"Shaken, Not Stirred"

"Dislocated, not broken." Or, to be more precise, "nearly dislocated".
(This blog has nothing to do with martinis other than I like them and James Bond.)
I was born in the old Creston Hospital 66 years ago. Olin Barrett Hawley, M.D. delivered me. But Bernard J. Fry, D.O. of Corning was the Dr. I remember going to for shots, sore throats and other childhood traumas.
One of those traumas occurred when I was almost eleven. I had seen my older brother, Ron, go after the cows for milking. I had seen him walk down after them and ride one of the cows back up to the barn. Hm-m-m-m. If he could do that, why couldn't I? (Yes, we had a horse to ride, but that was beside the point.)
My only problem was figuring out how to get on the cow's back. One afternoon the cows were in the lot. Some of them were lying down. Perfect. All I had to do was climb on the back of one and then it would stand up and move and I could ride it.
The cow stood up with me on its back but it just stood there. I told my little sister, Betty, to "make her go". Sis did as instructed. She twisted the cow's tail around a couple times. The cow took off running across the lot with me on her back. That is I was on her back until she took a sharp right turn and I kept going straight, landing hard on my left shoulder.
I started screaming and bawling. Betty ran to the house to get help. Mom said I was lying in the dirt screaming, "I'm killed. I'm killed". Somehow she got me up, out of the cow lot and to the house. She realized I really was hurt, so into town to Dr. Fry we went. He made my shoulder hurt even more while moving it around and examining it. I don't remember him taking x-rays; he may have used a fluoroscope. He told us my shoulder wasn't dislocated but it was nearly dislocated. He said to keep it in a sling for ten days to two weeks and I should be fine. I don't think I even got pain pills!
Dr. Fry said to me, "Look on the bright side. This will get you out of doing dishes for two weeks". We went home and Mom made me a sling out of a dish towel. I didn't have to wash the dishes which was my usual job, but I still had to dry them after I had a couple days off to recuperate. Mom figured a way for me to hold the dishes against my dish-toweled left arm and dry them with my right.
I also got a lot of attention when we went to town. Everyone thought I had a broken arm. I would explain how it was only a "nearly" dislocated shoulder. Then they would laugh when told how it had happened.
I never again tried to ride a cow. But I am once again suffering from that childhood attempt; arthritis has settled in that shoulder, limiting my range of motion and lifting capacity with my left arm.
Mm-mmm, one of those shaken, not stirred martinis would numb the pain for awhile.