My heart was racing and I was unable to fully extend my leg. The pain that was coming through my knee as I was trying to stand was weakening. For the first time in my life, my leg was not able to hold my own weight. Bent at the knee, my leg couldn't go farther than ninety degrees. Extending it any farther would have created a race of tears down my pale cheeks. I had never felt this sensation before and I was not a fan. Parents of my teammates came rushing over to see what was wrong. I didn’t know how to explain the pain I was in, or how to even explain what had happened. One moment I was sitting down, with my back against the wall, wide eyes looking up at my coach, and listening to what he needed to say about our game. Next, I was rising from my spot when something sudden had happened to my knee that refused me to walk. It was as if I was a string puppet, waiting for my master to release the string to allow my leg to fall; but it never did.  Allowing one of the mothers to diagnose my leg, panic ran through my mind. Every bit of me didn’t want her to touch my leg, for I thought it was going to get worse. My leg looked as if it had become a softball. As the short redheaded Scottish mother was done she said, “You’ll be fine. You will be walking within a couple of days.” This was the news

I was expecting to hear, little did I know she knew it was much worse than a couple of days.
It was a day I will never forget and a lesson I will always learn from. In one moment, something I was so passionate about had been ripped from me. Ironically, it was a day that most people symbolize as luck. But in that moment, I could not associate this event with any luck in mind. March 17, 2012, a day in which the Irish celebrate to remember a very important saint in their Catholic religion, Saint Patrick. This day is composed of luck, feasts, and green. For me, it consisted of being unable to walk on two legs and a swollen knee.  At the time I had no idea what to expect, I was using crutches and applying ice to control the swelling, but that never ended. I had seen two athletic trainers before making an appointment with an orthopedic doctor. One being at the college level and the other at the high school level. Both athletic trainers were concerned that it was some kind of cartilage tear with in my knee; but they both had different opinions on what was going to happen next.
Josh Underwood, the athletic trainer at the high school diagnosed my knee in two different scenarios. One of them being the worst case and the other being the best (in my case). The worst case was known as a “bucket handle” meniscus tear. This surgery would require the doctor to repair my meniscus, become non weight bearing for the first six weeks then no physical activity beside walking and physical therapy for the second six weeks. This would keep me out of AAU (Athletic Amateur Union- a travel basketball league) and my spring sport.

Sitting there on the cushioned tables, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and I definitely didn’t think it was true. It was the worst case; nothing bad was going to happen to me. Now, the best case scenario would still require surgery but I would be back within two weeks, with a part of my cartilage gone from my knee. This wasn’t as bad as the worst case, but there was no way I was going to get surgery on my leg. I didn’t let myself believe that I would ever need surgery, I needed more opinions.

That week my family and I went up to my sister’s lacrosse game at Castleton State College. The ride was agonizing and long, I wanted a second opinion and I wanted it right away. Sitting in a car for two hours was too long for me. As we were approaching the college my heart started to pound faster and faster knowing my best opinion was awaiting. As I set foot on that artificial turf field, with my crutches underneath each armpit, the athletic trainer came up to me with my sisters. He had me sit on the ground while he diagnosed my knee. The trainer believed it was a meniscus tear, but I’d be back with no surgeries within a week. This sounded like the best option, but Josh made an appointment with an orthopedic doctor, to get a professional's point of view.
I had never actually been inside a hospital, other than the time I was born. All the shows and movies that are set inside a hospital never seem to have happy endings or drastic events happening inside. Limping into the doors of that hospital made me cringe; I became very skeptical of my surroundings as I proceeded to head into the elevator and move up to the second floor. The sound of doctors and the smell of medicine filled my nose as I approached my doctor’s office. Again, I sit on a cushioned table waiting for answers. Dr. McLarney walked into my room with a smile from one ear to the other. As she came over to my side she greeted me with a friendly welcome and proceeded to look at my knee. She told my mother and I that we would need a further check up and an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging), to determine what was going to happen next. Going into my second check up, after receiving an MRI, my mind was open to so much. I couldn't tell what the next move was from here. Anxiously waiting for McLarney to come into the room, I was embracing myself for whatever was about to come my way. As the door cracked open, my heart stopped beating. She immediately got to the point. “It looks like a bucket handle tear and we will be operating on your knee. Since you are still young, you will need the cartilage for the future to help prevent arthritis. We will repair your meniscus and you will be out for the next six months.”

Tears started filling up in my eyes, it was an immediate reaction that I was trying so hard to hold bad. I had never been out for more than a day, let alone six months. What I was about to endure was something I had never experienced before.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012, I came out of surgery with a newly repaired knee. Falling in and out of sleep from the anesthesia, I was eager to hear what McLarney had to say about surgery. Hearing each detail from her my surgery after waking up was one of the most fascinating things I had heard about. I wanted to be able to see a video or pictures of the whole process but they were unable to show me. The idea of one person being able to fix what used to be broken was incredible to me. My longest journey was ahead of me and I needed to keep positive through it all.

Each night I would wake up every two hours because of the amount of discomfort I was in; this was my usual night for the next week or so. Each day it was a struggle to get up off the couch to go to the bathroom because of the amount of pain I was enduring. Taking pill after pill to help with my process became a hassle. Each pill I took made me sleepier and sleepier. The more I took the faster I fell asleep and the moment I woke up the pain would begin again. The line of pain seemed to be never ending and I was unable to eat. I ate very minimal food because of the pain. I didn’t want to eat; all I wanted to do was sleep.  It was the worst week I had ever experienced. The only thing I kept telling myself through it all was that I was going to be able to walk and run, and be brand new. Only six more weeks until I would be able to walk, that’s only a month and a half. As those weeks grew my positive outlook became smaller. Depression began to settle in as I was watching my friends running and laughing, playing the game of basketball, which I love so much. It was hard to constantly watch them play when I knew I should be out there with them. I cried every chance I was alone for the last two weeks I was non-weight bearing. I came so close to giving up everything, as I watched the positive disappear.

Taking my first steps on my newly repaired leg was like taking steps for the first time. I was timid to the whole idea and unsure about how to concentrate on walking. Walking comes so natural to a human after a certain amount of time. You don’t have to think about a gimp in your step or pay close attention to the little things. It just comes natural. I had lost eleven pound in one leg that was in need of some muscle. My walk was not going to change unless there was meat on my bones. The next six weeks were hard work and tough. It wasn’t easy to regain all the muscle I had lost. Physical therapy was my worst enemy and I was ready to stand up to it. Working my hardest the next six weeks was the most important to me. After getting over my selfish pity stage, I only saw positive in my future. To this very day I do not regret a single moment I am on a basketball court or on a long run. I don’t allow myself to feel tired because I know things could be worse than being tired in a game. I have two legs now that work perfectly. I am now a senior who has been playing three sports of varsity since my sophomore year. I love every second I am on a field or a court. In the end, I am thankful to have had an experience like I did. As unlucky as I felt on March 17, 2012, I now know today, that I am lucky to have been through a full recovery and be back to the environment where I belong.