EDITORS DESK
The anguish of this injury of mine has made life much difficult for me the past decade. It has affected my work and the leisure activities that I have loved. In a snap, a wrong twist or bend in a variety of movements could lead to instant disaster. Last Monday, March 29, during a basketball game, it happened again.
I have been suffering from a nagging shoulder injury since I was 18 years old. My shoulders have loosened ligaments, which means that a sloppy motion of my arm could cause dislocation at any given time. I got this injury from swimming, and like a pendulum the cases swing from one shoulder to the other.
I have records at the orthopedic center in Banawe in Quezon City for around 12 to 15 procedures to realign my upper arm bone and the socket in my scapula. For one, I had to be hospitalized in La Union during a surfing trip because of an inadvertent fall. Unlucky me when my right shoulder fell apart after sneezing so bad in the morning four years ago. On other occasions I was fortunate to fix it myself. To my estimate, the injury has recurred more than 20 times.
The excruciating feeling of having to crouch on the side to alleviate the burning pain of an arm hanging through without the bones attached is pure agony and way beyond one's imagination.
Last Monday, during an evening basketball game, my left shoulder popped once again. No one bumped me; I wasn't reaching for the ball. It was involuntary. I was in the middle of an intense match and the adrenaline was rushing through when the misfortune came in. My vision went blurred and my body started to crumble which was the closest that I could get from totally fainting.
I immediately asked my interns, Sonny and Mark, to call the nearby hospital and look for my doctor who attended to my needs last August 2022. Sadly, he was off from his duty. Joined by two of my friends, Bryan and Randolph, I decided to go to a public hospital along Taft Avenue. Neither of them could drive so I had to navigate through the potholes of Manila with much struggle to contain the discomfort.
Then a scene of chaos. Parking space is around 300 meters from the emergency room. That length is a walk through hell for a guy that has his shoulder dislocated. An inch of movement is a measure of agony as I only prayed for the torture to end. When we got to the emergency room, the area was a sea of people in despair: most in wheelchairs or stretchers, in monoblocks, some on the gutter end of the pathway; some waiting for their turn, others with eyes in total gloom. When I reached the lobby, I was asked to fall through a long line. A Good Samaritan gave me a space to sit. To no one’s surprise, I was number 14 on the queue — in an emergency room.
It was 12:30 a.m. and I knew we had to leave. After a few minutes we arrived in Banawe at the orthopedic center. I was first on the line outside of the ER, but still I waited for more than an hour to be attended to since there was only one doctor on duty. He examined my injury and had me scheduled for an X-ray. The doctor asked his assistants to empty a bed to lay myself down. He casually released the tension by twirling my hand in a circular motion then gradually turned my injured arm in an assortment of maneuvers that peaked when my elbow reached my chin. You can hear the crackling sound when the bone and the socket realigned to its original form. Extremely painful, but the relief was pure bliss.
Tightening the ligaments through surgery could treat shoulder dislocation. After the operation, I need a month of rest, and up to six months of rehabilitation through therapy and non-strenuous activities. Seems like a lot of time, but I dare not to do it yet.
Through this period I was blessed to have my friends with me. But the humbling side of being one with others in unfortunate situations taught me a lesson: to lend a hand, even to a stranger, even if you’re incapable, or vulnerable. Everyone in the hospital, the chaperons, the parents, old ones and those who are obviously in distress, or the patients themselves, came forward to assist, or offer words of encouragement.
This is a picture of hope among Filipinos, a reminiscence of our roots, our true character, that in moments of hardships, we have each other.
(Ramon Rafael C. Bonilla is the head of Sports section of Manila Bulletin.)