"The Worst Heartbreak" by Melany A

As a little girl, I always believed that my worst heartbreak would be inflicted upon me by a boy in my teenage years; my anticipations could not be further from the truth. Who would have thought that a sport that I could not live without would cause me such pain. My greatest fear had come to life, my softball career was practically over, and I tore my ACL.

            As an athlete, my worst fear was being injured and stepping away from the sport into which I poured so much time, effort, and passion. I tore my ACL (anterior cruciate ligament) in early May of this year. When this injury occurred I was completing a simple workout with my team, or so I thought it was simple. Who would have thought that the slightest wrong movement would cause such destruction. Initially, when I injured my knee it did not occur to me that I had been hurt so badly. The same night I tore my ACL, I took a visit to urgent care just to make sure everything was okay, and to ensure that I would be able to play in the upcoming summer season -- the most crucial time of college recruitment season. My doctors, coaches, and trainers all told me that my knee was fine, that I had just strained it, and needed to take some time to rest. I did exactly that, I rested for about two weeks and was on crutches for about two days; I refused to walk around school with any sign that my knee was hurt. With recruitment season in full swing and my plans to hopefully play in college, I was eager to get back on the field with my team. After resting, I began practicing again, but every cutting move caused my knee to pop out of place and give out on me. I knew something was wrong, but my primary care physician refused to allow me to receive an MRI. It was not until I paid a visit to an orthopedic surgeon, that he took a look at my knee and instantly felt something was wrong. He was worried that my ACL was torn, and as soon as he expressed his concerns I felt an instant feeling of sadness and grief. Tears rushed to my eyes as the possibility of having to take time away from my sport crossed my mind. I quickly wiped them away, I tried my best to conceal my worries. I did what I knew best -- to toughen up and wipe away my tears. I did not want to believe that there was a great chance that his suspicions were true.

            After a few days, it was finally time for me to receive an MRI and find out if there was truly anything wrong with my knee. I arrived at the hospital and I checked in for my appointment, after waiting some time I was taken back to change into a gown. I put my belongings into a small locker and put on a blue gown. I was now alone in a small cold room waiting to be called back into a scan room. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the radiologist assisted me into the large scary scanning machine. I was not too worried, I truly believed my injury would not be as serious as it seemed. The scan took about twenty-five minutes, the machine was extremely loud but that did not stop me from inevitably falling asleep. As my scan came to an end, the radiologist helped me off the large cold machine and asked me “Does your knee feel like it pops out of place?” Instantly I knew that the radiologist had seen something concerning in my scan. Worries began to flood my head, the whole ride home I played out numerous scenarios of what would happen if I had torn my ACL. For the next week or so, I practically lived in the inbox of my emails waiting to receive my results.

            A week passed by, and my mom rushed into my room one summer morning. She shouted my name, waking me up to show me my results. As she reads me the findings of my MRI, she is confident that my ACL was not torn. She said “There is a high-grade tear in the anterior cruciate ligament,” she wrongly interpreted what it meant and thought it was another part of my knee. My mind went blank, I was speechless and had no idea how to feel or even react. I quickly grabbed her phone to see the results for myself. My nightmare came to life and my ACL was done for. Once again I bottled up my emotions and pretended I was fine. My mind could not grasp the idea that I would now be sidelined for almost a year, or possibly forever. What was supposed to be one of my last summers playing alongside my favorite people, was now to be spent cheering them on from inside the dugout. How could I not feel anything but sadness.

            I now had to figure out what to do with all my extra time. Practicing and working out every single day was engraved into my lifestyle, how was I supposed to just learn to move on in a blink of an eye. Softball was everything to me, it blessed me with the greatest lessons and the best friends I could ever ask for. Even though my love for this sport was great, that was not preventative enough for my injury. My coaches and teammates provided me with love, support, and hope, but that was still too small to heal the gaping wound. Even with my sorrow, I still did my very best to look on the bright side. I realized that this blessed me with an opportunity to learn who I was as a person. I had no choice but to look forward and plan my surgery and recovery.

            I began my senior year excited, I could not help but feel anxious as the countdown to my surgery began. I was worried out of my mind, I had never had surgery before, but with the nerves came relief that I was finally able to begin my recovery process. The morning of my surgery finally arrived and I was ready to get it over with. I arrived at the hospital with my parents at eight in the morning. I checked in, and I was quickly taken to the pre-op center; I was asked a million questions while the nurse painfully inserted my IV. I spoke with my surgeon, and he signed my knee he was going to be operating on and we were good to go. The nurses quickly put the bed railings up and wheeled me to the operating room. I was lying in the cold room and all I remember was the anesthesiologist asking me a couple of questions and dozing off. In the blink of an eye, it was all over, I was awake and had no idea what was going on as my parents were greeting me. After fully waking up I was quickly discharged from the surgery center. I had just overcome the easiest part of my journey.

            As I am currently about three months post-operative, I realized that the physical recovery from my injury has not been the hardest part to overcome. The mental side of my recovery is what has greatly taken a toll on me. Even though I try my absolute hardest to remain positive, I still have times when I struggle with my mental health. As time has passed, I have learned to let my emotions come to life because that has been my only way to overcome the toughest time of my life. Despite softball causing me my absolute worst heartbreak, I will forever be blessed with amazing memories, the greatest friendships, and the most meaningful life lessons.