by Joshua Carden
March 17, 2000
I’m sure that the more title-conscious among you will read this article and ask why I did not call it “Gimme a Break.” The preemptive answer is: I have one – thank you very much for asking. I am typing this article at a pace that would bore slugs, primarily due (NOT because I can’t think of what to say next) to the cast encasing my left hand and wrist. Faithful readers will immediately recognize the long-term implications of the previous statement (“Ohmigosh! Slugs can be BORED?!?! This opens a whole new field of animal behavior!”)
Well, by now you’re probably wondering how it all happened. Unless you’re still thinking about the slugs. Actually, there’s not a whole lot to tell. I was playing intramural basketball (a sport that I am too pale, slow, and short to play in any other context) and managed to deflect a pass intended to travel the length of the floor. In other words not a pass you would make to your two-year-old little brother. Rather, not a pass you SHOULD make to your two-year-old little brother! As I extended my left hand, I immediately felt the pop usually associated with a jammed finger. Since we were already down to four players (my teammate had earlier rolled his kneecap to the outside of his leg. HE’S fine, now that it popped back into place. Not that I’m bitter.), I didn’t say much and we finished the game shortly thereafter. That evening my hand began to swell, and as it did, I noticed that my pinky knuckle had disappeared. I gave it one night and when the swelling didn’t subside I took it in for x-rays.
At the doctor’s office, I soon realized that they hadn’t seen much action that day. As I waited for them to give me a report, I suddenly noticed a string of doctors and nurses passing by out in the hall. I overheard them make several comments next door: “Whoa! Look at THAT!” “He did that playing BASKETBALL?” “That’s amazing!” Now these are NOT the type of comments you really want to hear from doctors. I forgave them. After all, I did want to get home without them unnecessarily extracting any bodily fluids (“Mr Carden, are you sure you don’t want to donate some BLOOD?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”). They sent me to an orthopaedic doctor (One upshot of all this is that I can now spell “orthopaedic”), where I was able to catch up on all the back issues of “Time” magazine I had missed since my birth. The result: I have a cast on my left hand and wrist that is holding my hand in one position for the next 4 weeks. It’s in the position you would use to gesture while saying “My brother is about THIS tall.”
As my hand was being “set” (doctor code for “Smashing Every Tendon”), I tried to think of something else. I began to think of my last broken bone. It occurred in the mid-1980s, before the advent of such modern medical procedures as the after-visit sucker. (I got a watermelon-flavored blow-pop after they fixed my hand.) My brother Jason and I were having our nightly who-can-run-down-the-hall-the-fastest contest. I usually won because at age 11 the slightest additional breeze would add to my velocity, whereas Jason at age 9 was still living down his childhood nickname: Thunder Thighs. Come to mention it, he’s still living that down. I was timing him and as he sprinted past, he stepped squarely on the fourth toe on my left foot. We were both barefoot, but it still broke. My mom took me to the doctor and he told me to wear shoes all the time for the next couple of days. As you country folk can imagine, I was heartbroken. It was the middle of summer and I had to wear shoes! And they didn’t have lollipops either.
When I got home from the doctor this time, of course I had to call my mom in Texas to let her know it was broken. As we talked, I decided that considering all the weird, wild stuff God has allowed me to do in my life, He’s taken pretty good care of me. One broken finger, one broken toe. It could have been a whole lot worse! Besides, it’s not that bad. I can still get one note out of my left hand for piano purposes. The church I played for last week has dubbed me Captain Hook. It’s better than Thunder Thighs, I guess.
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