The bike ride was nice. The wind was blowing a cool wind. Birds were filling the air with their loud musical chirps. There were hardly any people out that day. But this was my mother’s perspective, that is. While she was having a wonderful bike ride, I was at the bottom of the hill in the grass with my arm swelling by the minute and my sister rushing to my rescue.

Two or three miles ahead of my mom and my brother Isaac, my sister Korina and I head down the cement hill testing our ability to ride our bikes with no hands on the handle bars. As we zoom down the hill, Korina got farther and farther ahead of me until I could just barely see her, and then I suddenly smash into the ground head first. Not realizing what had happened, I sat there confused, trying to reconsider what I did to land myself in the grass. After taking a moment to adjust myself and stand up, I notice that I cannot move my arm, which by this point was swelled up like a balloon.

Fast-forward to very loud 11-year-old me, screaming in terror for someone to help as if I was in the midst of dying.

Korina came rushing from ahead of me, obviously hearing my screams and began yelling for my mom, who has just made it down the hill. We knew right away that I had just broken something in my arm, so the first goal of ours was to make it to the hospital. Because we were riding our bikes, we were nowhere near our house, so the most eventful part of all of this was trying to get myself and my siblings to the hospital with an extra bike that I could no longer ride.

After a half hour of struggling to adjust my arm into a homemade sling made out of Korina's sweater, we decided that the best way to get to the hospital was for me to walk and to have Korina push my bike along with hers.

Fast-forward to the hospital.

After 15 minutes of dreadful walking, multiple breaks filled with complains, “I can’t walk any further,” “My legs are too tired for this. I can’t go on,” statements, and a throbbing arm, we make it to the hospital. After this, I remember nothing more. The very last memory I have of this event is lying in a cold hospital room on a stretcher with two or three doctors hovering over me. The last words I remember hearing came from the slightly cracked hospital room door “We have some fortunate and unfortunate news about your daughter Emily. The good news is that she was almost an inch from busting the back of her head open from her fall; but luckily she didn’t. The bad news is… well, just look here at these X-Rays.”

And that was the time that I broke my wrist.