Page 77 of Everything In Between
The doctor’sgrim expression clues me into the severity of what’s going on and the set of Coach’s jaw really drives it home.
“Well?” I ask, leaning forward and ignoring the shot of pain the movement sends through my injured knee.
“You’re gonna need surgery,” my doctor confirms. “We’re looking at a grade three ACL tear, and we’re going to need to reattach it if you want to continue playing long term. Unfortunately, with an injury like this, you’ve got a long road of recovery ahead of you.”
I roll my lips into a tight line. “So, I’m out.”
“For the rest of this season, at least. We’ll get you into physical therapy and slowly work you back up into the swing of things with your training. Full recovery can take anywhere from eight months to a year, but as long as you keep to your regimen with your trainers, you should be ready to go for preseason in August.”
Coach exhales deeply next to me and my stomach churns with annoyance. One bad play and I’m out for the season.
“Okay, so what’s next? Surgery? How quickly can we get in there and do that?”
“I’d say let’s schedule it right after New Year’s. Then that will still give you the full offseason to rehab and start building up strength.”
“We have to wait?” I ask him, my frustration growing. “Why can’t we get it over and done with?”
He gives me a steady stare. “That’s not how it works. We’ve gotta let some of the inflammation in that knee go down first. We’ll get you in some physical therapy starting tomorrow, but the surgery will have to wait a few weeks.”
I lean my head back and groan. This is not what I was hoping to hear today. “Okay, fine. Schedule it for January second. Then how long will I be out of commission?”
“You’ll have to take it easy for the first week, but then you can start putting weight on it and building up strength shortly thereafter.”
I look over to Coach, who’s already waiting for my reaction. “This is going to ruin the season,” I mutter.
He nods. “That it is, son. But there’s always next season.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Our focus now should be getting you better as soon as possible so we can come back with a vengeance next year.”
“So now it’s a waiting game?” I confirm with the doctor and my coach. They both give me pitying looks and nod somberly. Reaching for the crutches that are leaning up on my doctor’s desk, I rise from my chair. Extending my hand for a handshake, I thank the doctor and hobble out of the room.
Coach follows closely behind me, and together we walk down the hallway of the performance center and into the office wing of the performance center. I limp in, letting him close the door behind me. I collapse into the chair in front of his desk and burymy face in my hands—a position I’ve grown fond of in the last twenty-four hours.
To say I’m frustrated with this turn of events would be putting it lightly. I know no one is holding the injury against me except myself—it was an accident. It happened in a split second, with no maneuvering out of the situation.
How many times have I been tackled in my career? Far too many to count. I know the drill by this point, know how to position my body in a split second to protect myself as best I can when I have two-hundred-plus pounds landing on top of me.
We train and train for this, how to land, how to get back up, but even then, sometimes that’s not enough.
The guilt eats at me though from the inside out.
I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve had more foresight. I should’ve gotten out of the way.
The pressure that comes with leading a team at this level is unrelenting.
I couldn’t sleep last night, only able to picture the injury in slow motion, allowing me to see every millisecond that went wrong.
The only thing saving me from falling into complete insanity is Jersey. She held me close last night, and whispered that she was proud of me over and over, until I was able to get some rest.
I can’t express how grateful I am that she’s here to help me through the worst two days of my professional career.
Knowing that she’s there, in my corner, ready to support me through this gives me the strength that I need to push through.
I’ve been putting on a brave face since the injury yesterday, knowing there’s not much I can do about this situation. The cracks are starting to appear though, and it’s fraying me apart at the seams.
How could I have let this happen?
Will my team ever forgive me?
Will I evenhavea team to come back to?
