I had a really, really strange moment this morning. It has lingered at the front of my mind since. At about 2:30 this morning, the wall between the dream world and reality faded. Injury and nightmare became one. A place where pain is not allowed became real, and almost incapacitating.
A injured shoulder should heal with proper rest and treatment, right? Unfortunately, this is not the case. My injured wing has lingered for three years. Don't get me wrong, my shoulder hasn't been debilitating for the whole period of time. Like anything, it has had good moments; pain was not an everyday part of life. I almost felt -if only for a moment- normal.
But like any good thing, this too will not last. In my final football game my shoulder spoke up again as if to tell me my ticket is due for processing. I refused to quit and continued to ignore the accosting words of orator. The louder he spoke, the more I refused to listen. The cost of disobedience was great, but little did I know what was to come.
When my eyes opened, I thought that it was time to get up for school. No. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The usual suspect was to blame, but for a different reason. My first reaction was to get up out of bed; maybe a glass of water would fix this. NO. The orator was exacting his revenge! I nearly cried out in anguish. My worst nightmare was realized; my shoulder was out of socket.
***BACKGROUND***
• Shoulder has "popped" around 40 times
• Always returns to for relatively quickly (within seconds)
• Pain was bearable, could always keep playing
From my experience with this injury I knew what had to be done. I needed to get it back into its place. Every movement resulted in sharp pangs, grinding of bones, and little progress. I was stuck on my front, arm extended. I realized I couldn't move with pain. This was not a typical pop out. It was far from it.
Panic. Was I ever going to get back to normal? I looked at the clock, 2:40. My parents were surely asleep. I thought about calling out to them and decided that it was my last option. I needed to beat this on my own. I pushed past my threshold for pain, kicked off the covers, and began the process of beating the orator at his own game.
We were locked in a chess match. Sweat dropped from my head leaving droplets on the board. He wasn't making it easy for me. Every step forward was met with grinding, crunching and more pain than I've ever imagined. I think he took pride in this battle. He laughed at my efforts! I would not give in though, I was too close to be defeated.
Finally, after much struggle and profuse swearing (into my pillow) I heard the clicking noise that signaled the end game; checkmate. With a rush across my left hemisphere, the orator went back to his regular housing; his dominion. I turned to see the clock, which read 3:00. The battle lasted hundreds, if not thousands of times longer than it ever had before. I was drained, and immediately fell asleep.
I've never felt more helpless in my life. It took me more effort to move centimeters than it had to climb mountains. Much like hoe Ender in
Ender's Game, I was locked in my position; there was no escape. Ender was relied on by the world. His pain was felt by the world, and he felt the world's. My shoulder effected no one but myself, but the parallel was uncanny. I needed to get it back in so I could go about my day. Ender needed to save the human race (...commit genocide, depends on how you look at it) or there would be none to save.
Either way, it hurt like a
Witch.
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