Two Months Post Op

In the first four days of preseason, I cried on three different occasions. The worst part definitely isn’t the crying, it’s the feeling of helplessness that causes the crying, although the swollen eyes that mimic Will Smith’s allergic reaction in Hitch don’t help either. Between the looks of pity and the continual offerings of help for me, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. But feeling sorry for myself, me especially, will get me absolutely nowhere. And it took a very difficult 20-minute conversation with my dad to help me figure that out.

In my second month post op, I went to another wedding that left me rolling by the end of the weekend on a dumpling high, said goodbye to my best friends from home, my brother, and my parents, and successfully wore wedges since tearing my ACL. As depressing, joyful, and difficult this month has been, I am extremely grateful for every experience I’ve had because at the end of the day, although I’m not necessarily doing what I love, I get to be around it with the people that I love (who hopefully love me back). The self-enlightenment and humility that results from season or career ending injuries does not compare to the realization of the support system you never knew you had.

Aside from the frustration and the self-pity resulting from not playing, as much as I hate to admit this, missing my parents contributed to those breakdowns. I had never been treated like a single child until this summer, and I’ve practically been a single child since I was 12. I think the lack of attention from them in my first couple of days at school really got to me. I know, what a wuss thing to say, but that’s definitely where the helplessness originated. The feeling sorry for myself was literally a cry for help. But I’m glad my parents had never previously treated me like a single child, I clearly would’ve turned out to be a chicken shit.

Does it hurt knowing that if I weren’t injured, I’d have the opportunity to start? Two weeks ago, that would’ve been a wholehearted yes. But in the past two weeks, I’ve spent time with three other teammates who are also out with knee injuries. Being able to have people who literally know exactly what you’re going through, who fill up water bottles, film games, and pick up equipment with you, is incomparable to any other sport experience. A senior on my team (one of the girls out with a knee injury), who has never been able to play a full college fall or spring season due to injuries, has served as an incredible inspiration to me in the last two weeks alone. She told me that she never saw herself as a player on the sidelines but has grown into one of the most influential and supportive players on the team with her constant energy and enthusiasm.

I’ve come to accept the fact that I am to serve a different role on this team this season than I expected before June 3rd around 8 pm. At a recent church service, the pastor talked about letting God guide you to be the person He has in mind. I dreaded being the player on the sidelines, a witness, an outsider looking in, but I’ve never felt more accepted or a part of something than I have with this team. I contribute to this team in a different way than I’d like, but for this season, it’s the purpose I’m to serve.

At times, I have recurring nightmares about tearing it, but now more than ever, I dream about making the little wins that my dumb ass knee will allow me to gain, like having full range of motion and jumping a couple inches off the ground. And as weird as this seems, I swear I’m dreaming this shit into existence, because my bitch of a knee has been rather bendy lately. It’s definitely the little wins and the feeling of my teammates being behind me every step of the way that keep me going. I’ve learned to find joy in watching them play, rather than envy or hurt, and that’s HUGE because I thought I’d struggle with that way more than I have, but then again, it’s only been two weeks, and the season hasn’t necessarily officially started nor has school. But it’s fine, I’m fine, we’re fine. :)