Laziness is right at the top on my list of character flaws. Which is why I have never been much interested in sports. Ironically, I carry with me a permanent sports injury.
In 10th standard, I was playing as a replacement goalkeeper. The original guy was injured. Halfway through the match, a player stepped on my hand with spiked boots while I was holding the ball. And that was that.
The bandages came off after a few days but one finger remained slightly bent. Even though I could straighten it externally, it would go right back to being bent as soon as I let go. And so I did the sensible thing: I googled.
I learned it’s a mild case of “mallet finger” and can be cured with a splint if treated within weeks. That would mean going to a doctor. But the pain had subsided and the crookedness was hardly noticeable. I could live with that, I thought.
I had forgotten all about it over time. But years later, I started playing the piano and realized that this particular finger tires faster than the others. So I got off my ass and went to a doctor.
“When did this happen?” was his first question.
“Er… 6 years ago.”
He laughed and made some joke about me being in a coma or whatever. Then he informed that such old injuries can be fixed through surgery.
And that was that.