"Go take down your hammock Casey." My Dad yelled to me. "Wait 'till after dinner!" I yelled back. "It's gonna get dark."

I just rolled my eyes, I have excellent night vision, what could go wrong?

Mom made most excellent hamburgers loaded with cheese, grilled onions, lettuce, BBQ sauce, and a grilled bun. I ate my hamburger, and was satisfied that I made Dad wait long enough. I went up top to take down the hammock.

I stood on the tips of my toes as I reached for the carbineer, that was hooked to the jib. At that moment a huge gust of wind took the hammock away like a parachute, and caused me to fall. I fell on top of the forward hatch, my toes stuck in the hinge.

I laid on top of the window trying to move my foot. Thoughts were going through my head like, "Now what? Ow, Ow, OW, OWWW! Why can't I feel my toes?"

I heard my mom yell, "Everything OK?!" "No." I said in a small voice.

She ran up top and helped my toes out of the hatch. I limped, using her as a crunch, down below. Dad yelled that I was getting blood all over the deck, but then, quickly, realized that he should be quiet.

Damage was done to the middle toe and the second toe. My middle toe had a deep gash and the toe nail was split. My dad wrapped some paper napkins around it and applied pressure to it. He gave me two aspirin, which was later deemed as a mistake: the bleeding didn't stop. I went to bed that night with my foot elevated.

The next day my mom thought she would tell two of our friends in the anchorage what happened. Astra said that they went to the doctor in the bay next to us (there was a little town.) because George, one of their crew, got an infected bite of some kind. Both Mom and Dad agreed despite my repeated declarations of being fine (I didn't want to get a shot), that we should take me in the dinghy to the town. They taped a plastic bag around my foot and we were off.

Twenty minutes later we were in the town bay, thirty knot gusts pushing the little dinghy almost backwards. We made it to the dock tied up and began the tedious, and tiring piggy-back ride, into the village towards the doctors office. Each parent would carry me a few feet and complain about my weight.

My mom, desperate, went to the school with our French for Cruisers book. She pointed out little phrases like, "Emergency", "Injured person", "Call doctor...Please" The lady drove about ten yards from the school, to the doctors office, parked the car, and called the doctor.

A man in tight pink shorts and a baggy yellow shirt, came and unlocked the door. He went inside and talked on the phone for a minute. He then gestured to a room with an exam table. I sat on it, then he undid the makeshift bandage and looked at my toes. He said that they were not broken. He got some Iodine and started to clean it, then put some coagulating stuff on it. My Dad gave me his arm to squeeze for pain. I was impressed when he did a professional wrap around the bottom of foot and around my toes.

When we were leaving we asked how much it would cost. It was free! We thanked him a lot and left to go back to the dinghy. Mom quickly found an excuse to go and buy food and Dad was left to carry me back. He complained the whole way, but I appreciated the effort.

Dad has been changing my bandages and Mom has been feeding me all my favorite dishes. My TV privileges have been extended too. It almost makes it worth it. Well... Maybe not