Sunday, April 12, 2009

One...two...let's stop at two

When I created my blog a year ago, the question was whether I would be able to maintain it. The smattering of posts between then and now clearly shows that I couldn’t. I felt the desire to write again a week ago. Ironically, it's a time when typing is the last thing I would want to do, as I don't have the full function of my right hand. They say that you won’t know what you’re missing until it’s gone. Right now, I’m really missing the use of my right hand.

Which brings me to my topic, what happened to my right hand? I never thought I’d say this, but I had another basketball-related injury. Yes, another. Not counting minor injuries like sprains, fingers getting hit by the ball (natinidor or nakorbo in Filipino sports jargon), this is my second major injury. That's a lot for someone who isn't a real player.

So what was my first? About a decade ago, basketball games with family and friends were regular Sunday events. One unfortunate Sunday, I got elbowed in my left eyebrow by a teammate coming off a rebound. It took 4 stitches to fix me up. And to this day, I still have the scar and half an eyebrow to remind me of that incident.

Fast forward to April 3, 2009, to a regular Friday night’s basketball game with fellow alumni …

The 3rd set had barely begun. The ball was tapped from a jump ball. I saw it going towards an area near me. I reached for it, then bam! The ball hit my right pinky. I felt something odd and looked down. My pinky had gotten dislocated at the 2nd segment and instead of a straight line, it now formed the shape of a greater than symbol “>”. The top part seemed to be at a weird angle as well. Without thinking, using my left hand I quickly attempted to pop the dislocated pinky back in place. It seemed to work. However, the pain penetrated whatever numbness I must have felt. My pinky was also starting to swell. I sat down while people around me scrambled to fashion a splint from a piece of wood they found lying around. Others chastised me for not leaving the pinky alone. They feared I might have caused further injury to my finger. At this point, I started to see black spots and felt woozy and nauseated, and also thought I felt my stomach grumble. Whether it was due to the pain or hunger or both, I don’t know. But if it was hunger, it certainly was a weird time to be feeling it!

My sister, who was with me at the time, drove me to St. Luke’s ER. It was a good 30-40 mins. away by car but I chose it because of its proximity to our house. Plus, it was my preferred hospital. It turned out to be an unwise choice. In the more than 2.5 hours we spent in the ER, almost 2 hours were spent waiting to be given the reading of my x-ray results and for an ortho who never came. I was offered painkillers 2 hours after I arrived, only when my mom complained about it. The only saving grace for St. Lukes’ ER was in the person of Dr. Reynante Mirano, who after hearing my mom’s complaints, came to assist and after checking my film, finally discharged me. I can rant some more about the customer care, or rather the lack of it but that’s another story.

We consulted an ortho on our own the next day for an official diagnosis, as the trip to St. Luke's ER had been so productive. The ortho confirmed the initial diagnosis at the ER, that my pinky and my ring finger both had hairline cracks. I don’t know if my ring finger got hit by the ball at the same time as my pinky or if it’s an old injury. After all, it’s been hit by the ball several times in the past. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt. One less painful digit works for me. Thankfully, a cast was unnecessary. With a “popsicle” stick and some Mueller tape, I was all set and ready to go.

The first injury alone was enough to last me a lifetime. And now I've had two. There's a Chinese saying that goes "It's incomplete if it doesn't make three." (Note: This is just my own loose translation.) The only thing I can do is cross my fingers and hope it's not true. Cross the fingers on my left hand that is. ;-)