Rugby League field, 2014
Lance was running the field. The Fijian forward was on his six, and closing fast. And fast enough to grab Lance 3 meters before the line. But grabbing Lance wasn’t the same as tackling him, even for a Fijian 14 yr old that weighs 80 kilos.
Lance locked his legs, and bent his back, lifting the Fijian off his feet. He then ran the remaining three meters, piggybacking the Fijian, and dived for the line. As the ball came down, or more importantly the combined weight of the pair came down, a loud crack was heard by Lance and the Fijian. Then three quieter cracks were heard, and Lance felt his breathing constricted. Not by the Fijian who had rolled off him and was checking to see if Lance was OK, but by three intruding ribs. The louder crack had been Lance’s Humerus giving way under the combined weight of the 80 kilo-Fijian and himself, who weighed 70 kilos. Lance hadn’t seen his arm yet, but it was horrific. Halfway down the humerus the ball, with the Fijian’s and Lance’s weight behind it, had completely snapped his humerus, it looked like Lance had two elbows on his right arm and was bleeding from the three protruding ribs-also on his right side. His mother, and the doctor who had been watching the game ran onto the field, clearing away the two teams from the now standing around Lance. Lance didn’t feel the pain of a normal snapped humerus or the fiery agony of a rib-punctured lung. He felt a bruised upper-arm and the shortness of breath that comes with a winding. The two teams -especially the Fijian- were looking at Lance’s arm or side with either disgust or unbelief, their thoughts written clearly on their faces-perhaps the doctor’s clearest of all -“He’s got a snapped arm and three protruding ribs, why isn’t he crying, or at least moaning on the ground?” The doctor tried to pick Lance up, but Lance stopped him. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Son, you’ve got three snapped ribs, and your arm is more snapped than a snapper. You’re not fine.’ Only now did Lance look at his arm. From his shoulder to his wrist looked like a red zigzag, since it was covered in blood, from his forearm and ribs alike.
‘It’s better than it looks. A lot better.’ he said. Lance had seen people have breakdowns on the field from sprained wrists or in the more severe cases dislocated shoulders, but this looked a lot worse than a sprained wrist. Lance stood up and walked from the field knowing that he’d be back on the field before the match ended. He healed really fast. Like inhuman fast. When he was eight he skinned his knees really badly, blood was pouring down his shins, but half an hour later, he didn’t have a scratch. And broken bones healed quicker than that. Lance could already feel his ribs re-aligning. They’d be healed in ten minutes. But his arm. He couldn’t play without his right arm, and right now, it showed no signs of healing at its normal rate -1 hour max- which was starting to worry Lance.
As he sat down on the seats arranged on at the sideline, he prepared for motherly worry. Being a single parent had made her a very protective and chaperoning parent, -much to lance’s and Nathaniel’s annoyance- and Lance knew that she would be mother-henning him for the next week, and although it was nice for about an hour, much more and it just got annoying.
The arm was a worry. Five minutes after the break and still no movement. I’ll wait another 25 minutes, and if it still hasn’t moved, I’ll see about a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. But still no movement was felt. 25, 45, 50 minutes went by and still no movement.
The game was well and truly over, his team had won, thanks to his try, and Lance was in the car going home. Nathaniel had asked him if he was okay, for he too, had inherited this uncanny pain threshold. Lance knew that what he had wasn’t natural. He and Nathaniel had always avoided doctors and hospitals for fear of it’s removal. That was all the sympathy that he was going to get out of Nathaniel for this injury. If Lance said he was ok, he was ok. But Lance knew that behind the stony-faced façade there was brotherly love. They had to be a team to help mum raise them, it had hit her hard that dad left, and they both knew that she wished he’d return-albeit while saying she had built that bridge a long time ago.
The trip was over, and Lance went to open the door, but as he got out of the car his upper arm brushed the the door frame. Shafts of pain shot through his arm, more pronounced than any he had felt before. He looked at the door frame and squinted, for the sun was reflecting off the regularly-polished metal. Brushing pain and apprehensive thoughts aside, Lance walked inside. He was immediately greeted by his Great-dane, Scar, who seemed very interested in Lance’s arm. Scar sniffed and licked Lance’s arm, but it didn’t hurt like it had when it brushed the car door frame, it even seemed to hurt a little less.
