Ok, so there was this time me and Wayne ( I got a lot of "me and Wayne" stories ) were in my backyard with my effingglass bow and a couple of yet-to-be busted arrows. I held up a cardboard box and told him to step up really close and shoot right thru box. He proceeded to crank 'er back and let fly...right into the back of my left hand. I hollered, screamed, writhed on the ground, got up, chased him all the way to his house, called him every name in the book several times over.
It hurt like the dickens....for days. Weeks later it still hurt like bloody hell to make a fist, and Lord help me if I bumped the hand! Finally one night at dinner, my mother asks me why I have this band-aid on my hand. Thinking fast, not wanting to lose my bow and arrows, I told her I was throwing my pocket knife at the cottonwood tree trying to make it stick and how it bounced back and cut me. She immediately confiscated the knife*. About 3 months after the wounding, it was finally starting to heal and I bumped it again. It burst open and something was sticking out. Kinda looked like part of a fingernail clipping. I pulled it out, examined it, and discarded it. About a week later the wound closed and eventually healed up.
Many years later I badly sprained that wrist and had an Xray. The doctor proceeded to ask who the hack-handed butcher of a doctor set the bones in my left hand when I broke it. I proceeded to tell him he was fulla that which the male uncut bovine produces, I had never in my life broken a bone. Well, the Xray proves that the bone between wrist and pinkie had been shattered.
Yeah, no wonder it hurt like hell and took forever to heal, eventually bone chips worked their way out and it healed up!
Don't tell my Mom, she might be 80 yrs old, but she'll beat my butt until I can't sit.
*I carried two pocket knives, one crappy thing with one of the scales missing on one side and a really neat one that my step grandfather bought for me and I kept secret. You see, my mother's favorite punishment other than beatings was to confiscate my pocket knife. I'd surrender the dull, rusty piece of crap handed down from my brother but hang on to the good one in my left pocket!!!