The Miracle of My Toe

Miracles are all around us. They are so numerous and common that they have become unnoticed in the daily round of existence. Take for example: the incomparable beauty of a flower or intricate web of a leaf, the astonishing diversity and prevalence of life forms in the world, the mathematical precision of earth location parameters in the universe.

The average person seldom sees direct divine intervention unless personal faith dictates that it be considered so. Often it is the evolved belief in a higher power, ingrained in the consciousness from childhood, which is seen as cause or interpretation to an event that may be hard to explain. It is religion rather than reality, nothing to show or point to.

Not so with a tangible miracle that actually happened to me – I can point to my toe.

Let me start by stating the circumstances and situation I was in at the time. I was an unemployed chemical engineer, having resigned months previously from a position of responsibility in a company with nationwide branches, unable to immediately find equivalent work soon enough because of advancing age. Needless to deny, I was terribly hard up financially, sometimes with only loose change in my pocket and none in my wallet or bank book. The only reason the landlady of the bed-spacing accommodation allowed me to prolong my stay was that when I was regularly employed, I always paid two months forward for the home rent and food consumption.

The house was located in one of the most crowded and poorest section of the city, populated by all kinds of people: muggers, workers, addicts, deadbeats, policemen, community leaders, church pastors, students, transients, entrepreneurs, night workers, entertainers, martial artists, hospitality attendants, teachers, whatever else one looks for. In our house was a downstairs area about 20 feet in length and 8 feet in width with unfinished hollow block walls 8 feet tall and designated as clothes hand-washing place for the tenants. Even in summer no ray from the sun ever reached in, creating a perennially damp atmosphere. Outside was just enough alley for a person to pass through; so close was the retaining wall of the adjacent dwelling. The area was open inside the house, the wall having been torn down for the convenience of the residents.

A piece of water pipe, 1 ½ inches in diameter and 20 feet in length, hang ominously lengthwise, very useful for hanging clothes to drip-dry until they can be moved upstairs to the grilled window sill where there was continuous airflow. Only the thickness of the crumbling hollow block maintained the tube in its position; the rusted bent iron nails at either end were not much help. Nobody thought of or paid any attention to the precarious presence, until one day it fell on my toe!

More specifically, the round edge of one end hit the last joint of the next to the big toe of my foot.

Those who may have experienced anything falling on the foot from any height would certainly remember the excruciating pain. I did too, for probably a couple of seconds, then numbness set in, likely a built-in protective response inherent in us humans. I still felt the throbbing sensation, but superimposed by calm disposition and, more importantly, the ability to think and assess. I also kept repeating "God, help me."

It never occurred to me to ask anybody else for help; the other tenants have already left for their individual destinations and the people outside busy with their daily grind. I took a quick look at my foot; it was so bloody that I did not look again. I did not even take off the rubber sandals I was wearing. Thoroughly confident of my blood-clotting abilities, I thought it best to let the worst ride out by lying on my bed, also in the downstairs area, until I fell asleep. For some reason, my subconscious kept recalling that singular scene in the film Ben-Hur, where the downtrodden hero, once a gallant Roman Legionnaire but fallen in grace to an absolute low as ship slave, kept repeating to himself "God, help me."

When I woke up, the pain and throbbing were still present, but not so much anymore I was able to stand up. Washing up the wound, I saw where the pipe end had pieced but the joint appeared intact. I dragged myself to the door, called to the kind lady owner of the arms-wide store nearest and asked for 2 pieces of medical plaster (it was all I could afford). I placed one on the cleaned wound and reserved the other for the morrow.

It had been more than ten years, and to be truthful, the wound healed so well I sometimes could not tell whether it was the left foot or right foot. Perhaps, if a technical method be asked for and a magnifying glass be used, it would be revealed. But then, who cares - I do not; it is enough for me that I asked for help, and it was granted.

At present, if at any time I would feel so downcast or dejected or dispirited, I only have to glance at my toe, and say a prayerful thanks: "God helped me."