Throughout my childhood, I had played many different sports such as baseball, hockey, basketball, gymnastics, and much more. I had been a very active girl and was very competitive in everything I would do. It was at the age ten that I finally decided to stick with only one sport: soccer. As a young teenager, all that mattered to me was to play, competitively of course, and most importantly to enjoy the game. It wasn’t until I reached the age of 15 that this thought suddenly changed. It was then that I realized how much life is precious, and how much we have to appreciate the time we are given and make the best of it, before obstacles come our way. It was during the first game of the fall season at my boarding school in Minnesota that my life took a different path. A path I would describe as an athlete’s worse nightmare.
I was very excited to play this first game. It was something I had waited and prepared for the whole summer. On the weekends, I would go down to the field near my house to run and shoot some balls accompanied by my mother, who would try to impress me with her not-so-good goalkeeper skills. When I stepped onto the field in early September, I felt ready to compete against this Illinois team. It was still 0-0 near the end of the second half of the game when this golden opportunity opened itself before my eyes. I made a wide run behind the defenders and this vast space was now created in front of me.
“Sloane!! Over here, I’m open!!” I shouted from the distance.
My teammate Sloane managed to pass me the ball right on my foot and there I was, one versus one with the goalkeeper. The faster I ran, the smaller the net became and the bigger the goalkeeper appeared to me. I felt the pressure on my shoulders overhearing my teammates cheering for me, hoping I would score and make my team win. I wanted to take my time and make sure I placed the ball perfectly behind the goalkeeper by giving the ball a little curve in the direction of the bottom left corner of the net. As I watched the ball slowly moving towards the goal, I felt my body working in slow motion, and my eyes shut suddenly for a quick instant. Unaware of my body position at the moment, my right foot landed on the long and uneven grass on a very unusual angle. For a second or two, it was as if I could hear something slowly tearing up in my knee. The pain was instantaneous, and nothing could come out of my mouth except for screams of extreme torment. I began to feel my knee throbbing. It took a few minutes before the trainers got to me. They kept telling me to take deep breaths, fearing that I would soon begin to hyperventilate.
When I finally settled down, I was brought to the hospital where the doctors took quick X-rays to see if any bones were touched. Thankfully, when I met with the specialists afterwards, they informed me that no bones had been broken or fractured. I was certainly very happy with this result, yet I still had no idea what exactly happened to my knee, which made me really nervous. Am I done playing soccer forever? How long will this take for me to recover? Many doctors came into my room to take a look at my leg, but no one could really tell what had occurred due to the large amount of swelling that had gathered up inside my knee. A week after the injury date, I got a phone call from the hospital informing me that I had torn my anterior crossed ligament.
My first reaction was quite negative. I was very frustrated and could not believe this had happened to me after all the preparation I had during the summer prior to the season. After replaying the situation over and over in my head, I came to the conclusion that it might have occurred due to a lack of focus while weight lifting, weaknesses in my ligament tissue, or simply bad luck. Whatever excuse I could come up with, I knew that there was one thing I needed to do and that was surgery.
Surgery is certainly something that I didn’t enjoy. However, it was a very critical step for me in order to keep playing in the future. November 3rd, 2008, I was put on the hospital bed. I was wearing a cute little outfit: the long and warm grey socks, light blue gown, and, of course, the lovely blue beret on my head. Despite the comfort of the nurses, I could feel my heart beating very fast. When the time came for the nurses to bring me in the operating room, my anxiety reached its peak. The feeling was bittersweet. I was excited to get the surgery done so I could finally begin working towards getting back to playing. However, I knew that it would be a lot of hard work. The staff placed me on the bed under hot and comfy blankets to calm me down so they could start with the process of anesthesia. My legs wouldn’t stop shaking, but they decided to put in my IV anyways. Bad idea! My veins were impossible to fine. Two specialists on both sides of the bed tried to find my veins on both arms, and after five attempts, the needles finally went in. It took only a few seconds, and I was out. It took a long time before I woke up. The sleep felt as if I had closed my eyes for only a few moments, but in reality I had been unconscious for more than five hours. Later when I became a little bit more responsive, I had tried at many occasions to stay awake, but I wasn’t too successful; the medicine was still running through my veins. Eventually, I was able to resist the dizziness and the strong fatigue. As soon as I was completely awake, it was as if a new day had come. Even though I still felt pain in my knee, my thoughts suddenly shifted from being miserable and preoccupied with negative reflections to being positive and I became very optimistic. I was happy that surgery was over, and I was looking forward for the next steps of my recovery. I couldn’t wait to start rehabilitating.
Rehab was a process that required a lot of effort, hard work, and devotion. Yes, there were times when I just wanted to give up. It was very tough to see my soccer team on the field while I was doing my own little rehab exercises on the sideline. While they would be practicing their shots (my favorite drill) I would be doing basic exercises such as squats and lunges. Even though rehab seemed long and painful, I benefited from a lot of great things during that time. Especially the support and help that I got from my family and friends, which definitely fueled my motivation to keep up with my rehab. Whenever I would have a down time, my teammates would cheer me up. Sometimes I would call my parents at night crying, thinking I couldn’t do it anymore. Nevertheless, they would remind me what were my goals, and how proud of myself I would be when I would step back on the field again. This gave me the opportunity to realize how blessed I was to be surrounded by those people who greatly helped me go through this hardship.
After this six month recovery, I was finally able to step back on the field with my teammates. I cannot even describe the feeling I had every time I played. I often told myself that all the time and energy I spent on recovery paid off. It felt awesome to be able to do everything my teammates did without restriction. Looking back at the day when I injured my knee, I had never expected something that bad ever happening to me. That is why we have to cherish every moment of our lives, whenever we can. Life can be very tough at times, and terrible situations may occur. There are going to be times when you ask, “Why me?” However, there will always be a solution to any situation we might face in life. It is our character and strength that will decide how far we go. As Michael Jordan once said, ‘’Obstacles don't have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don't turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.’’ Many times during my recovery I faced obstacles that could have easily made me giving up, and it took me a little while to figure out how to deal with all of them. Though when I found the solution, everything became a lot better. Going through rehabilitation was one of the best experiences that ever happened to me because it really taught me to never give up and showed me that everything is possible.
