Broken Bones - Blog Posts

me at 6 years old

my brain: what the fudge

my eyes: huh

my brain: aren't you supposed to be crying

my eyes: for what, candy?

my brain: no your finger

my eyes:

my brain: your baby finger is backward

my eyes:

my brain: it's broken

my eyes:

my brains: it's not supposed to look like that

my eyes:

my eyes: *SWEAT GLANDS ACTIVATE*

DAY 1: Tick Tock Goes The Clock

Sam gets lost in the forest. This action has consequences.

First day of Whumptober, one of the few times I'll be on time too. It's Dean's turn today! Congrats to him (?) This was supposed to be a story about Sam getting lost in the woods and it ended up being a character study of Dean and his self-worth issues. I'm not unhappy about it. Triggers Warnings: - Mild Graphic Description of Violence - Mild Blood and Injury - Broken Bone - Dean's Canonical Self-worth Issues - John Being an Asshole Fandom : Supernatural (TV 2005) Character(s) : Dean Winchester Relationship(s) : Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester Words Count : 2,714 No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

Dean tightened his grip on his silver blade, listening for any sound. He was alone in the forest, the full moon visible through the treetops. Dean barely dared to breathe for fear of being heard, every crack of branches or wind through the leaves putting him on alert in the deathly silence that surrounded him.

He had been separated from Dad and Sammy hours ago, but Dean wasn't worried. Sammy was with Dad, nothing could happen to him. Now it was up to Dean to fulfill his duty. It was the last night of the lunar cycle. If he didn't kill the werewolf he was tracking tonight, it could run away and continue to hurt innocent people for another month.

(There were five of them in the woods, all thinking they were the predator. But only three of them would get out of here alive.)

A shadow, lit by the cold, metallic light of the moon, shifted on a trunk and Dean turned abruptly. Good thing he did. The werewolf he thought he had been following for the past hour jumped at him, sharp claws aimed at his face. With a practiced reflex, Dean protected his head with his arm holding his blade, throwing himself out of the werewolf's path with agility.

Not fast enough.

A claw hit his arm, tearing through flesh as easily as the fabric of his jacket, drawing blood onto the forest floor. In pain, Dean let go of his silver blade, sending it a few meters away from him. He clutched his arm to his chest, quickly assessing the damage. For a terrifying moment, he could no longer remember if a werewolf's scratch was enough to infect a human.

(If it did, what would he do? What would Dad do? Dean couldn't imagine his father accepting a monster as a son. And Sammy? It didn't matter, Dean would rather die than hurt an innocent.

Dean killed monsters indiscriminately, no matter who or where they came from. That was what he had always been taught. Hunters killed monsters. Dean knew what he would have to do.)

Calm down and think, idjit!

Dean forced himself to breathe through his nose. A scratch wasn't enough to turn someone into a werewolf, only a bite could. Easy, Dean could avoid being bitten by a dirty mutt.

The werewolf snarled, drool dripping down its chin, yellow eyes flashing wildly in the night. It was getting impatient and the adrenaline that was pulsing violently in Dean's veins would soon fade, leaving him to face all the pain of his wound.

Dean had to get his hand on his weapon. And fast. He mentally calculated the distance between him, the werewolf and his knife. But the werewolf noticed the direction of his gaze.

"Oh no!" the werewolf threatened, its words chewed in its rage.

The werewolf threw itself at Dean, but this time Dean was ready for it. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, he kicked the beast in the sternum, deflecting its course and sending it into a thicket of brambles. The werewolf struggled through the brambles, howling in anger, giving Dean enough time to lunge for his silver blade. His fingers closed around the handle, a sigh of relief and comfort escaping him. 

A hand grabbed his ankle, claws digging deep into his ankle, cutting through tendons. Dean fell, his chin hitting the ground hard. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried to grab roots, clawing at the ground to keep the werewolf from pulling him towards it, thorns digging into his skin. Dean struggled and kicked, ignoring the searing pain, to force the werewolf to let go of him. But the monster held firm, twisting his bones as it laughed in satisfaction.

A guttural cry escaped his lips, tearing through his dry throat.

“A fighter, I like that,” the werewolf mocked. “I don’t usually turn men, but I might make an exception for you. You’re pretty enough.”

“Go to hell!” Dean spat, choking on his blood.

Dean forced himself to turn his torso to face the werewolf, straining his bruised muscles. He swung his knife in a wide arc in front of him and sliced ​​the monster across the face, damaging one of its eyes. The werewolf cried out in pain and finally let go of Dean, bringing a hand deformed by claws to its face.

Dean stood up quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the werewolf as he could. He spat on the ground, a mixture of blood and dirt, and grinned victoriously, his teeth tinged red. He gripped his knife in his left hand, his entire body on alert.

(He had practiced using both hands, but his left hand was still his weakest. This would have to do.)

Dean had never wanted a gun more than he did now. But they had only managed to get one single silver bullet and giving it to Dean who had a better chance of missing his target would have been a waste. It had made sense for Dad to take the gun, he wouldn't miss. Still, sticking a standard bullet between the werewolf's eyes would have reassured him, even if it would have barely slowed it down.

"I take it back," the werewolf growled. "I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart and eat your heart. And when I'm done hearing you beg, I'm going to hunt down your delicious little brother and take him with me. That is, if my friend doesn't kill him and your demon of a father first."

Dean's ears twisted and his vision went red. Sammy .

"Stay away from him!" Dean growled, his voice as animal as the monster in front of him. 

The werewolf smirked and Dean knew he had made a mistake. He had just revealed a weakness, something precious to him and the predator in front of him had smelled it. Dean's determination only grew, he couldn't let the werewolf go now that it had so clearly threatened his little brother.

( Sammy, he had to protect Sammy. )

With his good foot, Dean kicked the dirt at his feet, creating a protective screen of dust and blocking him from the werewolf's sight for a few seconds. It wasn't enough, not when all the senses of the monster in front of him were heightened but it was something.

Dean attacked from the right, the side where the werewolf was blinded by the wound Dean had inflicted on it. But the werewolf abruptly turned to Dean, having sensed him coming, and met him head-on with a punch to the stomach. Dean's breath caught in his chest for a moment, bile rising in his mouth. He doubled over in shock and the werewolf grabbed his hair before yanking .

Dean kneed it between the legs, forcing the werewolf to let go of him and sank his blade deep into the werewolf's ribs. He brought his knife up to the werewolf's heart, puncturing its liver and lungs.

The werewolf grabbed his wrist, crushing his bones and twisting Dean's arm until Dean let go. A sickening crack echoed through the forest and his arm went limp in the werewolf's grip, broken mid-forearm. Dean couldn't help but cry out in pain and fear.

The werewolf grinned wickedly and, straining on Dean's broken arm, sent him into a tree. Dean's head hit the trunk hard and he fell to the ground, his broken arm beneath him. He staggered to his feet, slower than he would have liked, the world spinning indescribably around him.

"I'm going to kill you," Dean slurred, pointing his broken knife at the werewolf.

Dean realized a second too late that the blade of his knife had been separated from the handle, still inside the werewolf, just below his heart. A few inches more and Dean would have succeeded. Oh well, if he had to shove his hand between the werewolf's ribs to retrieve his blade and finish the job properly, he would.

The werewolf looked at him in horror, coughing up blood. The wound wasn’t fatal, but there was no way it could get the blade out of its body. With any luck, it would die from its injuries without Dean having to do anything. But Dean had stopped relying on luck years ago. He alone was in control of his destiny, and he couldn’t give the werewolf a chance to hurt someone— to hurt Sammy .

The werewolf took off running.

In the direction Dean had left Dad and Sammy.

Dean gave chase, excruciating pain shooting through his nerves every time he stepped on the ground. He couldn't take more than three steps before he collapsed, tears streaming down his cheeks and leaving trails in the dirt and blood.

"Dad!" Dean screamed as he tried to get up. " Dad!!! "

God, he was so useless.

His scream tore through the night, Dean not caring if he lured the other werewolf to him. The icy panic in his veins wouldn't let him think, he had to warn Dad. Sammy was in danger. Because of him.

"DAD!"

Dean finally stood up, his throat dry and every nerve ending in his body on fire. But Sammy was more important than him. He started running again, branches whipping at his face, following the werewolf’s tracks. A shadow appeared at the edge of his vision and barreled into him, pinning him in its arms. Dean struggled fiercely, trying to free himself.

“Dean!” the shadow snapped.

Dean relaxed instantly, recognizing his father. He could have cried with relief at the sight of him. If Dad was here, it meant Sammy was okay. Even if Dean had screwed up again, Dad would be able to help him.

“Where’s Sammy? We need to get him out of here,” Dean said, panicked.

(A part of his brain recognized that he was still in his father’s arms. He couldn’t remember the last time Dad had hugged him.)

“What? I thought he was with you!”

Dean’s heart stopped for a second.

This time, his tears were filled with despair.

“No, no, no,” Dean cried, shaking his head. “He was supposed to be with you. Safe .”

“Dean, tell me what happened,” Dad ordered calmly, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, but Dean could hear the urgency in his voice.

“I didn’t manage to kill the werewolf, he ran away. And he said he’d turn Sammy if he found him,” Dean explained, recognizing an order even through his visceral fear. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Dad clenched his fists in anger, his eyes stormy and his posture dangerous. But Dean didn’t know who his anger was directed at.

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated. “Please, Dad.”

(Dean didn’t know what he was asking his father to do, to take him back in his arms, to help him, to forgive him, to save Sammy.)

“Apologies won’t help, Dean,” Dad said abruptly. “We need to find Sammy. Fast .”

Dean stopped himself from apologizing again and straightened up, waiting for the next command.

“It’s hurt,” Dean added, forcing himself to ignore his pathetic outburst of emotion. “My silver blade is stuck in its ribs under its heart and he can’t use its left eye.”

“Good,” Dad replied, deep in thought. “It’ll be to our advantage. And you, are you hurt?”

“No,” Dean lied, almost by reflex.

“I don’t have time for lies, Dean!” Dad shouted out of patience, making Dean flinch. “Your brother may be in danger and every second you waste could very well be vital.”

"Both my arms and my ankle," Dean answered quickly. "And my head."

"Damn it, Dean, I thought I had you better trained than this," Dad swore. "But I could use you. So stay with me. But if I tell you to run, you run. No protests. You'll only get in my way anyway."

"Yes, sir!"

Without another word, Dad started walking, handing Dean his silver blade. It was caked in blood and Dean wiped it on his pants before testing its weight in his hand.

"How are you going to do without a weapon?" Dean asked, following his father.

"I still have the bullet," Dad replied, patting the gun strapped to his thigh. "Now shut up, I don't want the bastard to hear us."

Dean lowered his head, concentrating on keeping up with his father's fast pace. He didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was. Dad would never forgive him if Sammy died tonight. And he wouldn't forgive himself either. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, each frantic beat of his heart feeling like a countdown to his little brother's death, a bomb waiting to explode.

(Dean was nothing without Sammy, he couldn't lose him. Not his little brother.)

They didn't have time to waste.

XXX

Dean and Dad had walked for what seemed like hours, searching for Sammy. The werewolf’s tracks had finally disappeared around a bush, as if they had never existed. The full moon setting on the horizon should have been a relief, the end of a long night, but it was only a mockery.

They were running out of time.

Reluctantly, Dad had agreed to let them split up to cover more ground. Every second that passed was like a stab through Dean’s heart. It was his fault, it was his negligence and weakness that had allowed the werewolf to escape, that had put Sammy in danger.

The adrenaline that kept him upright had worn off, and Dean struggled through the forest, limping like a newborn fawn. He was dehydrated, having not had a drink of water in hours and having thrown up even more times. His head was killing him, blood pulsing violently in his temples. But Dean welcomed the distraction of the pain, anything to avoid thinking that he might find Sammy’s heartless corpse with every step he took.

(He resolutely forced himself not to look at the inhuman shape of his arm—flaccid, shapeless, and in two pieces—or the bleeding, festering cut on his other arm.)

Dean didn’t let it slow him down, despite his body begging him. He would rest when he was dead.

At the end of a path, Dean could see the edge of the forest and beyond it an abandoned hunter’s cabin. He stopped, hesitating for a moment, and tried to think like Sammy. A cabin like this was a good shelter to wait out the full moon. Dean knew he'd regret it if he didn't at least check it out. But it could also be a waste of crucial time.

What would Dad do in this situation?

You're a smart kid. Follow your instincts.

Dean changed direction toward the cabin.

A branch snapped behind him and Dean spun around abruptly. His knife stopped inches from his father's jugular as he raised his hands in the air in peace.

"Sorry," Dean apologized sheepishly, relaxing his arm.

"Don't be," Dad replied gruffly. "That was a nice reflex you had there."

Dean was too tired to appreciate his father’s rare compliment and let his arm fall back to his side. But Dad stopped him, gently grabbing his wrist and examining the wound on his arm.

“That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there,” Dad said. “You’ll need antibiotics, I’ll call Bobby as soon as we find your little brother.”

“It’s not important,” Dean refuted, trying to pull his arm back. “Sammy’s the priority.”

Dad stopped him, looking almost sad for a moment.

“Your well-being is important. You’re important,” Dad said with a hint of desperation, as if he really meant it. He looked like he was going to say something else but thought better of it, his gaze drifting toward the cabin. “You wanted to go take a look?”

“That’s the kind of place Sammy would hide,” Dean said. “He’s smart like that.”

“Good thinking, wait for me here,” Dad ordered, finally letting go of Dean's arm.

“What? No!” Dean protested fiercely.

“Dean, I don't have time for this,” Dad snapped.

Dean didn't listen to the end of his father's sentence. A blood-curdling scream shattered the quiet of dawn and Dean rushed towards the cabin, stealing the gun from his father's hand. Dean knew that voice, he knew it better than his own.

(It should never have contained so much pain and fear.)

“ Sammy !”

Sorry for the cliffhanger (or not). I actually combined two days in this story (and played around a little bit with the prompts too) so you will have Sam's POV and the end of this chapter on the... (drum rolls please) 19th! (Also, it's my first time writing whump so I don't know if it's enough hurt. Feel free to give me your opinion on the matter.)

Day 12: I think I’ve broken something || Broken bones

The only thing I don’t understand about this is the fact that he’s holding his sprained wrist when he has a literal bone poking out of his ankle 0.0

a rather specific prompt for you :)

whumpee is/ was trained and used a a guard dog. during their time with their master they sustained an injury that causes them to not be able to fulfill their job properly anymore. still wounded, they get thrown out, chained in some allay. whumpee expects to die alone and cold, when caretaker comes along and accidentally stumbles across the abandoned whumpee. they (caretaker) think whumpee is just a regular pet and don’t realize they have a still dangerous guard dog at their feet and decide to rescue them and help them recover. whumpee has never experienced anything like this kindness, especially after becoming so useless, so (after having lost their old master) they immediately bond to caretaker as their new master, and would do anything to protect and please them

tw pet whump, amputation, abandonment, past trauma, broken bones, medical setting, caretaker new master, murder, gore, dehumanisation

"Oh, dear..." Caretaker crouched down by the shivering figure, putting the back of their hand against their forehead. They looked... half-dead, honestly, so the feverish warmth eminating from them was almost a relief. "Who did this to you...?"

The poor thing whined, and they reminded Caretaker of a wounded dog; but maybe that was just from how they were chained up. This was all so horrible.

"Okay, don't be scared. I'm gonna get you out of the alley and to a vet, alright? We'll get you all fixed up."

Another whine, and Caretaker suddenly realised there were other issues apart from the visible sickness. The pet's ankle... it was twisted in a way they'd never seen before. It was swollen, a mix of deep red and purple, bent in a way no healthy foot was supposed to.

"Oh... Oh, this is way worse than I thought, isn't it?" They immediately regretted the comment when the thing looked up at them with those wide, fearful eyes, probably expecting them to just give up now and leave them. "That's okay!" they added hastily. "It's okay. Nothing that can't be fixed! I... I hope... I'll call someone for help."

-

So they'd been wrong. Some things were in fact beyond saving, and Whumpee's foot turned out to be one of them. Amputation, prosthetics... Whumpee was handling it badly.

"I know," Caretaker soothed. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But it'll be better later on, I promise, the doctors know what they're doing."

Whumpee let out a soft whimper, a scared one, and Caretaker thought their heart was going to shatter even further. The pet hadn't uttered a single word yet, — maybe they couldn't? — but their face was expressive enough to make Caretaker tear up.

"I'll be here," they said gently. "Every step of the way, yeah? I'll be here for you. I'll help. We'll figure it out."

How? Caretaker didn't know. They weren't planning on adopting a pet, but... they couldn't just leave Whumpee alone after all this. They had an obligation, a responsibility.

If anything, Whumpee's awe-filled eyes just made them more determined.

-

"One foot in front of the other. Slowly. There you go."

Physical therapy was a lot, but Whumpee seemed dead set on achieving every goal weeks earlier than planned. The staff had said it would take four to eight weeks for Whumpee to be able to walk again... and many more before they fully got used to their artificial foot. They were out and about within two weeks, much to the dismay of said staff.

"They'll hurt themself," they'd said. "They should be resting."

"They're very eager to come home, I guess," Caretaker had replied awkwardly, but Whumpee had nodded along, completely serious.

So now they were walking along the corridors, Caretaker supporting Whumpee's weight less and less as they learned the ways and limits of their new life.

-

"I know it's not super fancy..." Caretaker opened the door and stood aside, motioning Whumpee inside. "But I guess it's... homey."

The pet surveyed their surroundings curiously, then turned back towards Caretaker with a bright smile. If they'd had a tail, Caretaker wagered they would've been wagging it.

It made them smile, too. "You like it?"

Whumpee nodded enthusiastically, walking over to the new pet bed Caretaker had bought just a week prior. They carefully set their belongings down next to it, — a shirt, a pair of pants, a pair of socks, and a collar — then made themself comfortable. Testing it out.

"I think we'll get along nicely," Caretaker commented absently. "I mean, I like you a lot. And you seem to like me. I don't see how this could go wrong."

-

Caretaker couldn't believe their eyes.

This couldn't be real.

Was that blood? Was that blood on Whumpee's clothes, and hands, and... face?

When the pet spotted them they immediately fell to their knees, whimpering in terror. They tried to wipe their hands on their victim's shirt, to no avail.

"Whumpee, what– what's– what's going on...?"

Whumpee was crying now, getting more and more desperate about ridding themself of the blood, as though that was the only evidence as to what they'd done. As though they could erase it all, if only they managed to erase the stains.

Caretaker walked closer, eyes wide with shock and horror. So much blood. So much gore.

Their sweet pet had done this?

"Why...?"

Whumpee scrambled to pick up some sort of equipment, struggling to hold it between bloody fingers. A lockpick, Caretaker noted distantly. They put it down on the floor in front of their feet, then quickly grabbed something else: a knife, this time. They put it next to the lockpick. Then they crawled back, flattening themself against the floor like a dog who knew it'd done something bad, whining as they waited for the verdict.

The stranger had been a burglar. Was it... self-defence? No, this had been a brutal murder.

"You're– you're a guard dog," Caretaker said softly, because they didn't think their voice could handle anything more. They got but a whimper in response. "This... Oh, dear. This is not... This is not good."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou @whump-kitty

So, think about this: after TOA, Grover’s back home at camp. Another satyr ends up confronting him. Now, I head cannon that Grover was physically 6 when his mom somehow died, and we can all guess what happened to his dad. It’s also cannon that Grover is small for his age, so born maybe premature? So, Grover grew up alone at Camp, and was kind of bullied and didn’t have a family or many friends until Percy. Anyway, this other satyr used to bully him when they were kids, as he’s older than Grover. He starts talking bad about Grover, bringing up how he’s the black sheep, that Pan must have chosen wrong, etc. Grover gets all red in the face as a crowd starts to form. One camper even runs to find Chiron, so he’s approaching and about to break up the potential fight. Meanwhile, through the Empathy Link, Percy’s at home and can feel Grover’s anger and embarrassment. Back at Camp, the other satyr starts insulting his parents, and then mentions how Grover has no backbone and is so weak. Grover suddenly switches gears, and instead of physically fighting, he starts listing what he’s survived through like the Underworld, the Labyrinth, second hand torture of Tartarus, etc. To finish it off, he mentions that he’s done all of this before turning physically 18, and asked what the other satyr has done. He also then states that after enduring all of that, he’d finally grown a backbone (unlike when he was younger). The gathered campers start cheering, and Grover feels proud of himself, Chiron tells Grover well done, and now Grover is absolutely beaming. Unfortunately, in a fit of anger, the other satyr throws a rock or something, and it hits just right to break Grover’s leg(s). Cue Grover screaming in absolute agony, strong enough for the very tress to shake as they sense their lord’s pain. While some of the campers keep the other satyr from escaping, Will rushes forward to help. Grover thankfully passes out from the pain, but Chiron is worried about Grover and actually slings him over his back to get him back to the Big House(or maybe the Apollo cabin?). Everyone is still running around and it’s chaos as they try to stabilize Grover and his broken leg(s). Meanwhile, back with Percy, all he knows is that there was anger and embarrassment, then pride, then gut wrenching pain. He immediately calls Mrs. OLeary, and Shadow Travels to Camp, absolutely furious and worried. When he arrives, Grover’s stabilized, and Percy gets dead serious and asks what happened. After the situation is explained, Percy is beyond furious for someone hurting his best friend. But then Grover groans in his sleep, and Percy realized that his anger is hurting him through the Link. (I head cannon that they can get physical injuries through the Link, so Grover gets a headache from Percy’s anger and Percy’s leg(s) are hurting.) Percy immediately puts up mental walls to shield Grover.

I don’t really know what happens after that, I guess Grover eventually waking up and healing? Somewhere in there someone has to tell Juniper what happened to her boyfriend, and she’s understandably angry too, especially cause she can’t go see him because he’s too far away from her tree.

Anyway, can someone please make this a fanfic or something? Thank you!

Years ago, my friend had a ganglion cyst, right on her wrist. 

Fluid build-up. Best to let it rest. 

Don’t aggravate the joint. 

It’ll go away on its own. 

.

Some days, I think memory is a bit like that. 

A build-up in oft-agitated joints, 

The nerve bundle harmed by relentless back-and-forth that has become

       habit, 

Become routine. 

It goes away on its own, quiet as a last breath stealing out of a lung. 

Fades as time wears on.

.

Other times, it’s more like a broken bone, never healed right. 

You remember the crack, the pain, the wrong-ness

       of the displaced shards of calcium. 

You remember the painstaking, irritating, frustrating process

       of healing and relearning simple tasks. 

.

On rainy days, the bone twinges. 

On rainy days, you are right back to the break. 

.

—you can always wait for the sun (y.c.)

Broken back, sewn up tubes

May i talk about what i learned today at class? It's aboout some injuries, basic if yoou want to call an ambulance and help them to send who you need to inste of the whole hospital. Also, as a writer, i think this would help some, it's shallow knowlodgement, but when you're new writing small things can help.

This can be quite long so if you don't have the time i sujest you to read it later.

Bones

we have 5-6 tipes of bones. I just learned 5, so here's a small resume:

Flat bones: The head/cranium bones. Long bones: They are exactly as they sound, large in size, like the femur. Small bones: Small and square, like the fingers's bones. Irregular bones: Bones with a strange appearance, such as vertebrae. Elongated bones: Long, but flat and without a central canal. Like the ribs.

For the more technical part, bones are exactly what we think and maybe a little more. But for the most part, they serve to support the body and protect vital organs. Like lungs, brain, heary, and others.

And actually, bones are a tissue. They are a rigid, highly specialized form of connective tissue. Also, they carry minerals like calcium and phosphorus and are responsable for making blood cells like white, red blood cells and platelets.

Our bones naturally have mini cracks, you move, they wear out and they make mini cracks. But they are not harmful.

Curiosity: the older you get, the fewer bones in your cranium you have, because they join together into one. And when you are a baby your bones are not completely formed, like your fingers. A baby's fingers don't have proper bones yet, they develop over time.

Injuries. Fractures and dislocation.

This is basically a summary of the summary.

First, how does a bone break? That's quite simple to anwser.

Remember the lil cracks in our bones? Well, If you do a lot of movement and don't give yourself time to recover, especially if you do sports, the crack tends to get bigger. When this crack gets bigger and you apply too much force, your bone breaks.

But this can happen not where you hit it, but in another place. For example, you apply a lot of force at the beginning of the calf, but the bone breaks in the middle of it. Why? Because the crack was bigger in the middle of the calf.

Now, we have two tipes of broke bones. The open and the closed fracture.

Open fracture: Again, the name is straightforward. An open fracture is when you can see the person's bone after it breaks. The flesh breaks, and the bones comes out. This is a open fracture.

Closed fracture: When someone's bone broke but their flesh didn't. The broken part bends, but you don't see the bone, just a vomule left where it broke.

How to help the person before calling an ambulance, or taking them in the car if the health service is not free.

Exposed: See if arterial blood, which is darker, similar to wine, is coming out. Try to stop the bleeding and make sure the exposed bone is not tearing any other part. Don't let the exposed part move and try to calm the person. Panic causes your heart to speed up and send more blood which causes blood loss and eventual fainting or death from blood loss. Closed: Keep the person in the same position as he fell when the bone was broken, do not move the area or allow the injured person or anyone else to move in that area. Try to calm the person to alleviate the pain and call the ambulance.

When call the ambulance, say what happend. Exposed or not fracture, what the type of bool if theres any, and the area of the body where it's broken.

Joints

The main joints are the patella and labrum. The patella is the knee and the labrum is the shoulder.

There's just one thing you need to know about joints. If it hasn't ruptured, the tendency is for it to always return to its place. "The patella has dislocated" The doctor will put it back in its place without even needing anesthesia, because it hasn't ruptured.

BUT that doesn't mean you're going to move around and try to put it back in place, leave that to the doctor. Call an ambulance or take the person in your car and tell them that he dislocated the connection between this bone and that bone, or as you know it, knee, shoulder, elbow, etc.

Dislocating a bone will never happen in the middle of it, because to dislocate a bone it has to come out of place, and this only happens if the joint comes out of place and takes the bone out of where it is.

Fun fact, Joints not only have the function of moving your body, but also of stopping certain parts where they are. Your foot just doesn't reach your nose because your knee stops it.

Skull and Ribs.

First, the skull. Your entire skull has just one purpose, to protect the head mass and eyes.

Your nose and cheekbones are there to cushion the impact so they don't reach your eyes. If you don't damage your eyes, your nose and cheekbones would probably be broken first.

Your forehead has the same function. It was made like a bumper to cushion the impact before it hits your brain.

If your skull is dented, congratulations, you broke it and you should see a doctor immediately. Call an ambulance and tell them in which part of the head the blow happened and how deep it seems, one, two fingers or more, if it goes beyond five fingers, ask them to hurry, this is a serious injury. And remember, all skull fractures should be closed. if it's not, then you should fly down the hospital.

A crack in the skull, or superficial break, without denting, can be identified by the intense headache.

Now, the ribs. Believe it or not, ribs were meant to be broken. They are the buffer for the lungs and heart.

We have twelve ribs on each side, making a total of twenty-four of them. And they were made to be broken. The problem with breaking your ribs isn't that they're broken, it's that they puncture your organs. In fact, when you do recussitation with your hands, you will probably break your ribs in the process.

Many people also break ribs without knowing it and don't realize it until they feel the discomfort and pain when breathing. But now, in recovery, it's been one to two months without making any effort or moving the area suddenly, and the pain will last ALL the time until the end of recovery. If not, it takes longer to heal. Or - in the worst case scenario - your rib could crack or break again, and puncture your organs.

The question of recognizing a broken rib will depend on the individual, because a broken rib is a fracture closed inwards, targeting organs, such as the skull. It is recognized by the sinking in the chest and the pain when breathing. Again, this happens because the ribs are bumpers, so they will stop the impact to some extent.

Curiosity: Some gymnasts remove their ribs to have more flexibility, or for aesthetic reasons. You can live without them, but your organs are neglected.

Calls to ambulance

Now let's review everything for when we need to call an ambulance.

Open fracture: Stops the bleeding, do not allow the bone to hurt any other part, call the ambulance and tell them where the fracture is and whether it is large or not. Calm the injured person to reduce bleeding.

Closed fracture: Do not allow movement of the broken area and try to keep it exactly as it is. Call the ambulance and tell them where the fracture was.

Dislocation: Do not allow the area to be moved until the ambulance arrives. Call the ambulance, tell them it was a displacement and tell them where it was, if possible tell the name of the joint.

Broken skull: Place the head in a soft but not elevated place. Check whether the skull is dented and in which part, and whether or not the person is conscious. If she is, say this and check if she has a severe headache. Tell everything to the ambulance when calliung it, a broken head is no joke and every detail can be important.

Broken ribs: Don't let the chest be moved until the ambulance arrives, try to see how many ribs were broken without touching them. See if they are deep and if the person is breathing. Call the ambulance and tell them everything, remember if you see the ribs tell them to speed up.

Believe me this helps. If someone desperate calls the ambulance and gives the wrong information or in the wrong way, it could mean a life or more. Yours may have been a crash that caused non-fatal or harmful cuts, and on the other side there may be a worse case that will be left aside because you gave the information desperately and incorrectly.

Paramedics will send you the equivalent of your problem, knowing your problem can save your life and someone else's.

And if you're just a writer, congratulations, now you know the basics of understanding the fractures of your perosages and what to do about them.

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