… fear and then blackness.

My father screaming is the first thing I notice as I start to come to.  Something about an ambulance, and getting me to breathe.  Then like I had been struck by lightening, I took a sudden sharp breath and opened my eyes.

I had fallen on my neck, lost consciousness and stopped breathing.  I ended up being fine, my neck hurt for a while but eventually healed.  My parents’ fear of me doing gymnastics, did not.  So my dreams of tumbling routines and balance beam dances of grace and strength, were no more.

Luckily, it was only one of MANY things I wanted to do with my life, and so moving on wasn’t too traumatic.  The accident itself left far more fear festering inside.

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