I was in 3rd grade when I broke my arm. My sister had broken her arm a year or two before I did. I was at recess, and two of my friends were trying to help me do a flip on the bars. Once I got on the high bar, I decided I didn’t want to do it anymore. One of my friends flipped me over, and I let go. I fell and passed out. Once I woke up, a teacher was there, and I couldn’t move my arm. My best friend walked me to the nurse's office. On the way, I was crying, not cause it hurt, but because my sister had to get nails in her arm and I really didn’t want that to happen to me. When the nurse finally came in, she called my mom and told her I was fine and I could go back to class. I got back to class, and this is when my arm really started to hurt. I started crying, then had to go back to the office. My mom came and picked me up and took me to the ER. They said that I needed to go to the hospital because my arm was broken and my elbow was dislocated. I don’t remember much from the hospital, but I do remember the delicious midnight dinner I had. After my surgery and my cast, I had to do physical therapy. It kind of worked, but I still can’t rotate my right wrist the entire way. My favorite thing about breaking my arm is my scar. On my right elbow, I have an X. Little me thought that was the most incredible thing ever. I used to say X marks the spot.