"The day after tomorrow is the third day of the rest of your life"
--- George Carlin (American stand-up comedian, actor, & author; 1937 - 2008)
You might think that this is going to be an inspirational blog post. It's not. If anything, it goes to show how small things can turn out to be big problems. In the blink of an eye, your life can change.
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It's late June 2015, entering July by this point which means I've been in the mission almost 11 months by now:
OFF ON THE WRONG FOOT
On the third day with Elder Fortaleza, my third day in Reynosa, we were doing our early morning exercises. I was half asleep in the main study room trying to wake up and find the motivation to do something and Elder Fortaleza was on the other side of the screen door with a soccer ball. We could see him not that we were watching him attentively.
Soccer is at least just as big in Brazil as it is in Mexico. That morning he'd decided to kick the ball violently against the house for exercise. Soccer was his passion. With every kick came an audible deep thud on the wall.
A while later we heard some quiet moaning and the thudding sound stopped. Elder Brogan, Elder Urias, and I stepped outside a bit confused as to why Elder Fortaleza was laying on the ground holding his leg moaning. He assured us he was okay but his pitiful moaning said otherwise so we helped him limp back into the house like a wounded dog. I wish I could say I was concerned but I couldn’t understand how he could have hurt himself. He looked fine. I was sure he was exaggerating. Maybe he had a bruise or a scrap at the worst? We figured it wasn’t broken but he made such a big deal out of it. From what I remember, he'd somehow tripped and fell down.
We decided to call up Hermana Morales, our Mission President's wife, who conveniently was in the mission offices just down the street from where we lived (See "Mission Administration"). Turns out that she already had plans to pop by the hospital (which was at the far north end of our area). I had to laugh a bit when she pulled up with the other poor Elders who were also heading to the hospital. I hopped in the backseat with none other than Elder Scott, another old friend from District D in the MTC (See "Adventures of District D -- Part 1"), and another newer Elder we shall call “Elder Q.” in the front seat. Elder Scott had serious health problems that caused him to lose a significant amount of weight (not necessarily related symptoms) which is why he was in the car. He was also considerably tanner and overall looked exhausted; I almost didn’t recognize him but he seemed relatively happy all things considered. Elder Q. had also managed to mysteriously trip over thin air in the street and had twisted his ankle making him unable to walk altogether and had a cast that he was proud to show off. He quickly learned the Spanish word for “cast” (Yeso, pronounced “Jess-o”) which I think became his favorite word. At the time of the accident, Elder Q. was serving as my buddy Elder Martinez’s companion (See "Intercambios") who was training him who told me the story of his injury and how they'd gotten to ride in a tank (in place of an ambulance). I don't remember how that happened, but it did and Elder Martinez rather enjoyed it.
At the hospital, Elder Fortaleza was admitted and I instantly took charge over the blue brick of a phone to call up the members and investigators, most of which I had yet to meet since I arrived, to cancel and reschedule appointments. May I remind you that I detested speaking Spanish over the phone, especially to strangers because I was that self-conscious.
Elder Fortaleza was told to stay in bed or at the very least stay inside for about two weeks with a boot. That diagnosis meant I would be without an able-bodied companion. The options were few. At first, it almost came to a point where I would have to stay home with him since neither of us could be alone according to mission rules. And the other option was to somehow go do visits with someone from the ward, which was the least viable option because I didn't know anyone in the ward and I'm sure nobody had the time to make such a time commitment like full-time missionaries do. To make matters simpler and to keep me moving and useful, I was reassigned a companion after being just three days with Elder Fortaleza. His passion was his Achilles heel, or rather, twisted ankle. My new companion, companion number 9, would be none other than my MTC buddy, Elder Scott. That made 9 companions in 11 months and I'm not even to my halfway mark!
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