I've broken my right arm twice. Six months apart, more or less, when I was a toddler.
The first time I was about 2 and a 1/2. My mom was having a nightmare of a time...my older sister had just suffered a slight concussion from a fall and my mother had spent the last 24 hours in the hospital waiting for her to wake up. Thankfully there was no lasting damage and she took us both home. My father was away on a business trip so my mother was the only one taking care of us. She put me on the bed and went to get some clothes to change me. I have no idea what got over me, but I decided to flip over and--whoop--I rolled right off the bed. My mother said it was such a simple fall, she wouldn't have thought I'd gotten hurt at all if I hadn't screamed. I ended up breaking the arm above the elbow--causing my mother to rush right back to the hospital again.
(I hope I didn't scare any would-be mothers away...)
The second time I broke it is a time I actually remember the fall. I don't remember the first--I just know this from what my mother told me.
However, this is what I remember. I was about three and there were a bunch of people invited to dinner. I was on a high chair and playing with a pink plastic spoon--the kind you can get from Baskin Robbins. I remember singing and just generally having a good time. Then I remember the spoon falling from my hands, and I put my hand on the table and leaned back a little to see where it went. I pushed too far...one second, I'm looking at the spoon on the floor, the next I'm on the ground, on my back, screaming, and I remember people's shoes surrounding my head. I don't remember anything after that though, but obviously I was taken to the hospital, etc, etc.
This was a more serious break, I snapped my elbow. My parents said the first doctor who fixed it was a real jackass, he completely twisted the bone the wrong way and wrapped it loosely. A couple of days later my mother took me to the doctor who wrapped my arm the first time I broke it. (She knew something was wrong because my arm was flapping around and I was crying all the time.) When he saw the X-rays he went bonkers. I was rescheduled for another operation the next day, because my arm was already starting to heal.
But since then, thankfully, no breaks. I did sustain a hairline fracture in one of the bones in the back of my right hand from blocking a kick--but that's about it. Cool stories...
I always thought an Arm bar was a place thumbs went to drink wrestle and pick up cute fingers.