The human body has 206 bones. I consider mine as having many more. Each bone that has been broken I think of as two, or three, or dozens--for some were shattered. I have no way of accurately counting my bones because those which shattered were pieced back together as best they could be and, ultimately, some of those pieces were discarded in the process. The doctors could not be bothered to count each individual piece, nor to keep an accurate account of how many went back in and how many were sent to the medical waste bins. I wouldn’t expect them to have done so. That seems unreasonable, even to me. And they were my bones.
What most people don’t know is that infants may have 270 or more bones when they’re born. Maybe over 300. But, in time, all those extra bones knit together into larger units until they dwindle down to the standard 206. At least that’s how the medicos count them. Isn’t that just the way it is, though. All your life you start out with your own basket of goodies and slowly but surely the world picks away at it all, taking what you started with and leaving you with remnants or cobbled together replacements. Even your bones. Even your teeth.
God knows they came for mine. But I fooled them. I came out ahead. Didn’t I?
