Two Year Anniversary

This has been a rather emotional-ish day. Hahaha.... It's kinda a really big day. Today marks the two-year anniversary of one of the most life-changing days of my life. Most of you probably know this already, but I'm doing this blog for me. It's so that I will always have these memories to look back on, and this is definitely one I feel needs to be written down. Well, here goes.

This is an essay I wrote my sophomore year of high school. I title it The Climb:

By the echoing sound of numerous basketballs rebounding off the old hardwood gym floor, and the rapid high-pitched screeches coming from the other side of the door, it was obvious that our opponents had arrived, and, just like us, already finished their pre-game pep talk. My shaking fingers extended outward finally grasping the door handle. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if it would somehow ward off the butterflies that had just recently deemed my stomach to be a good home. 

It was time. As I entered in, the constant current of air rushed against my skin as it struggled into the hallway, causing my veins to constrict and my body to consequently shudder. My team of seven newly found best friends gathered around to form a circle, our arms woven in and out of each other, our trust for one another being tremendous.

Meanwhile, our opponents had stopped their warm up and stood still as they watched our unity, almost as if they were mocking us. Their faces were all too familiar, not to mention the elbows that we had all felt, having had them jabbed into our ribs unknown to any viewers, or the legs that had kicked us when the ref’s backs were turned. Being reunited with the dirtiest basketball players I had ever encountered in all my life only made my vowed revenge sting that much more. All hopes of their jerk-for-a-coach miraculously not showing up to the game, dashed, when there he stood on the sidelines, still wearing the same smirk he had when they’d previously cheated their way to a victory over us a few weeks back.  Next to the score table stood two young men wearing the unmistakable uniforms made up of black-and-white vertical striped shirts and matching black pants. I noticed their young faces lacked the stress lines of the experienced. These “officials” were definitely new to the job, signifying the start of another rough game. 

“Okay girls, you know the rules. Jump on the whistle. You’re going that way, and you’re going that way,” the ref said, pointing to each of the baskets. I bent my knees, bringing my right leg forward ready to jump at the sound of the whistle. As the pressure on my right foot increased, the throbbing pain in my middle toe increased accordingly, almost causing me to wonder if I should sit this game, but this was no ordinary game. This was Skyline. I wasn’t going to sit out for anything, not even if I had a broken leg. I was standing in the circle facing my opponent, Savannah, when the ref extended his hand out in the middle of us, holding in his palm the leather-covered sphere close enough for me to see the rivets and raised dots that gave it a rough texture for more gripping power. We were just seconds away from the start of our giant climb. Just like any other basketball game we had played, we were racing up a mountain, and only one team would make it all the way to the top to be crowned the victor while the losing team is to sit and watch the victors gloat. It’s nothing but a mental race with physical struggles and obstacles. Just then, the ref whistled and tossed the basketball straight above Savannah’s and my own head. With all my strength, I pushed off the ground reaching as high as I could, feeling the stretch in my right shoulder, until my hand connected with the basketball and I instinctively flicked the ball behind me. My team had retrieved it, and the climb had begun.

It only took a few moments for the fouling to start, and with every passing second, the frustration level for both teams was increasing, and the secret elbow jabs, pushing, and kicking broke out. Skyline was struggling to make their shots, contributing to a deteriorating composure. They started making bad passes, resulting in a turnover and a point for us almost every time. After a Skyline player was hurt and refused to leave the floor, she pushed the ref. There were just too many fouls to call, and the game was quickly turning into a boxing match. My team had also begun to whisper things like “Good job!” when Skyline would mess up, or when they would shoot a free throw, someone would say, “Don’t miss!” just before they would release the ball and airball it. Before we knew it, it was half time and both the game and Skyline coach had gotten completely out of control. It sure didn’t help that the refs weren’t calling anything for or against either team.

When halftime was over, the madness started all over again, resulting in their coach calling a timeout. “Take that number four girl out!” yelled their coach. I heard it. My team heard it. My coaches heard it. I think the only people that didn’t hear were the refs. Trembling, I looked down at my jersey, only to confirm my fears; I was number four. 

We were back in the game soon enough, and with each new possession, there would also be a lead change in the score. It was evident this game was going to be a close one. During one of our possessions, I was on the block posting up when the ball broke loose. Without thinking, I jumped for it, and that’s when time seemed to slow. After I had the ball safely under me, I looked up just in time to see two Skyline defenders jump on me. I heard a big pop, followed by shooting pains up and down my leg that caused undescribable pain that I had never felt before. The noise was like none else I had ever heard.  I couldn’t move. “This is it,” I thought, clenching the floor like a baby holds a blanket to their face, but unable to grasp it. “I am done. I won’t ever be able to play basketball again. I probably tore my ACL, and I am done for.”  I couldn’t do anything but keep repeating through the instant tears that welled up “No, no, noooo….” I eventually was able to roll over, and reluctantly look at my leg, unbelieving of what they had just done to me. My left knee cap was on the outer side of my leg, undoubtedly out of place. “Alice, get up. Get up! You are fine. You are going to finish this game,” said the voice inside my head giving me the much needed motivation. I closed my eyes and held my breath, trying to forget the pain. Reaching down, I dug my thumb and forefinger under my patella, and as I forced my leg straight, I felt and heard the same excruciating “Pop!”, as it slid back into place. I couldn’t help but notice the triumphant look on Skyline’s faces. In their minds, I was out of the game. 

“Way to go girls! You got her!” the Skyline coach said as he was giving high fives to each of the girls on his team during the timeout he had just called. When the game started up again, I was now watching from the bench. I watched for a few minutes, the pain getting increasingly agonizing, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I was going to finish this race. “Coach, I am ready whenever you are.” Both of my coaches looked at me like I was insane. “Are you sure you can play?” Sheila asked. All I could do was nod my head for fear the tears would start again. The lead was rocking back and forth between possessions, and before we knew it, regulation time was over, and the score was tied. 

Moments into the first overtime, I could tell the Skyline coach was very upset that I was still able to play. We were running the press, and I was back side, so I was down at the opposite end of the court, when my teammate fouled. We lined up on the free throw line while the ref leisurely walked over to the table and held up four fingers, then rotated his hand “Foul’s on forty-four white.”  “That’s five,” came the instant reply from the scorekeepers, which meant that she had fouled out. “Wait no. You meant four. The foul was on four,” whined the annoying Skyline coach. The ref just stopped and contemplated. “Yeah he’s right. Four, you’re out.” “Wh, wh...wait. What?!” I was speechless. I had been nowhere near the girl, yet there was no use swaying the ref’s minds that had obviously been brainwashed by this coach whose face was now wearing an even worse smirk. He had done it again. This coach was going to cheat his way to a victory one way or another. I couldn’t believe it; I was out, and this time for good. 

Before I knew it, we were down to a few seconds left in the second overtime. We were ahead by a point, and the refs had allowed the Skyline coach to dictate every one of their moves. Then right at the end, one of the Skyline girls threw up a shot. The gym was silent, as we all held our breaths, and I closed my eyes. By the swishing sound and the remaining silence by the Blackfoot spectators, I knew they had won the climb. My heart sank. We had all worked so hard, only to be robbed. Unwillingly, I went through the line to shake all of their hands, only to hear more colorful words than I had ever heard at one time before. Then, as I walked out of the gym, I just shook my head, and couldn’t help but chuckle a little. I couldn’t believe I had let myself get so into something that didn’t even matter that much. What mattered was that I had learned a lesson, and I still had my team. That is, until next year…

At the time I had written this essay, I was fairly positive that I would be playing sports in the next few months, but that was not the case. There's a lot of detail here that I am leaving out, but I will put it in a different post later on in the summer. Anyways, long story short, I was about two weeks away from getting released from my doctor to be completely healed when I was at one of my friend's birthday party and we were playing ninja destruction. YEP. Ninja destruction. I made my move, slipped, did the splits, and on the way down, I felt my knee pop three times and dislocate. I laid on the floor in excruciating pain---not only physically but the actual mental and emotional pain of realizing that everything I had worked so hard for the past year was now undone. All the tears, pain, doctor appointments, and even surgeries were for nothing. I was back at the beginning. I just wanted to bawl, but of course, I hate people seeing me cry, so I pulled it together and went to Downtown Dance's annual showcase. By the time that was over, my knee was so swollen I couldn't get my jeans off when I got home. I walked into my room, still choking back tears, and tried getting them off, but didn't succeed. I heard my dad come in the door, and it was just the two of us home. He asked me to come to his room, which I did, and he just simply asked me, "How bad is it?"

That's when I lost it. Completely lost it. I bawled. I let all my emotions that had built up the past year come out. How could I possibly be going through this AGAIN??? 

I hopped to my room, laid on my bed and cried. Then, I noticed a quote I keep next to my bed that I got in Young Women's as a Beehive. It's a simple white paper with the quote on it, and it is matted on a simple black piece of paper. However, despite the simplicity of the presentation of this quote, the words changed my life. It said, “The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it. And so it is with you... we are in charge of our Attitudes.”

Right then and there, I decided that if I had to go through this a second time, obviously I hadn't learned the lessons I needed to learn the first time. The Lord had a plan for me, he had tried to teach me once, but I wasn't humble enough to learn what I needed to. I decided that I would find the good in everything that happened to me, no matter what! It didn't matter how bad this was going to get, I was going to face everything with a smile so that I could learn the lessons The Lord was trying to teach me. 

Now, as a senior in high school this past year, I wrote this essay for arm Gardner's class. I named it Finding Me. Sorry, it's a little repetitive, but I like to see the difference in my angles of the two essays---before the surgery and after the surgery. And yes, if you haven't guessed my now, today marks the two year anniversary of my most complicated and major knee reconstructive surgery. Here's my essay: 

“Take her out. Take that number four girl out!” Suddenly my daydream was over, and I snapped back to reality as I heard those distinct life altering words escape the mouth of the opposing coach. It took only a few more moments for me to realize who we was talking about and the sudden panic taking over my stomach, causing it to drop. Before I had much time to think for it to truly sink in, the familiar sounds of the whistles broke the huddle, and we were back in the game.  Only this would be one of the last games I would ever play in, for not too long after that, I was on the block posting up when the ball broke loose. Without thinking, I jumped for it, and that’s when time seemed to slow. After I had the ball safely under me, I looked up just in time to see two defenders in mid-air just before I felt the overcoming feeling of the weight of their bodies now intentionally crushing mine. I heard a big pop, followed by shooting pains up and down my leg that caused indescribable pain that I had never felt before. The noise was like none else I had ever heard. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. “This is it,” I thought, clenching the floor like a baby holds a blanket to their face, but unable to grasp it. “I am done. I will never be able to play basketball again.” 

Being a freshman in high school, I was just the average teenager. A little too self conscious about my looks and my clothes but on a journey to find myself, and little did I know that it would take a knee injury to do it.  I hated doctors and needles and just about all the normal things a teenager dislikes, so it took me six months to face my biggest fear and find out my diagnosis. When I learned I would only be having a scope, I decided it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I would be back to doing what I loved in no time. The surgery would only take twenty minutes and the recovery only three weeks. When it came time to be wheeled into the operating room a few days later, my stomach was full of knots. Something was going to go wrong. I just knew it. I didn’t know what, but something would not go the way we had planned. My fears were only confirmed and my life altered much more when I slowly came out of the anesthetic and said to the nurse, “That was more than twenty minutes, wasn’t it?” only to have her respond nervously, “Ummmm, I’m gonna go get your parents.”

Almost a year later, I could count the days on both of my hands that I had left until I could finally play my game of basketball again. My doctor was finally going to release me. I had come so far on the long hard road, and the waiting was almost over. I could almost taste the victory in my mouth. That is, until I tasted the bitter saltiness from the tears that ran down my cheek as I stared at my freshly re-dislocated knee that seemed to be growing in size before my eyes the Saturday before that doctor’s appointment I had so anxiously awaited. I was so close, but now so far.

A week later, I was being wheeled back into the operating room for the second time, but this time without the knots in my stomach. I had come to terms with myself that everything was going to turn out just fine. There would be no surprises this time. I was right, the surgery itself went perfectly. With all of the risks that had existed with this complete reconstruction of my knee, not a single thing went wrong. However, when I woke up, I was introduced to my new leg that was now held together by metal, as it was extended up into the air causing me excruciating pain as the doctor twisted my freshly broken tibia. Just the sight of my doctor and three nurses each holding my leg up as they rewrapped it, I knew something bad was going on.  I hadn’t seen my doctor at all the last time I had surgery. I soon learned that the blood was not flowing in my leg, which turned into a major complication, followed by another complication, and another. 

Finally, long after the rest of the hospital floor was cleared because the patients had all been sent home, the nurses felt I was stable enough for it to be my turn to go home and recover in the comfort of my own bed. One by one the monitors came off my skin, and the feeling of security that I was finally getting to go home was overwhelming me. My mom was sent to get the car, and the nurse took out the IV, which they had saved for the last line connecting my body to a machine, in case we had another emergency where I would be needing that life line. With one nurse on my right and two on my left, we started the slow and excruciating process of transferring me into my wheelchair, but something didn’t seem right.

“I’m really dizzy.” I’m not exactly sure how the words escaped my lips, but miraculously, I was able to get the nurse’s attention and tell her to stop moving me. I was extremely dizzy, and it wasn’t going away. “Take deep breaths. Just take deep breaths,” were the instructions they all gave me, reassuring me that in a few short moments, it would pass. However, it didn’t pass. First came the urge to throw up, followed by the slow loss of hearing, followed by my loss of sight, and eventually I lost all control of my whole body. No matter how many times I tried to move, open my eyes, or even scream, my body wouldn’t listen. I could only slightly feel what was going on around me, until that too, faded. No matter how hard I fought, I was losing the battle and couldn’t hold on any longer. I was slipping away. The last thing I remember was the rushing of cold air against my skin as the nurse’s rushed about the room scrambling to hook up monitors to my now unresponsive body.

Up until this point in my life, I hadn’t discovered who I really was. Just like every other teenage girl, I had my insecurities, but up until this point, I hadn’t had to fight for anything. Everything had just come naturally to me, whether it was sports, school, or socializing. I hadn’t had a reason to find out who I really was inside. Never in my life had I come upon an obstacle that dragged me to the absolute lowest point, and been forced to find out just how strong I was without any prior preparations as the one I was now faced with was doing to me. Now, it was vital to my survival to discover who I really was. Just when I thought the battle was over forever, there came this little voice out of nowhere, but somewhere inside of me said, “Okay, Alice, you have to do this. You have to pull through. You can do this.” After about fifteen minutes, I could start to faintly hear the beeping of machines, the squeezing of my left arm as my blood pressure was taken, and the the cold blowing against my bare shoulders from my jacket being gone and the fan now blowing on me. For the first time, I miraculously opened my eyes for the first time as the new me.

Hahaha yes, that's a little dramatic, but that's how I remember it. One thing that the essay didn't mention was the reason why I had passed out and my heart rate dropped to almost completely stopping. My surgery was originally scheduled for 12:00, so I stopped eating and drinking at 8:00 the night before. The hospital called the day of surgery and told us my surgery was postponed another hour....then another....and another. It wasn't until 4:30 that I was actually wheeled into the operating room. By this time, I was extremely weak. I had no food or liquid for almost 24 hours. On top of that, I have a circulation disease that makes any sort of surgery a pretty great risk. I have to stay warm the whole time, and my heart rate has to be carefully monitored. My disease has the potential to cause more problems than we even know about. Haha! But, I made it! I did! And I am so much stronger now! It doesn't seem real that two years ago tonight, I almost didn't make it. It's a complete miracle, and I'm so blessed for it! Also, another complication we had in the hospital was the pump in my leg would not pump out the extra fluid. They couldn't figure it out, but we eventually realized it was accidentally pulled out when the doctor was rewrapping my leg. The immediate consequences of this weren't bad, but the long term consequences caused me more pain than I can describe! But overall, I am so blessed! So completely blessed! :) I'm thankful for the lessons I learned, and I am thankful for a Heavenly Father that knew I could handle that trial. I'm thankful for Him trusting me with that trial. It's a huge part of who I am today. This has had the most affect on my life. This one experience has taught me more about life than anything else that has ever happened to me. People always tell me that they are glad I learned the things I did, but they wish I could have learned it a different way. Well, I don't. I would bust my knee again in a heartbeat if I knew I got to go through this again. I love trials now. They make me so much stronger! I wouldn't have changed a single thing! 

Here are some photos of that surgery....sorry, they are kind of gross. 

Haha but here are the first few. Right before my surgery! 

This is right after they got me stabilized enough to send me home. In fact, I'm even wearing the exact hoodie right now just because its the one I wore that day, too! 

After I got home, this is the brace I was in for about three months. 

Andddddd finally taking off my dressing so I could see my awesome scar for the first time! (Yes, I'm pretty proud of that scar. It's still super prominent on my leg, and always will be! I even hope I get to keep it in the Resurrection.)

(Haha yes, my knee says yes. They have to write on the leg so that they don't accidentally operate on the wrong leg).  Here's the x-ray they took immediately following the surgery! 

This is my knee a few weeks ago! Pretty rad, right? 

Anyways, I'm doing fantastic! My knee is great! And I'm a better person because of it! Who could ask for more?