"S" is for

      I've mentioned before that I play basketball on Sundays with the locals and Filipinos. I don't play every Sunday, usually because I am working in the classroom. This past Sunday I played. It's a funny irony that a tall white guy here is assumed to be good at basketball. Similar to in the states, that a tall African American may be assumed to be a good basketball player. The Filipinos have this automatic belief and they've actually taken to calling me “Import.” “We have the Import.” I've heard that I can play good defense, but that magnetism that happens between the ball and the hoop just doesn't work for me. Of the three games that I played last Sunday, only one shot was successful– and I must say that it was a perfect swish.

      Due to my height, I am put in center, which means that I get to participate in the jump at the start of the game. I'll concede that it makes me feel good when I win most of those jumps. It was at the start of my fourth game that, when gravity pulled me back down, I felt my left, second toe get stubbed. You know that feeling when you forget how to walk and you stub your toe on a rock, or other foreign object? The only difference is that it was more thorough. As well, when my foot was flat on the ground, the middle knuckle of the toe, instead of the pad, was touching the sole of my shoe.

      I knew this was the wrong feeling, so I carefully walked over to the side. Kneeling down, I tried to feel the problem through my shoe.

      “Something is wrong,” I said to Pa Cooper.

“Do you need to get some icecream over there?” he replied, pointing away.

      People say things like that over here. I remember Pa Rol saying at a recent basketball game, to one of his players that missed horribly, “Kom masrinsral?” which means, “Are you hungry?” Anyway.

      “No seriously, something is wrong with my toe.”

      He then made a motion telling me to step on my toe with the other foot, and pull out.

      “What?? No way.”

      I took my shoe off, and saw something quite familiar: an S. In highschool, I had a similar stubbing in football with my right, middle finger, in which it was dislocated in the shape of an S. To draw it clearly: the second bone went under the first knuckle (counting from the hand), this caused a pulling of the tendons connected to the last knuckle, which made a V, between the second and third bone, opening down.

      The finger injury thankfully pinched a nerve, but my mom had to get off work and take me to the hospital for that one. This toe injury wasn't actually that painful, sort of dull, but mostly the fact that my foot was trying to spell something was what “caused” me pain. Everyone crowded around, but they weren't seeing something wrong, they just figured something happened to my foot. Two Filipinos made an effort to help me to a seat at the local house, but I could tell they didn't see it. “No, look at my toe.”

      “Oh, [swear word],” was said by one of them when they finally recognized the problem. Pa Cooper sat down and started carefully feeling it. He made me to sit down. He was feeling my toe, and I knew what was coming, so I did the reflexive look-away. I felt pulling, and resistance from my toe, but finally a resounding– both in sound and throughout my foot– pop. I believe that I was again lucky, in that a nerve was pinched, similar to what happened with my finger. Again, like the last time, then the pain became real. I walked carefully to my apartment, grabbed ice and a towel, and walked back. After sitting for a while, still trying to be apart of the fun, I recognized my stench. I went back, took a shower, and have tried to disguise the limp ever since.

      The first two thoughts, and their order, that came in my mind when I realized something was wrong are interesting. First, I wanted my camera so that I could take a picture of what I knew to be something worth remembering. It was away in my apartment, and I don't think I will stop regretting not having it on hand. Second, I really did not want to go to the hospital. Thankfully, people here are resourceful, almost to a fault. I know, too, that Pa Cooper has most likely dealt with his fair share of dislocations, since he has been in the various athletic programs here for so long.

      My toe was a pretty purple for most of this week, and is still rather swollen, but it becomes much better each day. It felt great when I swam around in the Marina at the picnic on Monday; it gave my toe a much needed weightlessness. Unfortunately– maybe for my toe, but not really– I plan on hiking Mt. Mutunte tomorrow. (I can actually credit this accident to my hiking in wet places, which has caused my soles to start coming unglued). My time here is running low, and I still have certain goals to achieve (i.e. hiking said mountain and Mt. Finkohl, laughing with my kids as much as possible, swimming under the Mutunte Falls again, snorkeling more, and learning how to make doughnuts, among other things).

     Add another one to the books.