#176: 12-12-12 or The day I dislocated my shoulder

The date today reads 12-12-12. It’s the last of its kind till the next century and people around the world are inclined to do something special on this rare occasion. I for one, dislocated my shoulder.

It sucks that it happened at youth camp and on the first day and in front of 12 year olds. I’d think watching an 18 year old grimace in pain is quite a worrying sight to behold. I knew immediately that something ominous was soon to follow when I felt my arm socket give way as I landed on my left shoulder. The shifting felt more obvious this time than the times that followed since my first fall back in September when I think I sprained it but never got it treated. When the pain finally set in, in less than a minute, I didn’t know I was gonna be in one helluva ride.

Since it was a Christian camp, I had to hold back entirely from swearing due to the pain. But I can definitely say that dislocating my shoulder was the most physically excruciating experience I’ve had in my life so far. For the record, I don’t plan to face anything else worse than this. I would never, under controllable circumstances, scream in pain in public; I did that this afternoon. If you’ve always thought heartache was the most painful thing in life, try dislocating your shoulder. For me, the latter kinda trumps the former pretty much at the moment.

I can’t think of a better word than excruciating to describe the entire hour or so before being sedated in the hospital. Every time I tried to breathe it hurt so much because my dislocated arm was pressing down on the left side of my chest, making it painful every time my left lung was inflated. I begged for painkillers. I’ve only ever seen painkiller requests on TV, but today, I pleaded for it. It hurt so much that I couldn’t even cry till I managed to force tears during my X-Ray when the gaseous painkillers the paramedic had almost worn off entirely. I tried to distract myself from the pain, I focused on certain things in my surroundings when I was in the hospital, I thought of a few faces who mattered a little more than usual to me, I called out to God, I cried for Him…

But nothing. Nothing worked.

The pain was excruciatingly overwhelming, it shook my faith. I cried for Him, to take the pain away, or at least ease it a little, I thought He would. But like with every little hope I was fed to believe I could hold on to, like every nurse that said I’ll be given painkillers soon, the X-Ray will be done soon, we will sedate you shortly, it never happened. Well yes I was eventually sedated and passed out unknowingly, during which a female doctor (my dad told me) popped my arm back into its socket. But this experience had left me visibly shaken.

I don’t know what to believe in now really. When my friend spoke to me over the phone a while ago, telling me the camp will pray for me, my mind just blanked out and I went silent for a split second before replying with a customary Thank You. The faces I thought of to distract me, suddenly me connection to them just disappeared (though I think I can expect them to resurface again some time). Today I was taught how we as Christians should grow to appreciate God. But now, it has lost its significance.

I don’t know what to believe in now really. Really.

 

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#176: 12-12-12 or The day I dislocated my shoulder

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