Monday Memories: Soccer Star Part 1

I used to be an athlete. I've actually played in several sports. Primarily though, I used to play soccer. Defense mostly. I played the stupid/extra brave kind of defense though -- instead of just keeping the ball from the goal I got in the way. It was my style. I got injured a fair amount, much more than I ever let on, but it proved helpful (when it worked...).

This also proved to be my unmaking in that sport though.


My last two years I was on, basically, the same team. We were a machine. Not unstoppable, not by any means, but pretty damn good. We made it to the championships the first year, almost won them. We were playing a game that would determine whether or not we made the championships when this story happened.

We were also playing a team with a spectacular player on the team. He wasn't especially skilled except in one area: if he kicked the ball it went roughly 30 million miles per hour. Like, people were scared to get in his way.
At first I was. But I got over it. So he shoots for the goal, and I charge.
The ball slammed into the side of my right knee, and I won't lie, it hurt a lot. I limped for a minute. When I was over by the sideline, the coach was all "Graham, Graham, are you okay?" I shrugged it off. Course I was fine, I could still stand, right?

So I finished the game. Shook hands with the opposing team. I don't remember if we won or lost. I think we won, because I was feeling pretty proud. Then I met up with my parents and we headed for the car.
Around this time I noticed that my knee was kinda hurting when I bent it. I thought I was just tired and I'd walk it off. So I got in the car, and it killed when I sat with it bent, so I sprawled out across the back seat. No biggie. I had played hard I deserved a little relaxation.

I spent pretty much the rest of the day sprawled out somewhere, relaxing, not moving my leg. I didn't even think about it but in retrospect this behavior (which was typically unusual of me at the time) was probably my subconscious telling me that I'd effed something up.
When I went upstairs to go to bed, was when I started to get worried. I couldn't walk up the stairs, it hurt too much to bend it that way. I called mom over, we discussed, and we decided to see how I was in the morning. She helped me get up the stairs without bending my knee, and it took me about a half hour to figure out how to take off my clothes and put on my PJs without bending the knee, and another half hour to actually do it.

The next morning, I woke up all energetic, bounced out of bed and promptly collapsed on the floor and cried in incredible agony while I thrust my leg out and made an incredible effort to not bend it while I was writhing on the floor. (As this was prior to my first Crohn's flare up, both being in that much pain, writhing on the floor, and all of the numerous doctors appointment that I'm about to tell you about combined to make this a very traumatic experience.)

Mom wisely decided I probably shouldn't do school, and we made a pretty hasty call to my doctor, made an emergency appointment, and got there as fast as we could without me having to walk. As I recall, my dad carried me to the car and I stuck my right leg out at the weirdest angle just to keep it from bending. It's pretty good I had strong legs from soccer, or I'd have been screwed.
My doctor examined the knee and determined that, golly gosh gee, it hurt when I bent it and that probably meant something was wrong. She sent us in to the emergency room for a bone scan.

Interesting fact: for bone scans they inject you with this radioactive substance, and according to the woman who injected me, if you try to visit the White House or any other important federal government buildings while this stuff is in you, you show up as a bomb on their security equipment and they will not let you in.

The bone scan determined that the problem was not actually in my bones, and made me have to pee a lot. (That's how they get the radioactive stuff out of your system.) It didn't tell us what the problem was.
We also did an X-Ray which also determined that the problem was not in my bones. Then they sent me for an MRI the next day, which is a damn scary procedure. They put you on a tray, like a giant cafeteria tray, and then you get put inside a tube that plays bad elevator music unless you bring your own music (which I didn't cause no one told me to). Claustrophobic people usually panic, which is totally understandable. I was okay in the tube, but I was not happy.

Unable to determine what was going on, but unable to miss more school, I returned to the 8th grade at the Catholic school I was going to at the time. I figured I'd get some sympathy, but Junior High students are like wolves and antelopes combined...they cruelly pick apart the injured animal.

But we'll talk about that next week. ;)