Nine Months Post Op

Cover pic is my girls because I miss them already :'(

Does my left shin feel funny when I shave it? Yes, that would be the nerve damage. Are my scars a weird purplish color even though every other ACL scar I’ve seen blends into their skin? Yes, that would be the Chinese melanin (or melatonin, according to my dad). Am I doing ok? You know what, yeah; that would be 9 months of finally learning to embrace difficulty.

Wowow time flies during ACL rehab and when there’s a rising pandemic that’s being compared to the Spanish influenza. I’m sure the coronavirus is affecting me the same as it is affecting other college kids; got kicked out of school, forced to go home and not allowed to see any of my friends, wait two+ more months to finally play a soccer game. I guess that last one is more specific towards me. On another note, I think Asian parents take social distancing more seriously because I feel like they make their kids distance themselves socially to begin with, so now we’re on another level of being anti-social. My dad didn’t let me hug him when I saw him the other day, but honestly it felt like a normal behavior.

So this is what I’ve been looking forward to for the past nine months: a freaking pandemic, I really should’ve guessed it. At this point, frustrating is an understatement. But I know that what I’m feeling does not compare to what athletes who are (or were) actually in season are experiencing right now; disbelief, denial maybe? I guess I went through my fair share of those feelings of what the fuck, but to get your season taken away while being healthy is another level of screwed up to say the least. My heart goes out to those whose seasons were taken away, because as much as it sucks for me and athletes out of season, I know it’s that much more shitty for them.

When I wrote my six months post, I had just gotten home after five very long months at school, so I was relieved and just happy to be home at the time. Now I’m angry, so this post might reflect those emotions. My mom says that I play my best when I let out the “angry Asian girl” within me (my brother will argue that this is the only part of my personality). Perhaps I write best when I’m angry, or this whole blog is just entirely incomprehensible (I’m leaning towards the latter). Regardless, the past three months have been the most difficult out of the whole nine months. I got really good at playing mind games with myself the past three months because I was always in my head, and I felt trapped, like I had absolutely no way of getting out. The first six months of rehab, I was just trying to become a normal human being again, maybe even slightly athletic, but once I hit that six-months mark, physically, I felt like an awkward noodle. Just when I thought I was reaching the top of a peak, little did I know how tall the rest of the damn mountain was. And I had to climb that shit.

I found something that I wrote in my phone at the end of December. It said, “I’ve seen this injury make people abandon the only thing they know, and other people simply cannot understand. I was one of those people. Perhaps what scares me the most isn’t falling short of my goals but failing to meet the expectations that others have of me in this so called ‘comeback.’” I know I shouldn’t be letting the expectations of others determine my motivations, but it’s sometimes easier just to do what everyone else is telling you to do or at least what everyone else is expecting of you. I don’t think I can count how many times I’ve thought about just giving all of this up. Like I said, I got really good a playing mind games.

ACL reconstruction surgery has a success rate of anywhere between 80-95%, and a majority of that 5-20% that doesn’t succeed is the incapability to overcome the mental hardship that comes with ACL rehab. I heard that from my surgeon the first time I met him, and I thought to myself, “Well, that’s because they’re a bunch of (word that starts with a p but I will not write that because my mom will kill me).” Knowing what I know now, let’s just say I’m less quick to judge because on top of this being the hardest physical thing I’ve ever done, I have never been more mentally challenged than I have in the last nine months. Or I’m just a pussy.

I would describe the last three months as being afraid to climb the last bit of the mountain, in fear upon reaching the top, there would just be that much more mountain to climb. My conclusion: continually climbing a mountain is simply my life. My favorite NBA player has always been Ray Allen. One of his quotes that was released after he made the tying three in Game 6 of the 2013 NBA Finals against the San Antonio Spurs said, “God doesn't care whether or not you make your next jump shot. God will give you a lot of things in life, but he's not going to give you your jump shot. Only hard work will do that.” I’m finally in a position to do everything I can to help my girls come out swinging in a little less than 5 months, so you best believe that’s what I’m about to do.

If I’ve realized anything in these last nine months, it’s that soccer does not make up my whole life, but it does make up a very large part of it, maybe almost all of it. However, it’s not just the sport itself; it’s the people I’ve met, the best friends I’ve made, the college I’ve had the opportunity to attend, the strong relationships I’ve created with my family. I tried finding something else that lights a fire under my ass the way soccer does, but nothing came remotely close. I don’t know what I was thinking like fucking math was going to do that or something. So I can blame soccer all I want for any misery and grief it has given me in the past nine months or throughout the years in general, but it has given me my biggest blessings in life, and I think it’s finally time I come to realize that.