My niece broke her arm, just like her Uncle Doug did when I was her age. I jumped off a swing and landed on my left arm. She was using a stool/chair as a ladder combination and lost her balance which took out her right arm.
I broke my left arm again my Junior year in football practice. After it healed up, and it came up in discussions, I would tell people how I broke the same arm twice and how you could feel the two sets of raised areas where the bones were mended. Now that I think about it, I'd also show people how my arm was bent funny because it didn't heal exactly right the first time when I was a kid.
My Junior Year broken arm cast was a full cast all the way up to the shoulder. After a few weeks, it was removed (those things get stinky) and a forearm cast replaced it. Because my arm had been stuck in that bent position, it wouldn't straighten out. The doctor said that was normal and that in a week or two it would start to work itself out. I'm sure I was supposed to follow some rehabilitation schedule.
Later that night, I was in a graveyard with two friends egging cars. We thought the eight foot fence would keep any of the drivers from coming after us, but we were wrong. When we climbed into the graveyard, it took me about five minutes to get over the fence with that cast on and my arm not bending. As we raced through the headstones with two guys starting to chase us, I didn't think about my arm and we all scrambled over the fence in about two seconds.
At the rendezvous point we were all out of breath from running and laughing. With my hands on my knees, I noticed that my left arm was stretched out straight. Who needs rehabilitation!
About two years ago I was home looking through some family photos and saw a photo of a six year old me with my cast... on my right arm.
Memory is a funny thing.