Breaking a Bit of Me

Reflective Essay



Breaking a Bit of Me



I was only little when it happened, but I can still remember how it felt.

One minute I was running around the house - chasing my older cousins - the next I was lying on the floor, crying out to my mum in pain.

But everyone came running, not just her, when all I wanted was to be scooped up into her arms and taken to a place where it didn’t hurt anymore. My arm felt as if it had been pierced by a hot poker and looked like a wonky tree root.

My mum was always telling me not to run in the house. She was right – in 2001 there were 14,137 boys who were injured their arms while indoors (HASS). It made me realise just how easy it is to hurt yourself – even when you are ‘safe’ at home.

The next thing I remember was being carefully bundled into a car. I cradled my arm as we drove to the hospital and went inside.

I had never been to the hospital before – well, not since I was born anyway. The outside of the building was huge and square and dark, with lines of windows looking like a large set of teeth. I was scared and clung to my mum more tightly. She looked down at me kindly, telling me that it would be alright soon – the doctors and nurses would make me better.

The hospital was brightly lit after the gloom of outside. It struck me as being almost a heavenly place, full of light and people swishing around. They always smiled kindly at me, which made me think of them as angels flitting from one person to the next. When I think back I realise just how lucky we are in this country to have good healthcare provision. The World Health Organisation (WHO) states that amongst other factors, poor healthcare in early life can contribute to underachieving in school and earning a low income as an adult.

The emergency room was full of noise. I remember hearing a man shouting further along the corridor. It made me feel very uneasy. I wanted to be back at home, where it was safe. I was five at the time and hadn’t been...