This is how I know that I am sweet.

This is how I know that I am sweet:

The town that our group does training in, San Vicente, has a local basketball league that plays on Sundays. Being that this a great way to combine community presence and exercising, we found a way and started up a team.

Our team consists of 5 gringos and a local guy, Luiz, who is married to one of the lady’s that works at the Peace Corps office. Around 10 o’clock I showed up to the courts, decked out in my balling gear ready to just tear it up, mind you that I was cut from varsity basketball in high school. Vera Paz has two courts, one is regulation, the other plays at about 9 and a half feet. We used the short court to warm up/build a fan base.

This is how I know that I am sweet.

Playing some two on two, in warm-ups, I drove baseline and jumped really high (as if I was playing on a ten foot rim). However, the rim is a lot shorter and I bashed my eyebrow on the bottom of the metal backboard. As I fell to the ground holding my eye, a large crowd formed around me. With the backboard providing a beautiful, metallic reverb as a soundtrack, I began bleeding from my face. And it was awesome!

At this point it is important to realize that judging by the contact I made with the backboards edge, and the noise it produced, to onlookers I had just completely blinded my right eye.*

*In reality I had a large paper cut and over reacted big time. I would compare it to Will Ferrell reaction in Talladega Nights.

As any 23 year old man that has the guts to leave his home for over two years, I reacted to the injury with poise and maturity: I began jumping up and down yelling, “is it bad?!?!?! Oh man, its got to be bad!!!!”.

This was followed by my teammates searching around for a magnifying glass so that they could start looking for the massive gash on my head.

Let’s review; this is why I am sweet:

1) I didn’t cry.

2) I was a centimeter off of permanently blinding my right eye – but I didn’t, which is awesome.

3) After sitting for the first quarter, I made the executive decision to jump in and play the game.*

*We lost by 49 points, and I more or less walked around in self-pity hoping that people would feel bad for the kid with the paper cut on his “ceja” – eyebrow.



I know what you all are thinking… “Jimbo, when did you become such a man? You kept playing and didn’t want to get your cut checked out?”

I had to call the Peace Corps nurse in order to get access to the medical kit in San Vicente (I wanted to clean the cut out with some rubbing alcohol). The nurse started freaking out because I hit my head on a metal surface and made me head to a local clinic.

The doctor gave me a local, which hurt way more than the actual injury, and then proceeded to install three whole stitches. I was such a good boy that she gave me a lollipop too!

But was this enough? No way… The Peace Corps El Salvador crew takes any type of emergency very serious and they don’t play games. We discussed the possibility of me getting an eyebrow transplant in Panama – this was thrown out. We, meaning them, decided that I needed to head to Salvador on Monday to get checked out by the head nurse. I woke up at 5:30am, arrived by 8. The nurse was not there because of an emergency, but everything worked out because I had a 4 o’clock appointment with a doctor. So for the next eight hours I sat around doing absolutely nothing.

For lunch I was fortunate enough to get some Pollo Campanero. This is similar to a KFC, except you have to order in Spanish and when you are an adult an order chicken nuggets, super campenero sized, you get laughed at.

I received Rayos X (x-rays)… The team of radiologists sent the complicated shots to 15 different teams of specialists located across the globe. The results came back worse then expected. I apparently suffer from being a huge baby.

To make matters worse, I was then sent to a plastic surgeon. I don’t think she looked at my file, because when she came in she asked me if I hurt my nose (I swear this really happened). I spent the rest of the 15 minutes in her office becoming more and more self-conscious about my profile.

After 583 hours of medical consultation, we have concluded that the 3 stitches on my face will be sufficient enough to heal the paper cut masked behind my brow. All is well and I believe that I am done with the hospital. However, some things were lost in translation while I was checking out of the plastic surgery office, and there is a chance that I will be receiving a breast augmentation next Tuesday at around 3pm.

I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I do.

Looking tough as ever,

Jimbo