In my several years of life, I have only ever visited a hospital to see a sick family member or friend (as I knock on wood). On the other hand, my sister has her own room at the local hospital.
It all started when she was about 2 years old. My father and Chris were playing around a bit and then things got a little rough. The result: My sister’s first visit to the hospital due to her arm being pulled out of it’s socket, and a father who still feels guilty to this day.
Then there was that one time when we were at home with our babysitter. Chris was testing out her brand new gym shoes while we played Red Light, Green Light inside. Chris and directions and new shoes don’t mix well, so instead of stopping, she goed right into the sharp corner of the wall. The result: Her second trip to the hospital and a decent sized goose egg on her forehead.
Then there was that one time my mom asked her to take out the recycling bag . Somehow a glass bottle broke inside. Not only did it split the side of the bag, but it also split open my sister’s leg. The result: Her third trip to the hospital, a day off school, and a dozen or so stitches in her leg.
Then there was that one time in school when Christina was participating in a rely race with a medicine ball. Running backwards and medicine balls and Chris also do not mix well, and she tripped. The result: Her fourth trip to the hospital, another day off of school, a very guilty P.E. teacher, and a broken wrist.
Hopefully her visits do not continue or she’s going to owe more in hospital bills than school loans.