It all started way, way back when I was a little girl. My dad lifted me up while the ceiling fan was on an it split my head open and I had to get stitches. Like 10 or something. I don't really remember it, I just know the story from it being passed down through the years. Also I have a scar on my forehead right next to my hairline.
Through elementary school - this part I do remember - I was always in the office getting fixed up because I had tripped outside during recess on the asphalt and now my knees or my hands were all bloody.
One of the first times we went up to Lakeport, my stepsiblings were like, "Hey, let's go ride the scooters down the hill by the police station where the speed thing is so we can see how fast we are going!" It all seemed like so much fun and I was never one to shy away from adventure {I've tried to wise up a little since then.} The twist to the story is that I was wearing my FIRST pair of flip flops. My mom never though it was a good idea to let me wear them before then because I'm so klutzy. She was right. As I was taking my turn going down the hill, I wiped out. Bad. I grabbed my shoes and ran out of the road because a car was coming and someone else had to run out into the road to grab the scooter I'd left there. That one took a while to clean up my foot I just sat there wondering why I ever thought flip flops were a good idea. I still have a scar on my foot from that one as well and I also wear flip flops all the time. Lesson learned?
Next, I decided to play hooky from school one day in the 5th grade. My stepsiblings were in a different district as me at the time so they had the day off and mom let me stay home. We were out all day doing kid stuff - riding bikes and the like. Our house is right by a golf course and it's located in between two hills with more hills all around it. So we're riding around and it's all fun and whatnot. Then we find this HUGE hill on the golf course that we took the effort to walk up so that we could go down. I'm sure I thought at some point it wouldn't turn out well but of course I went anyway. The first time I went down there were no problems and it was way fun. We went back later in the day and decided to go again. This time I was on a different bike. One that probably wasn't the best for this hill. But I go down with confidence because I did it earlier that day. I start going and lose control and flip over the handlebars {I think} and try to brace myself. Then I just screamed because it hurt so badly. A had known I was going down and started running right away. I sat there and all I could think was that my mom was gonna kill me and she was gonna be so mad. We walked back to the house and my wrist and my face kinda hurt. I get home and everyone's freaking out. Mom gives me some drugs and has me set down my hands on the table because I said my wrist hurt. The right was looked off so we went to the ER - yep, it was broken. Claaaaaaasic Brittani. I was miserable the next day. My wrist was broken, I had grass stains in my eyebrows and hair and road rash on my cheeks, I couldn't shower normally and to top it all off we went to the park and everyone got to go on the swings but I couldn't because I was broken. This injury paid off pretty nicely though - people got to take my tests for me because I couldn't write with either hand. Also, I was scared to ditch school for a LONG time after that.
I held up pretty well until my sophomore year. One morning I was walking out of the house to go to seminary and I missed a step on the porch. Rolled my ankle pretty badly but just got up because I couldn't be late and we were going to San Francisco that day to see Wicked. Apparently, my body went into shock on the way to town because I was shaky and stuff. This one I didn't feel as badly about because mom did it a few years later. There's now a sensor light installed outside.
Junior year I did it again. Somehow when I was walking out of the band room I tripped on the mound of backpacks against the back wall and my foot got stuck in a strap of one of the backpacks and down I went! My ankle popped and started swelling right away. I did the walk of shame to Milo's office for ice and to ask what he thought I should do. I kept my shoe on all day and iced probably too much. I was fine until I went to get ready for cheer practice that day. That's when I really started freaking out because it was the week of our first game (aka my first game back in 2 seasons) I took of my shoes to put on my school shoes and there was no way it was happening. Like, I couldn't fit my shoe on because my foot had gotten so fat. Much to my dismay, my coach made me sit out. When my mom finally got there she took me to the doctor and I went everyday leading up to the game. I was able to perform but I had some tape on my ankle and hobbled through a lot of it. It slowly got better until, of course, a few weeks later I came down wrong from a jump and there was no give in my ankle so the pain shot up to my knee. That one hurt. I held back the tears and finished the routine and lost it as soon as it was over. The combination of those two led to an interesting season following. Lots of braces, that's for sure.
One time I wore heels walking around Salt Lake City and that messed up my foot pretty badly. It was swollen for a couple weeks and I had to carefully plan outfits because I could only wear certain shoes.
This past December, I tried jumping over the couch and something {I really don't know what} happened and I sprained my ankle really badly. I couldn't make it to my bedroom to sleep that night and just stayed on the couch. Walking was a struggle. I ended up borrowing some crutches and pretended like I was okay but A made me go to the doctor. I was SO embarrassed as I told every staff member what happened - the lady at the front desk, the attractive male nurse to check me in, the x-ray tech, the doctor, and the nurse that gave me my brace. Oh yeah, I had x-rays because they thought I broke my ankle. From jumping over the couch. I had to wear a brace for a while and Disneyland wasn't too pleasant on my ankle either. I always get a little weary when it snows because I'm so afraid I'll hurt it again and then next one will break. {Every ankle injury was to the same foot.}
So the moral of this story is I'm a klutz, right? Partially, yes. But also, I've realized lately how wonderful our bodies are. Our Heavenly Father blessed us with these AMAZING things that let us make mistakes and learn from them and work toward eternal salvation. More importantly, each and every bruise we've ever had, every broken bone, every scratch HEALS. That's important. We are able to heal physically of course, but we are also able to heal spiritually. Our soul can heal. The bruises, breaks, and scratches go away. We will always remember the struggles but no one else can see them and that's why we need to take advantage of the Atonement and apply it in our lives so that we can forgive ourselves. No matter how much we mess up, we have the ability to make up for it.
And that's pretty miraculous.
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