La prima volta che mi sono rotto il brThe first time I broke my right arm I was 5 years old, and it was the most painful
It was also the first time I saw my mother cry
The doctor was clear: a "bone cyst" in the right humerus, a sort of "hole" in the middle of the bone, no known cure or therapy and no known trigger, basically they knew nothing about it…it just happened , fortunately rare
In a child of my age, that thing with a strange name was destined to undermine the growth of bone, and by reflex of the entire skeleton, of the entire body, "inevitably" added the doctor
The doctor also said that soon the arm bone would "wear out" and it would be inevitable to replace it with a metal prosthesis, to be changed with periodic surgery due to the growth of the body, "assuming and not granting that the development does not block completely,” added the doctor
(the thing I still wonder today is why the doctor's tone clearly sounded like a reproach, to me?, to my mother? From his attitude it seemed we were both guilty of something, and that this was a just divine punishment... it was probably that was the triggering effect of my mother's tears…that wouldn't stop
It was also the first time, still a child, that I insulted an adult, using a word whose meaning I didn't really know, I said something like "mom, don't worry, come on, let's go away now, can't you see he's a MONA?, I said it in presence of the kind doctor, and clearly referring to him
the scene probably had to be very comical also because of my awkward gait, caused by the imposing plaster cast, which entirely covered not only my right arm, but also the entire chest and back, extended like a medieval armour, recently under the neck up to the pelvic area… furthermore my right arm was blocked in a horizontal position with respect to the chest, bent into an “L”… I should have kept it for a whole month… in the summer!
I discovered then that laughter is positive, among other things it has the power to stop tears ... at least for a few moments
I remember the pathetic attempts of my family to convince me to have a more "conciliatory" and "prudent" attitude, I had to stop doing everything that amused me the most, such as diving from the dam at the highest point, picking crabs from the nets of moored fishing boats escaping the guard dogs (mum what a bad temper they had), I had to stop wandering around on the roofs of the houses wedged one on top of the other, in fact at the time I lived in Chioggia, in a point where there were typical buildings, such as can find in Venice, the roofs were fused into one, and allowed for wonderful walks at sunset, obviously once parental supervision was evaded.
I had to give up EVERYTHING, but I didn't listen to my parents, I knew so much that, inexplicably, their judgment was influenced by MONA, instead something inside of me gave me the awareness of being right, and the strength to continue being that child extremely lively, ingenious and…. HAPPY
But the bone broke again…and again…and again
The fourth time I broke my arm (or maybe it was the fifth? I don't remember exactly) the doctor examining the x-rays gave a start, examined them again, made sure several times that they were really mine and still couldn't believe his eyes
The "bone cyst", or whatever it was, had inexplicably healed, a sort of "hole" in the bone could still be seen ... but it was becoming rarefied, disappearing ... as if evaporating
But there was more: this time the bone had broken cleanly in a completely different place, located a few millimeters above the "cyst".
The doctor (not the first and unforgettable, but another of the numerous interviewees) explained to my mother that the numerous bone breaks had inexplicably strengthened it, and this was demonstrated by the fact that not only had the cyst practically disappeared from the radiographs, but the bone had broken in another place while the "sick" area had resisted
(yes, it had been a decidedly violent blow due to the first attempts at free climbing on trees, poles and pylons, even if for obvious reasons that was not the official version)
The doctor also explained to my mother that EVERY TIME WE BREAK a BONE, when it fixes..... IT BECOMES STRONGER!...so in his opinion my right arm could now withstand blows that would shatter "normal" bones , even of "Olympic" adults (I was no longer a child, but I certainly wasn't an adult, and I've never been an Olympic athlete)
My mother stammering asked: "but then the replacement with a metal prosthesis", and the doctor at first did not understand and his eyes widened, but then he blurted out "But WHAT PROSTHESIS OF (censored) LADY ... YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, YOUR SON HAS DEVELOPED A RIGHT ARM PRACTICALLY INDESTRUCTIBLE"
IN GOOD SUBSTANCE: BY THE ADMISSION OF THE DOCTORS THEMSELVES, MY "RECARELESS" BEHAVIOR AND COMPLETELY OPPOSITE THEIR INDICATIONS HAD PRODUCED POSITIVE EFFECTS BEYOND ANY EXPECTATION
Note: at the last check-up, when I was a teenager, a bored doctor (yet another) told me that, assuming and not granted that that "halo" still visible in the x-rays was something to worry about, for him no further diagnosis was possible due to the "imposing" muscular masses present all around.
It was only many years later that I tried to imagine my alternative future in which I had slavishly followed the indications of the doctors, what would have happened to my arm?...and my physical development?...and the answers that came to me mind they were anything but reassuring….
