Personal Narrative: A Parent's Home

Twas early November of the year 2015, my sophomore year of high school. It was a cloudy, wind-chilled sunday at about late morning when it happened. I was at my grandparents house, playing manhunt with my brothers out in the backyard. My little brother Cole, the youngest of the four brothers, was the “man-hunter” this round. Cole was the second smartest of the four brothers, only trumped by myself yet he was not by any means athletic. With this information in mind I needed to hide somewhere that was hard to access, not somewhere that he wouldn’t look as he would eventually find me.
I surveyed my grandparents backyard for a good spot to stay at, then it hit me! The big oak tree, the one which is cross sectioned by a fence. I climbed up the fence and onto a branch, about seventeen feet above ground, which looked sturdy enough to support my weight. This spot appeared to be the best place to seek shelter from the seeker. Little did I know this was the worst place for me to be.
Almost instantly after I climbed onto the branch, and stood up...SNAP! Down I fell seventeen feet onto the unearthed, giant roots of this old great oak tree. After I collected my thoughts I decided to stand up, well I’d try to. I tried and tried again, but could not stand up. My right ankle had been the first of me to make contact with not the soft

ground but the solid roots of this tree, my body soon followed landing mostly on top of my own ankle. I lay there for a good half an hour trying to stand. But to each attempt, no prevail would pursue.
After many failed attempts of trying to help myself out of this horribly painful mess I heard the backdoor open.
“Luke...Where are you?” Said my mom who was looking for me.
“Oh howdy...Yeah ummmm I kinda got myself in a bit of a pickle…You see I was on that branch up there and it broke off while I was standing on it...And now I can not get up...” I told her from the opposite side of the fence trying to explain what had just happened. Soon my father came driving around the block to reach the side of the fence which I was on.
We drove to the first care center in the town over. This is where they said I probably only had a sprained ankle. They gave me a small, useless ankle brace,wrapped me up and sent me home. But I know what a sprained ankle feels like, and this was most certainly not a mere sprained ankle.
My father decided to take me to the podiatrist in the town over, to have my ankle checked out.

After multiple x-rays and extensive seemingly frugalous examinations of my injured right ankle they have determined that I did not have a sprained ankle, rather I had a very serious stressed fracture. My metatarsals and even some tarsal bones had not been broken, but completely cracked and splintered. My doctor told me I would’ve been much better off just breaking the bones in two. And as a lovely side dish to go along with my main course of a wonderful stress fracture I had also torn a ligament and pulled a few tendons. What a great outcome am I

right?
I had been given a big ole’ boot, one which goes up to my shins and slightly immobilizes my acting as a cast splint to aid my forsaken ankle. And to complement this heavy, pestering boot I was given two crutches and me move like a swinging pendulum rather than a wobbling chick whom had just came free from its egg. I was further instructed to use these for possibly up to eight whole months! This was something I knew I could never do though.
After around three weeks I got tired of the spacious crutches and eventually halted the use of them. Following that at around the two maybe three month mark I grew exasperated by this big, groggy, over-encumbering boot brace and I soon made a reckless decision to abandon them prematurely. This resulted in my ankle being left in its current, permanent state of injury.