The Injury

The Injury

The breeze rolled across the pitch, hitting my sweaty brow and offering a slight chill which was appreciated.  There was a thud, as the goalkeeper punted the ball forward, and another as our forward controlled the pass.  I hurried forward, trying to get into a passing lane so I could orchestrate our next attack.  I was too late.  Someone tackled him, and now we were on the defensive.  

I quickly reversed direction, but there was little I could do.  The opposing player was already several yards away and moving faster every second.  I slowed down, trying to conserve my energy in case we gained a counter attack.  

A cross flew into our box, but was well headed away by our burly center back.  This time, I was closest to the aerial ball, and I charged towards it, beating out the opposition and trapping it superbly on my chest.  The defender was on my back now, and I hurriedly tried to accelerate away.

I took just one step before I felt it.  The cleat driving into my ankle.  I started to fall, but could not put my feet out in front to stop myself because my leg was still pinned under the defender’s boot.  There was a crunching sound as my lower shin cracked, and then snapped with my weight falling, and my ankle unable to turn with it.

A scream of pain followed.  Then a hush.  Everyone went silent.  My opponent hurriedly backed away, exclaiming over and over, “I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything.”

The referee’s whistle blew, but play had already stopped.  Several of my teammates ran towards my limp body, and my coach rushed onto the field, asking, “Can you play?”

I thought back to the time when I broke my wrist after accidentally slamming the car door on it when I went rock climbing at Rock Basin.  I spent about 9 hours climbing, even with my broken wrist.  I hoped that my ankle would be similar, and I could play through the pain.  But even after just shifting my weight, I realized there was no way I could play.

I unsuccessfully tried to blink back my tears and whispered a dejected, “No…”

I felt a poking against my skin on my leg, but I didn’t dare look down.  I was afraid I would throw up if I saw my shin stabbing through my now bloody ankle.

I had never felt pain like this before in my life.  I had suffered injuries in the past, and I always bounced back.  But now, lying on the slightly damp, itchy, grass trying not to pass out, I realised that even though this would take many months to heal, it was ultimately the same as my previous injuries.  I would still heal.  And I would come back, just like all those times in the past.  This would just be a more prolonged wait.

Eventually I would throw up and pass out, but I knew I would be back.