Injury to insult: Part two

It's the ACL

Whew. Okay. So, this is a hard thing to write. It shouldn't be this difficult, but it is. And I think I’ve figured out why.

I tore my ACL. Actually - I obliterated it. Because there is no such thing as half-measures.

My consistent feeling about it is…shame.

Why?

Because a lot of people that I tell about the injury just wince and go, “Ooh. How did you do that?”

And when I tell them I did it playing lacrosse, there is almost a look of very recognizable indifference. A nearly imperceptible head turn. Like I did something wrong. One person, who might be related to me, said, “Well, that’s what you get for playing so much.”

I deserve this?

I deserve this.

So, yeah. There’s a weird amount of shame in the injury and even more tacked-on post-diagnosis. I know that I wouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I’m reticent to tell anyone about it, even though I have to tell more and more people every day. Because I don’t want to see their reaction.

The other feeling is stronger, though. And that feeling is betrayal. I feel it about my own body. Like, I worked so hard to keep you in shape and this is what you do to me? How dare you. It’s less of a “Woe is me” than a “You’re so ungrateful”. It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s absolutely and irrevocably pervasive.

Now I’m staring down the barrel of surgery’s gun this September. It’s daunting because I have never had surgery before (besides getting wisdom teeth out). I’ve often avoided surgery with rehab and different training cycles. I won’t be able to walk for a while. I had to get a shower seat and a handheld shower nozzle. I’m also weirdly ashamed of that, too.

Because it makes me feel weak.

I’m going to have to rely on other people to help me with a lot of things in the next few months. And if you know me, you know that I hate asking for help of any kind. I pride myself on being somewhat self-made in terms of choking this career (and my coaching career) into existence with a garrote made of my own determination. Now everything feels like it’s slipping away.

I know that it’s not, at least, the logical part of my brain does. But I’ve really lost touch with that in the past few weeks. I’m just schlepping along like a zombie.

I’m scared and I need help to get through this. I have that help, so you don’t have to worry. But it doesn’t make me feel any better. I know that there are a lot of people who have it way worse. Again, my brain knows. But my heart - the thing that really guides me; the thing I’ve always had…it’s shattered, man.

I know I said I would get through this and was very hopeful in my initial musings about this. And I know that I will. Deep down - I know. I don’t need reassurance. But I can’t shake these other emotions.

I can promise you that I won’t make this recovery my entire personality, or anything. I’m not about to become a motivational speaker. My goal is for this to be the last time I write about it. At least, until I step on the field again.

I’m hurt. I’m injured. I’m mad and I’m sad. Sometimes it helps to just get it out.

Thanks for reading. Listening. Thank you even more for supporting me to this point and beyond.