Photo Illustration by SHAI NIELSON
It was just another Tuesday night: soccer practice at Del Oro High School. One moment, I was sprinting towards the ball, trying to defend my attacker. I turned. The next thing I know, I was on the ground in complete and utter agony, grasping at my knee. I cried out as my team rushed over to me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. All I could do is point at my right knee and hold back the onset of tears as best I can.
In a split second, my entire future in soccer flashed before my eyes. Would I be able to play this season? Could I even play by summer? Will I ever get the chance to get a soccer scholarship? When can I play again? What’s going to happen to me?
I didn’t need to “just ice it” or “rest it a week or so.” No doctor could have found some sprain or twist that could be fixed with a brace and some ice. I knew the second I went down on Oct 18, 2011.
I had torn my ACL.
To an average person, this might not have been anything big. However, to an aspiring college athlete and dedicated soccer player, it seemed like it was the start to the end of my life as I knew it.
For three months straight, all I could do was sit and wait. I still went to my teams’ practices, games and did normal activities, but I was officially stuck in limbo.
The process through the Kaiser system was no less than excruciatingly slow. First, I had to be examined by my physician. Next, I went to a sports medicine doctor. Then, I had sets of X-rays done. Knowing my own body and realizing the real problem with my knee, this time was wasted and frustrating. Finally, I received confirmation to get an MRI: bad results. I was right. My anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) was completely torn along with my meniscus. After talking to my surgeon, Dr. John Torris, we set a date: Jan 11, 2012.
The weeks leading up to my surgery were painfully slow and I was getting more excited and anxious with each passing day. Everyone became overly supportive and worried about my state of mind. Truthfully, I was 100 percent excited and ready and 0 percent nervous or scared.
My pre-operation appointment the day before seemed like just another doctor’s appointment. The reality of what I was about to do was far from my thoughts.
When I woke up on the morning of Wednesday, Jan 11, I straightened my hair, brushed my teeth, got dressed; I did my normal routine. My family seemed nervous as we drove to the Folsom Kaiser surgery center. I calmly listened to music and shut out the world around me by reading Ellen DeGeneres’s new book, Seriously, I’m Kidding. Each step through the pre-surgical process seemed normal and peaceful to me.
As I changed into that dreadful surgical gown, watched as they slid the IV beneath my skin, got bombarded by five or so different nurses trying to prepare me, and waited anxiously alongside my mom in my surgery bed, all that was running through my mind was one constant word: finally.
When 12:30 finally came and I was dosed with a light sedative in my IV, a well mannered and motherly nurse began to wheel my bed through the various halls until we approached two double doors which contained Operation Room 06.
As I slowly started to drift away into an anaesthetic sleep, the last thing I consciously thought was, “Goodbye old knee. You will never look that clean and new again.”
About two hours later, still asleep from surgery, I was wheeled back to my post-operational waiting room. When I began to wake up, I remember being a mix of mildly happy, extremely tired and well-drugged.
The next couple of hours were a complete blur. I remember being lifted sideways into my mom’s car and told to sit up and hold on. Fourty five minutes later, when we arrived home, I was helped out of the car and supported as I slowly and unsteadily crutched my way into the house and onto the bed that my mom had set up downstairs for me.
Everything seemed dreamlike. That is, of course, except the excruciating pain in my knee. It throbbed, stung, hurt, ached and everything in between. With bottles of Percocet and heavy duty Ibuprofen on my side, I spent the next two weeks at home healing, resting and worst of all, thinking.
Being alone with nothing but a TV, some movies, books and your thoughts for that long can become miserable. All of the negative thoughts seemed to rush back like the intense pain coursing through my body.
What if I don’t heal in time to get recruited? What if my team doesn’t want me back? Do people even care that I’m gone?
This was a constant stream of my mind’s thoughts for two weeks. Being a competitive soccer player, two sport varsity athlete and aspiring college soccer player, I was frightened by my new-found helplessness and sedentary lifestyle. Also, being used to exercising and regularly going to the gym, it was difficult to acclimate myself to a lifestyle of barely being able to walk and only being able to do two minimal physical therapy exercises.
My drive to heal, recover and move on from this life-altering experience pushed me through my early stages of recovery. As of now, I can’t walk without a brace on. It takes me twice the time it used to take me to do normal activities and the most basic tasks seem strenuous to me. Going back to school has been a constant marathon that I don’t think I was ready for. But as I become more mobile and active, I strive to continue on and get better through my physical therapy and daily work until the day when I can finally touch a soccer ball again. The date for my full recover isn’t set in stone, yet my heart is. I will be back on the field by July. I promise.
by EMMA RICHIE
