10 Months Post First Op

A lot has happened in the past month: the US became the country with the most COVID-19 cases in the world (because we always have to be #1), we were forced to get used to the new normal of self-isolation and social distancing, oh and also, I re-tore my ACL. I have felt angry, sad, scared, alone, and embarrassed; all the negative emotions that you try to keep out of your life have been inescapably thrown into mine.

I’ve edited this thing maybe six times, and I’ve been back and forth in my head about whether or not I was going to post this second injury, truthfully because I feel embarrassed. I feel like this makes me look physically and mentally weak, since it seems as though I can’t prepare my body to handle what I put it through and after reading how I’ve been emotionally the past couple weeks, you’ll probably be wondering if I’m even sane at the moment. And then I thought to myself, “Ah, fuck it. High school was for worrying about what other people thought of you.” Also, I feel like I’m lying to everyone who has asked me how I’ve been doing during quarantine, and I reply that I’m doing ok. I can just only respond to so many “what happened?!” questions after saying that I tore my ACL... again.

I have been scared shitless since it happened. When I tried going to sleep that night, I couldn’t even be by myself, so I went to my brother’s room to sleep with him because that’s how scared I was. And if you know me, the last thing I would do is choose to sleep in the same bedroom as my brother. I don’t even know what I’m scared of anymore: sitting out for another season, surgery (which I need two operations by the way), uncertainty, corona, crying too damn much? Speaking of crying, I have never cried the way I cried into my dad’s chest that day. I have never cried into my dad period, even the last time we went through this, I was too pissed to cry and hug him at the same time. But this time, I knew immediately I tore it, and I also knew immediately that I didn’t want to go through this shit again. I cried like someone I loved had passed away, because that’s what it felt like. In that moment, I was convinced that this was it; soccer was done, and I didn’t even get a proper goodbye.

The thing about these non-contact injuries is that they make me feel so ashamed of myself. With contact injuries, you can pin the blame on whoever touched you that made this happen to you (not my best recommendation to do so, but it’s inevitable). The non-contact injuries I’ve gone through have made me feel like my body has betrayed me. I was fucking hopping in my garage, doing jumps that I had been doing for the past 5 months, and then I fell, and I screamed, and I knew immediately what the next 9 months was going to entail (I was wrong though, it would be the next year, not 9 months). But I find out later that something didn’t heal properly from the first surgery, which caused the second tear and thus requires the two operations; one to fix what didn’t heal properly, and the second to actually repair the torn ACL that will occur three months after the first one. For the first time in my life, the science had failed me. I was part of the <10% of cases that doesn’t make a full recovery from an ACL surgery. I guess I always have been the minority in my life.

My grandparents had been trying to call me for since a day or two before I got injured and I didn’t pick up because I was probably in class. I hate crying in front of my grandparents because once I start crying, they don’t stop crying, so I had been ignoring their calls until about 3 or 4 days after it happened (I know, I’m an awful granddaughter). I decided to answer one of their FaceTime calls when I felt like I could keep a straight face, or at the very least, a not sad-looking face. My grandfather asked me if my knee was in pain and by then most of the physical pain had subsided, but before I could answer him, my grandmother said, “No, pero te duele la alma. Yo puedo verlo en tus ojos,” which translates to, “No, but your soul hurts. I can see it in your eyes.” How the hell are you supposed to be even keeled when your grandmother tells you that she can see your soul hurting through your eyes and is absolutely right? You can’t. You sit there and you cry with your grandparents over FaceTime, and you realize how lucky you are to have grandparents to cry with, sympathize for and love you.

I think what has been scariest during this whole experience, besides the fact that I don’t know when I’m getting surgery because Florida has postponed all elective surgeries (funny that they really think I want this shit) for the time being and I have to prepare myself to be a lifeless piece of flesh after surgery, was when I was balling my head off into my father’s chest, and I said the words out loud: “I don’t want this anymore. I’m done.” And saying that was scary, because I’ve never said those words out loud and wholeheartedly mean it, and I fucking meant it. I’m not sure what’s scarier; my body not being able to make a full recovery, or my mind not being able to make a full recovery. But I can’t think like that. It would destroy me if I let myself think like that. It’s too soon to be worrying about that anyways.

Lately, I’ve been looking down at the four scars on my left knee thinking they were a waste: a waste of time, a waste of money, a waste of effort, a waste of nerve damage. That means I look back on these last 10 + months and think to myself, “I have witnessed and experienced no personal growth, and there was no purpose or reason in fighting these last 10 months.”

But if I do that, I would be lying to myself. And for me to say that I don’t need soccer in my life, and I can walk away from this sport right now, I would also be lying to myself. However, I cannot find a reason as to why I’ve torn my ACL… twice, because to say that I’ve completely valued my experience of rehabbing from ACL surgery would be such a lie out of my ass, it’s not even funny. People say that after these kinds of injuries, you always come out on the other side “stronger than ever,” another phrase that I hate (sorry to all of my teammates who definitely told me this, hope you still love me) because do you know how much fucking work it takes to become that “stronger than ever”? A shit ton. And you feel alone when you’re doing it because you feel like you have something to prove to everyone who ever told you that. Until you realize that everyone who has ever told you that, are the people that truly believe that, because if they didn’t, they wouldn’t have said it to begin with.

I go through these waves of terrifying fear that I’ll never feel fulfilled in my life and upmost confidence that I’ll become the best soccer player in the world, clearly extreme opposites that are both unrealistic. There are days where I’ve never been more scared for what the future holds, and there are days where I could not be more determined. I’ve heard from a couple of people that there is no doubt I’ll get through this, but I have my doubts. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know where my head will be at a week, a month, or a year from now. But I do know I have a hell of a support group; that was made apparent these past 10 months. The first step is apparently always the hardest one, so here’s to taking the first step, and all the other steps after it. One day at a time.

If you smile Through your fear and sorrow Smile and maybe tomorrow You'll see the sun come shining through for you

- Nat King Cole