The team is down 15-7 in the third set. You lost the first two and this is your last chance of winning the game. As the other team serves, it feels like time has slowed down. Your heart is racing, but your thoughts seem to be running even faster.
Stop.
Come back down to earth.
Number 14 tosses the ball and serves. The ball floats over the net. “Mine!” Your eyes widen as Mack shanks the ball. It shoots for the ceiling, and the parents in the stands let out an all-too-audible gasp. The world goes silent, and your eyes are only focused on one thing: making sure that the ball doesn’t hit the floor. There is still a chance as long as it stays on your team’s side.
If you could see where this one moment got you, you would run the other way. But you can’t, so you pivot and try to run and save the ball. Somewhere on the court, the setter is yelling for people to get out of the way. It’s her ball, but you’re not listening. You’re trying to save the game.
The floor gives out.
That’s not the floor. What is it?
You try to take another step. It feels like your lower leg is pushing up on your kneecap. It buckles again.
Something is definitely wrong.
No pop or crack, but you can’t walk three feet without your leg giving way. The ball dies before it can get over the net. You yell to the coach in desperation, bringing attention to the severity of the situation. Only three plays spent on the court this season, and you’re already back on the bench. The adrenaline is too much for you to feel completely disappointed.
But disappointment definitely comes later.
It doesn’t hurt all the time, only when you put pressure on the leg in a certain way. That’s what you say to your school’s physical trainer. Cecilia and other friends stand nervously outside the gym doors, but you don’t feel like talking to them. You’re usually extroverted, but it feels like a switch has flipped inside of you. Not knowing how to react creates a sort of confusion you aren't used to. You care about this team. This sport is your life. The more that people try to ask if you’re okay makes you even angrier. You aren’t used to that. Explaining what happened over and over again never dulls the pain.
October 14th is the date of the first appointment with the orthopedist. Laying on the table, having the doctor look at your knee, feels like waiting in awkward silence in an elevator filled with other people. But instead of the beeps while going from floor to floor, you hear your little sister making unnecessary comments about what’s going on. The doctor can pull your lower leg out like a drawer; that’s not normal. No need to make it more dramatic than it already feels like. “Ewww” were her last words before you snapped.
“Oh my god, can you shut up? You’re not making it any better!”
A momentary release of stress wasn’t worth the look on her face. You should’ve known this.
She doesn’t start crying right away, but it’s obvious in her body language that she’s hurt. The car ride home is so quiet, it feels like the air has turned into invisible concrete.
Guilt is a fickle thing. It’s an inner conflict between self-pity and self-hatred. When you mix guilt with anxiety, it can become practically debilitating. Your sister is still mad and confused because she’s never heard you lash out at her that way before. Overwhelmed with fear and frustration, you yelled. And even though you definitely don’t, it made her nine-year-old brain feel like you hate her. Dinner turns into a game of “who can eat and get out of there the fastest” and you’re too overwhelmed with what’s going on to collect the energy to lay out a true apology. You’ve never felt heartbreak, but this feels like how you assume it would be.
Eventually she forgives you. Eventually you’re back to normal day-to-day bickering. It’s “get out of my room” instead of “do you hate me now?” But before that, those couple days made you feel like the worst person to ever walk the earth. She is only nine years old. Of course this medical stuff grosses her out! No need to make her feel bad only because you do. It’s understandable that you felt bad about your knee injury, but that’s not an excuse to jeopardize your relationship with your own sister.
The moment still keeps me awake at night.
Beep beep beep. The MRI machine produces a steady metronomic sound that almost takes your mind away from your frustration over being in this situation.
Almost.
An MCL tear combined with an ACL tear. How many “-CL”’s does a knee have?
They tell you that the only way to fix your knee is to have surgery.
Your
heart
drops
and stays like that for the couple weeks leading up to it. To think that only a few weeks before, you were having the time of your life playing the sport you love. And now you have to change the way that you walk to avoid the pain and you wear ace wrap wherever you go.
The smell of disinfectant and latex greets you and your mom at the door of the hospital. The dreaded surgery day. Worries swarm inside of you and yet it feels like you have lost all ability to think. What if the anesthesia doesn’t work? Will they use a breathing tube? What will you remember after the surgery is done?
Thinking about something won’t change its outcome, but when it comes to anxiety, your logical reasoning doesn’t seem to be able to communicate with your racing thoughts.
Everyone at the hospital is nice, even at 5 in the morning. The nurse anesthetist walks you through everything before the surgery and even shows you a cute picture of her dog to calm you down. It helps with nerves, but not frustration. You still hate the situation. Your mom is there the whole time and helps ease your anxiety.
Within 2 minutes on sedation, you’re out, and you don’t wake up until 5 hours later. It feels like one second and you’re awake again, but in the car. Even then, you go right back to sleep once you’re home and in your bed.
You wake up back in the same nightmare.
Texts upon texts buzz on your phone. Your friends are worried and want to know how the surgery went. You don’t know why, but you ignore them. You don’t mean to hurt them, but you don’t have the bandwidth to text back.
It wasn’t found until it was too late.
The first day back at school is rough, to say the least. Your arms are sore, your brain is tired, and by the time the last bell rings, you feel like you could pass out on the floor and sleep for 2 years. Crutches really suck.
The next day sucks even more.
Bruises on your arm continue to form from walking on crutches around campus all day. But bruises on your heart manifest as well when Cecilia brings up how you haven’t been responding to anyone’s attempts at reaching out.
“This isn’t your first time not getting a text back.”
Did you mean to make that argument escalate? Looking back, there are so many ways you could have handled the situation better. She came to you out of pure concern, but you lashed out on her in defense. But what were you defending yourself from if not simply your own demons?
She had cried for three months over her situation with that boy. You had been the one to comfort her.
Her ex-boyfriend’s manipulative actions are no support for whatever you were trying to argue. It’s not girl code, it’s basic human decency. But you were obviously below that.
She never talked to you again, and rightfully so.
Your emotions become an anomaly. Numb, yet painful. Distraught, yet guarded like never before. Breaking at the seams, but you’re too insecure to allow yourself to show these emotions.
Your grades go down, along with your self-esteem. Your moral compass is going crazy, but you’re too deep in this hell and can’t find a way out. Losing friendships, but your team is winning just fine without you. Your test scores become the only thing your mom wants to talk about, and the conversation is never good.
Failure after failure. Argument after argument.
When did peace start to seem so far away?
The thing with optical illusions is that you can’t always believe what you see. And when life seems hopeless, it’s important to know that there’s something waiting for you around the corner, even if that something is your future self.
As college admissions approach, you realize you need to get yourself together. Whether you like it or not, the rest of your life is coming and it won’t wait for you to be ready.
So, you decide to change.
But change doesn’t come overnight; it is a step-by-step process.
Apologize to Cecilia. Let her know that you understand if she doesn’t want to forgive you, but you are genuinely remorseful about what you said.
Admit to yourself that you’re not perfect, that life isn’t perfect. Admit to yourself that you’ve messed up and want to get better.
Get the first math problem done. Then start on the second.
Write one sentence for your English essay and start to feel less anxious about the rest.
Cecilia wants her space, but says that she isn’t all that angry anymore. Some closure is better than none.
You go to the movies with your little sister. You know her favorite snacks by heart and use an Icee to finally make it one step closer to her good side. You last the whole ride home without bickering. That’s a new record.
I wish I could say that you fixed it completely. That it all came together in the end to provide a picture-perfect, fairytale ending. But you and Cecilia still aren’t friends in the way that you used to be and you still can’t straighten your leg all the way.
But maybe that’s not what’s important.
Because you started fixing yourself. And isn’t life just one big cycle of making mistakes, and using them to change who you are for the better?
You stand on the brink of adulthood. With mistakes in the rearview, and the assurance that many more will come. But you’re more confident. You know yourself a little bit better. You know your inner compass is a stickler for what’s right and she won’t give up on you.
You’ve come to terms with the human potential for screw-ups. But you’ve also found the insane benefits of growing from these mistakes.