Many years ago, I have learnt a very important lesson. This lesson was learnt through pain and some laughter, but mostly pain. Although many years have passed, I still have the scars to remember it by:
That's just one of the scars
Believe it or not, I was given that scar by my pastor. I would like to think that he was the cause of it, but he vehemently denies it. Who was at fault, you be the judge. This all started after a normal Sunday evening. Church had just finished and we started having a friendly match of Captain ball at the Basketball court.
If you are not familiar with Captain ball, its basically like handball. You score by throwing the ball to a team member standing on a chair. If he/she catches the ball. You score a point. It's generally a fun game, except that it can get a little competitive. On this very day, my pastor's team was scoring well. Being the competitive person I am, I doubled my efforts, searching for any opportunity to score for my team.
It was at this point that the ball was caught by my pastor. I crouched a little before lunging myself forward, attempting to tackle him. He however, by sheer agility or the grace of God, dodged my tackle. I fell forward and blocked my fall with one hand. It was at this point that everything went black for a split second before I found myself lying on the ground. I tried getting up but I could not move. I looked around and everyone was staring at me in horror.
I turned to find my hand laying in an unnatural manner on the ground. My pastor rushed over and supported my arm, using nothing but a guitar strap to hold it in place. I was rushed to the hospital where the horror begins. The doctor was either:
i) High on drugs.
ii) Incompetent.
iii) A janitor posing as a doctor.
The doctor assumed that my arm was dislocated despite my pastor telling him repeatedly that it was not. No X-ray was done before he held my arm and said the following words:
This is going to hurt.
The doctor, without any mercy started swinging my arm back and forth, attempting to put my arm back in to its imaginary socket. I yelled and screamed as I felt the agony of my bones grinding against each other. The nurses had the audacity to say...
Lower your voice, it doesn't hurt all that much.
In which I replied that I would break her arm and we will see how she responds to that treatment ( I was in pain). The agony was finally over. The next day the doctors (the real ones) came in and told me that he had good news and bad news.
- The bad news: It was a fracture, not a dislocation so they have to repeat a different procedure.
- The good news: The doctor will be around to do it.
Off I went screaming again and for a short while, my arm, according to the doctor's opinion was 'fine'. A month went by and a follow-up X-ray revealed that the bone had 'suddenly' went out of place (his words not mine). I thought enough was enough and so I went to a different hospital where a more professional doctor cut my arm open to insert two metal plates in support of it.
The titanium plates remain in my arm until this very day. I'm not taking it out because it cost me a few thousand dollars, so I'm keeping it. About who was at fault, I suppose I shouldn't have tackled him. As such the lesson learnt is:
Not Everything is A Competition. Bonus lesson: Don't Tackle a Man of God.
My pastor and I are still great friends and we laugh about this from time to time. I hope you have enjoyed the story. Do let me know your thoughts in the comments below.
