And then -- snap.

My first thought as I collapsed in a heap on the Astroturf was that somebody had come up behind me and kicked me really, really hard in the back of my left leg. I even spun around on the ground, ready to give the dastardly cheater a piece of my mind.

But there was nobody there.

As my teammates and my wife began to gather around me, I tried to get up, but couldn't. Slowly, I realized that something pretty bad must have happened. It wasn't until a couple of hours later -- in the emergency room at Providence Hospital -- that my fear was confirmed: I had ruptured my Achilles tendon and was going to be out of commission for a long, long time.

Fast-forward four months. After a pair of surgeries, I was still in a plaster cast and on crutches, hoping to graduate soon to a cane and looking at months more of rehab before I could walk normally again.

The only thing more depressing than that was the growing mountain of medical bills piling up on our kitchen table. Including bills for the surgeries, the emergency room visit, the anesthesiologist, the orthopedic doctor who treated me and many more, they would eventually total more than $30,000.

At the time, like an estimated 47 million other Americans, I didn't have health insurance. Before my injury, I knew I was a part of this much-talked-about group. I had seen "Sicko" and had heard the health care horror stories, of course, from all kinds of people with all kinds of health and financial problems much worse than mine. I knew, like most people know, that the American health care system, while providing some of the best care to be had anywhere in the world, was broken.

But it didn't really hit home until it happened to me.

How could my working class family -- too poor to afford private insurance, but not poor enough to qualify for Medicaid -- possibly pay $30,000 worth of medical bills? The answer is we can't, although we continue to pay as much as we can every month to keep the creditors off our backs. The bills will likely haunt us forever.

A year and a half after my injury, my Achilles tendon is strong again, thanks to a great surgeon and the high quality care I received from people who probably knew I would never be able to pay my entire bill. I'm lucky to have excellent health insurance now, too, and the peace of mind of knowing that, if a catastrophic injury or illness was to happen to my wife, my sons or me, we'd be covered.

But, as the nation once again debates the issue of health care, I find myself wondering what's going to happen to the little guy, the working stiff who tries hard to provide for his family but, due to circumstances beyond his control like global economic recessions and unaffordable, ineffective health insurance, is just one layoff or serious illness away from financial catastrophe.

Unfortunately, the debate has already turned from a national conversation over how to improve and expand health care coverage to a politicized national shouting match over "death panels."

How did this turn into a such a political hot potato?

Moral arguments aside, wouldn't insuring the poorest of us end up saving money for everybody?

Does it really make me a socialist to believe that working people -- the economic backbone of our country -- should be able to get the same kind of health care that members of Congress or prisoners get?

Aaron Selbig can be reached at aaron.selbig.@homernews.com.