These incidents happened more than a handful of times, but not too frequently to make them a regular occurrence. But every now and then a fracture would happen and my parents couldn't get me to my orthopedic right away.
When these injuries happened it meant my parents would put a temporary brace or splint on the fractured area. They would help get me into a reclined position on my bed, keep my brothers from playing near me, put a stack of books and a bronze bell in case I needed anything near by. Going to sleep this way was the toughest part of the whole situation for me. Despite the temporary splints and braces, the fractures was still fresh and sensitive to any movement or the slightest touch. Fresh fractures also seem to be the breeding ground for muscle spasms, and though I wasn't physically moving it felt like my muscles were tripping the light fantastic till the break of dawn. I would go to sleep repeating in my head, "don't move in your sleep, don't move in your sleep, don't move in your sleep..." hoping that maybe I could teach my body that having brittle bones can be less painful if it would just understand: don't move. 


Eventually after drifting off and then jolting awake, and then slightly shifting my body weight, or itching a spot, or cracking my back, or ringing the bell for another glass of milk, or flipping the pillow over again -- I would fall asleep. Finally I would reach some sort of compromise between the fresh fracture and my body's clear exhaustion. Both would collapse across some invisible dotted line that stretched between Point A: Moment of Fracture to Point B: Moment of Healing. The two parties are completely zonked out, snoring, drooling, deep into la-la land - it translates into some rest for me.

And then morning would come. Usually I would try to wake-up before my parents awoke in an attempt to enjoy the calm before things started being moved around again. Even to this day, there is nothing I despise more and find more uncomfortable than a fresh fracture being moved. I hate it. I would rather repeat all of high school math than be moved around with a non-stabilized broken femur. Please, spare me. But that dreaded moment would come. When I got older, around middle school, I would tell myself it needs to get much worse before it gets much better. And that was the only thing that I kept in my head as I gritted my teeth while my parents, inch by inch:
Transferred me from the bed to the chair. And then from the chair to the toilet. And then from toilet back to the chair. From the chair to the car.. (all the while I am whimpering like a baby)... and on until we had arrived in the x-ray room, and are well on to making a little bit of progress towards Point B: Moment of Healing.

The mental and physical sensation of pain is always going to be overwhelming. What's more is that it's only ever going to be an overwhelming sensation that you can understand. You're the one who knows how big it is, how persistent it is, when it will appear, when it fades, why it comes, or when it goes. So with all of these facts in mind, what are ways that we can better manage the pain? There are a million pain management techniques and tips out there. There is only one that I have found that works, for me, every single time. Inch-by-inch and bite-sized pieces:
When I lay in bed with a fresh fracture thinking about how I need to somehow get from there into the car, and then onto the highway with all of its swerves and bumps - I will only want to curl up into bed and refuse to move. However, if I think - now I need to move 4inches over and into my chair. The pain seems far more bearable and less infinite. In fact, the pain becomes finite because soon I know I'll be able to say: now I need to move from my chair to the examination table so he can put the cast on and it's all done. Destination Point B: Arrived.