Living within my flames

I was born a “normal” child late afternoon on the 17th May 2002. I lived a “normal” life for 10 years I say normal, but what is normal these days? I did and loved all the things that children do. I loved to dance around our kitchen and around the house, I loved to help mummy and daddy make fresh cakes and bread. I loved to run and play but most of all I loved to play football with my friends.

My story really starts on 15th January 2013.

It was Tuesday break time and we were all outside enjoying time out from lessons, year 6 is a little tougher than year 5. As I always did I was enjoying a game of football with my friends, not being the most elegant of players I fell over landing right wrist first then like a sack of spuds, as mummy would like to say. Now I’m not the tallest of people in the school, in fact mummy points out that I get my height from the Welsh side of the family, even though mummy is 5ft 10″ she says there might be hope for me yet. Laying like a heap on the floor, tiny little old me, an elder child stood on the back of my right hand. It was a complete accident my hand shouldn’t of been there in the first place really.

I was taken inside to the first aiders where ice was applied and the dreaded phone call home was made.

“Mrs Rodbard-Brown there’s been a little incident involving Paige, would you be able to come and pick her up, she may need to get checked out at A&E, nothing to worry about though.”

To which mummy’s normal reply came down the receiver “I’m on my way”. See its not just me, I have an elder brother and a younger brother both of which I swear where born with two left feet and blinkers so mummy was used to the phone calls from the schools informing her that one of us had been involved in an incident.

When she came and picked me up I don’t know what was hurting most my hand or my pride, see my parents had always said don’t play football you’re going to hurt yourself (I have flat feet and at best they’re both left I swear) and sure enough they were both right.

So off we went to the walk in clinic at Heatherwood hospital. I was sent for X-rays (4 that time) and told nothing was broken “just a bad knock, rest it and take paracetamol for any pain” then we were sent on our way. I’ve had lots of knocks bumps lumps and bruises, I’m an active child after all with two clumsy brothers but this felt different. The pain wasn’t your normal pain it was like my whole hand was burning and so so sensitive the slightest breeze across it was like a million hot pins being stabbed in my hand.

No matter how hard I tried to hide the pain over the next couple days I couldn’t. My whole family thought that I was making up the amount of pain, I was in hell, I even thought I was making it up. No pain killers where helping. Nothing would take the edge off the pain.