Emotions often serve as waves in the ocean that is life. Whenever something impactful happens that thrusts you into the limelight of other people’s attention, emotions feel like the last thing that is allowed to show. If something bad happens, a smile and a “I’m okay, thank you” will suffice to carry the conversation. Given some time, those smiles start to feel a little more forced, the “thank you”s begin to come out between clenched teeth, and you’re often left wondering when the conversation will end as you find yourself in turbulent waters. When I am placed in these types of situations, I am often looking for the first out I can find. I know the people asking are only interested in my health and wellbeing,
but at the moment, the conversation only serves as a reminder of what I am trying so hard to avoid.
The thing I’m trying to avoid is my injury. While not life threatening, tearing my ACL was nothing short of traumatic. There have been countless times where people have offered me support when I was going through my darkest moments.
Understanding and knowing the right thing to say is a tricky task. If the shoe was on the other foot, I don’t think I would quite know what to say to someone in my situation. It isn’t every day you come across someone who has just had their senior season of basketball ripped out from right in front of them.
I think the best thing that can be said is nothing at all.
Rather than looking at me as a broken doll or a damsel that needs saving, I would rather have someone sit with me. Not saying anything, but just throwing me a life preserver when I feel like I’m drowning and the waves become too strong.
The day I tore my ACL is a day I will not soon forget. I was standing in the Wadsworth middle school gym, playing a summer basketball scrimmage with my team and I was guarding the ball. The girl who I was guarding pushed me the wrong way, a way my knee didn’t approve of, and the last thing I remembered seeing was red hair in French braids and a blue jersey rising higher in my vision as my face was met with the chill of the court. I don’t remember feeling any pain. Instantly, I understood it was my knee that was injured and my brain jumped to the extreme assumption that it was my ACL. In the following days, I tried to keep my head afloat only to be sucked under the current when my MRI results returned, confirming that it was, indeed, my ACL.
Telling my team was one of the hardest things to do. I called everyone together so I could tell them in person and I barely managed to choke out the three little letters A C L before I broke down in tears and everyone collapsed upon me in the most meaningful group hug of my life. My teammates may never know how much that moment meant to me or how close I felt to them, but I hope that I show them just how much I care when I cheer them on in practice, or help them out when they’re having a bad day.
Since being confined to the sidelines, I have had a chance to see not only the game of basketball from a different point of view but life as well. Everyday, there is something I have taken for granted. It could be walking up the stairs without pain, being able to drive my car to school, or even sitting criss-cross-applesauce. Tasks that once seemed mundane are suddenly sensationalized when they prove a difficult challenge. Appreciating what is right in front of me has been difficult when the thing right in front of me has been a knee now marred by an ugly scar. Yet bit by bit, I’ve begun to view my scar as a testament that even when you feel like you’re drowning, you can still learn to swim.
While my knee may have been what was surgically operated on, it is really my eyes that have changed. No longer do they only seek out the gray in the ocean scene that is life but rather they look for the bright sun reflecting off the surface of the once turbulent, now peaceful, yet always changing, sea.
