I never thought I’d write this. I technically already have, but only for the eyes of my family and the two admissions officers at a summer program that was eventually cancelled due to COVID. I’m pretty sure a lot of y’all already know the basic information of this story, but I don’t think any of y’all know all of the ins and outs. This may or may not be a wild ride, so hold on tight and get ready to read one of the few ~deep personal stories~ this blog will have.
Let’s start with the basic information: I play volleyball. In September 2019, I went up for a hit and when I landed, I tore the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in my left knee. I scored a point, though, so slight silver lining. Except the thing about the situation is that I didn’t know I tore my ACL. Here’s when it gets kinda weird.
If you’ve ever watched a sports game or show where someone tore their ACL, they usually experience excruciating pain. Tears are usually involved. Except for me, I didn’t experience that. I curled up in a ball on the ground and started laughing for no apparent reason. It was probably because everyone (including me) was really confused, and I was curled up in a ball on the gym floor. I couldn’t walk at that point, but I was fine if I just sat there. So, I sat on the bench and iced my knee for the rest of the game, and I used my coaches as human crutches when going to shake hands with the other team. And then I started crying, not because I was in pain but because of the possibility that I wouldn’t be able to play for the rest of the season. This was a possibility that was really saddening to me because my freshman year, I didn’t get much playing time and when I did, it was in a position that I considered my secondary position (I’m a setter, but the coach put me in as a hitter). So, when my sophomore year rolled around, I was starting and playing all the time, and I didn’t want to have to give up that opportunity.
Back to the whole injury thing. After the crying session was over, the athletic trainer came over and talked to me to kind of try to figure out what happened. The only thing I felt was my knee popping out of place, so she thought that I must have dislocated my knee. She gave me a pair of crutches, and I hobbled my way back to not my parents’ car, but my friend’s mom’s. Coincidentally, my dad was out of town and he took my mom’s car with him because he’s overly protective of his car. This game was an away game at the farthest possible school from my house, and since my mom doesn’t like driving my dad’s car, she asked my friend (who lives five minutes from me) to carpool. It’s literally the only game my parents didn’t go, and I really just went and tore my ACL. I guess my parents are lucky charms.
My mom drove me, my crutches, and my “dislocated knee” the next day to face all the people who approached me in the hallway trying to figure out what the heck happened to me when I didn’t really know myself. I met with the athletic trainer in the afternoon, and she thought it was a bone bruise, though she (as well as one of my teammates) suggested maybe getting an MRI as well. Convinced that I just had a bone bruise, I brushed the MRI idea off. The trainer sent me on my way with a sleeve on my knee, sans crutches because I was supposed to walk and get that ~circulation~. For the next couple weeks, I was just passing a ball to myself in the corner at practice and visiting the trainer to do some strengthening exercises. I was eventually deemed good to play so long as I didn’t move too much -- basically, I could pass balls and all that, but I couldn’t do anything more than a step away. I did this for a few practices, and when I say that this was the best I’ve ever passed in my life, I’m not kidding. As someone who used to completely suck at passing, I was literally the best passer on the team for a solid week. Until things got worse.
Pic from Taiwan inserted for some added suspense
We were playing a small game when I jogged up to the net, planning to just push the ball over the net and not jump. Even though I didn’t jump, my knee gave out on me and I was in the pain club once again. I’d even go so far as to say that this time hurt more than the last. The athletic trainer visited me again as I sat down and iced, and then I went home and scheduled an appointment with an orthopedist. At the appointment, the doctor proceeded to roast me for playing on a “dislocated knee”, order that I get an MRI, and give me this big brace to wear for the next 4-6 weeks. First, my bad bro. Second, my bad again for not getting the MRI the first time to prevent myself from injuring myself again. Third, really man? That brace was so uncomfortable and I was stuck waddling around for the next few weeks.
Now we get to the MRI part of the story. I laid down in the magic tunnel for about 15 minutes, which was probably the most boring 15 minutes of my life because I was forced to just lie there and sing songs in my head because it was so loud that I couldn’t take a nap. A week later, my dad got an email saying that I tore my ACL and meniscus as well. I think my heart broke. Throughout this month or so of not knowing what the heck happened to me and facing the possibility of not playing for the rest of the season, I cried a lot. Not in public, more just in my room at night when I was alone with my thoughts. The thing that gave me hope was the thought that I didn’t tear my ACL because that would’ve been excruciatingly painful, but I was pretty fine after the first injury. Maybe I just tempted fate too much because I actually did tear my ACL. Go me. After finding out this info, the thing that gave me hope was the thought that it wasn’t that bad and I wouldn’t need surgery. Hah.
The next week, I went to another orthopedist, who is a literal angel. I may or may not have started crying in his office, but he was the sweetest man ever. He did a really good job of explaining what my injury was, and he actually wanted to be an orthopedist because he tore his ACL playing football in high school (man was an All-American too, so especially sad). After the crying session, I found out that I probably tore my ACL the first injury and tore my meniscus the second time, and I would need surgery to repair everything. After another crying session in the car ride home, we scheduled the surgery for October 11, 2019. So that’s why this post is called “12 Months Later” because we rolled up on 12 months post-op yesterday.
Thankfully, this new orthopedist said that I didn’t need to wear the big bulky brace anymore, so I could walk brace-free until surgery. On the day of surgery, nothing really special happened. I got settled into a hospital bed, got my blood drawn, and did all of that medical preparation stuff. Oh wait, I forgot the funny part of the story. Before surgery, I had to take a couple pills for the pain and all that, but I could not physically swallow the pills. It was not good. I made a fool out of myself, but everything went fine. They gave me chewable aspirin to take for my blood post-op, but for the first week post-op, I had to take normal pills for the pain. After a few times having to break up the pills, I got the hang of it. As for surgery, all I remember was being rolled out on the way to the surgery room, and then everything else I was asleep for. I woke up around five hours later, and I was just groggy and in pain. I, along with my heavily bandaged but repaired knee, eventually got wheeled out into the car to go home. I spent the rest of my night napping on the sofa and drinking soup.
I stayed home on bed rest for about five days (Saturday-Wednesday), with a short break out into the wild for volleyball senior night on Tuesday. I sat in bed doing homework and watching YouTube for the most part, getting up every hour to take a spin on my crutches for that ~blood flow~. Taylor also visited me and brought flowers and that was the nicest thing ever (hehe love you). The PSAT was on Wednesday, but I missed it, consequently missing out on all the memes. What a shame. On Thursday, I went back to school on my delightful crutches. Just kidding. Crutches are the most annoying thing ever, and I was stuck on them for six weeks. But I got through it, even though moving from place to place became the bane of my existence and I legitimately fell off the school bus (I was okay, but my ego was a bit bruised), and then I was only left with my good ol’ brace. This brace wasn’t as bulky as the one from before surgery, since I could bend my knee and everything, but it still wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. I was in that for a few months, and then after winter break, I was finally able to walk without it.
Throughout this whole time post-op, I was going to physical therapy and trying to get stronger, ultimately so I could go back to volleyball during my junior season (though Ms. Rona had some issues with that). Physical therapy was pretty standard, though shoutout to all of my teachers for being chill with me missing class so I could go to it. Strategically scheduling PT appointments was some hard brain work, but we’re not trying to tick off any teachers or miss math because math is ~essential~. And because I was teetering on an A-.
Yeah, still Tawian. Enjoy the view.
So, let’s talk about the feels. Throughout this six-month period, I wasn’t the happiest. I joked and laughed with my friends about my injury, but I was feeling the FOMO. I was really sad that I couldn’t play for the rest of the season and I couldn’t play club volleyball, and I always had this fear in the back of my mind that I would never be able to come back. My life kind of consisted of school and nothing else (well, maybe TikTok), and until I became obsessed with books again, it was kind of lonely. Don’t get me wrong, it was nothing serious, and I was just sad that I couldn’t play. As time went on and I healed more and more, I got a lot happier and there was a lot more hope because the possibility of going back to play was getting closer and closer. I guess by the time I got my brace off post-op I accepted that things wouldn’t go back to normal, and I got used to not being able to do everything in a physical sense. I was honestly fine with it, and I just wanted to move on and heal and actually be able to run. Also, I would just like to say that if you noticed that I kinda disappeared around school in the winter, it wasn’t because of this. I was doing okay, but I just needed some time alone. Thus, I spent my time alone reading fantasy novels. It was nice.
Then, COVID hit. In mid-March, everything was cancelled and the world was not doing well. I went to virtual physical therapy appointments instead, and although my progress slowed, I hit a bunch of milestones. At the beginning of quarantine, it was around the five-month mark, so I was able to start jumping and running. I started off small at first, with little bunny hops and short jogs on the treadmill, but as time passed, I was able to hop on my bad foot and run a few miles at a time. During this period of time, I got into great shape because I was working out every day and I was really motivated to keep exercising due to the fact that the more I exercised, the stronger I got. And the stronger I got, the faster I could get back to normalcy. The nine-month mark was in July, and around that time I was cleared to play by my physical therapist. It was one of the best feelings because it was all I’ve been working toward for so long. I was definitely a lot happier during quarantine because of how much I was healing and because I had some time to collect my thoughts and channel my energy into more things than just school. I volunteered; I got a few jobs; I started this blog; I made myself busy and spent a lot of my time productively, and that helped me a lot.
As of now, I’m still working out, and I’m waiting for the pandemic to subside before getting back into volleyball training, clinics, and all of that. I’m not at 100% yet, and I don’t think I’ll ever jump as high or play as well as I did before surgery. However, there’s still a lot more room to improve in the physical department, so I’ll get my hops back eventually, even if they’re not as high as they were before. I’m excited to hopefully have a junior season, and if not, senior season will be top tier. I’m going to try as hard as I can to keep volleyball in my life, and I’m really excited to see how this next year goes. Thanks for reading everyone, and I hope y’all enjoyed learning a bit more about this thing that has occupied my life for over a year now.
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