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The Heart; The Biggest Game Changer

This is a story of an incredibly unfortunate set of injuries that occurred in an incredibly passionate players' life.

By Hannah BirdPublished 6 years ago 23 min read
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There are certain feelings that I'll never forget. Feelings like when the doctor looked me in the eyes and told me my clearing date, or told me if I would be cleared in general, and it was not what I was expecting. Feelings like when my physical therapist gave me an exercise and then I would go and I would do it and it was painful and it was hard and I wanted to give up but I wanted it so bad that I knew I couldn’t. Feelings like sitting on the sideline, hurting so bad on the inside and wishing nothing more than being able to put my cleats on and go play. Feelings like hearing people complain about having to go to practice or games and wanting to just scream at them. Feelings like sitting in my room at night and realizing how much further I had to go. Feelings like bending my knee and only getting it to 80 percent but doing all I could to keep going; then trying to hyperextend my knee and the pain was making me want to quit but I wanted to play so bad that I clenched my fists and fought through the pain. I'll never forget those feelings. But there's also one more feeling that I'll never forget. I'll never forget the feeling of that day. The day where I got to put my cleats back on. The day where I got to put that jersey on. The day that for the first time in nine months, nine long and hard months, that I gotta do what I loved again.

Now you are all probably wondering where all this madness came from, so I should probably explain myself. Basically, soccer was my source of happiness. I loved it with all my heart. I started playing when I was 3-years-old and never looked back. It was my life, and I never imagined my life without it. As I grew up, I became more and more serious about it. I realized how big of an impact it had on me, and I was passionate about getting to the next level. Freshman year I made varsity. It was a heck of a year. I had to work harder than I ever had up to that point to earn my spot and prove that I deserved to be placed on varsity. After a lot of hard work, I earned my starting spot and grew as a player more and more every practice and game. Then came sophomore year. Sophomore year was the turn in the story. This is the year that I tore my ACL, the first time around. I had just began playing again after a quick MCL sprain. I was at practice and I had just finished having a conversation with my coach about how that was a long eight weeks without soccer and how I was ready and recovered from that injury. After finishing my conversation with my coach, I entered into the 2v2 game at the Old Varsity field. I received the ball and started dribbling, more ready than ever to get back out there. As I was trying to maneuver around the defender, my right foot got stuck in the long grass and caused my knee to bend in a way it shouldn’t. At that moment, I knew. I knew exactly what it was but I was in denial and did not want to believe it. My coach helped me up and told me to go see the trainer. I refused in the beginning, asking my coach if I could just sit and watch the team practice because I wanted to be involved in any way possible. I sat there watching, while in the back of my head I could not stop thinking about what had just happened. My coach then encouraged me again to go see the trainer. As I drove back to the high school to see the trainer, I realized I should probably call my mom, but I could not find the courage to do so. Each time I attempted to dial her number, I got all choked up. I did not want her to worry and I wanted to be strong. After seeing the trainer, bad feelings overwhelmed my body so we decided to go into the doctor the next day.

As I was sitting in that doctor’s office, I prayed over and over and over, hoping that somehow it wouldn’t be my ACL and that I would be okay. I sat there impatiently waiting the news, trying to avoid all eye contact with my mom because I knew that the second our eyes met, the tears would come. The doctor came in and had me lay down. He then performed that darn ACL test that I know all too well. For anybody that has gone through this, you know exactly what I am talking about. With a few bends of the knee the doctor looked up, pressed his lips together, looked me in the eyes and said, “Hannah, you tore your anterior cruciate ligament, more commonly known as your ACL.” I did not know of the power that such a sentence had. My heart sank all the way down to my toes and this indescribable sense of emptiness filled my entire body. I smiled, fighting back an ocean of tears, and decided right at that moment that I was going to fight. I told myself I had the rest of the day to cry it out and feel sorry for myself, but then I needed to pick up my chin and go full force into this whole thing.

I went to physical therapy three times a week for like three hours. It was long, painful, mentally taxing, and the thought of quitting passed through my head every so often. BUT, I had the greatest physical therapist. I know that it was no coincidence that I got placed as his patient. I know that God had a hand in my placement and I am so so grateful for that. He not only helped me get my knee back and strong, but he seemed to genuinely care for my well-being and return to the sport. We formed a friendship that really helped me get through this whole thing.

Along with physical therapy three times a week, I also went and did a program called Barwis. I was told of the intensity of it, but did not exactly know what to expect. When my mom and I walked in that first day, the loud music was blasting, and there was not a single young female like myself in there, only ginormous male athletes. I looked at my mom and shook my head, begging her to let me leave. She let out a little giggle and walked out the door, leaving me standing there. To say I was terrified was an understatement. Was I completely frustrated at my mom for leaving me there and not letting me back out? For quite a bit actually, yes. I went every day, five days a week. I woke up for early morning seminary, went to school, drove an hour to Barwis, then drove to soccer practice and sat and watched until I was strong enough to play again. I would get home around near midnight every night. Barwis was hard, but it made me so strong. I remember one experience in specific that really stuck out to me. During one exercise, I was having a really hard time. I was tired and sore and I just wanted to go home. My trainer stood in front of me, not holding back, and screamed, “HOW BAD DO YOU WANT IT? HOW BAD DO YOU WANT TO PLAY AGAIN?” Well, the answer was that I wanted it so, so stinking bad so I knew exactly what I needed to do. In the end, Barwis made me crazy strong and I was more ready than ever to play again. In fact, I cried every drive home and not always because I was sad and worn out, but because season was right around the corner and I could not contain my excitement that I would be playing soon.

Along with Barwis and physical therapy, I also ran the gauntlet every Saturday from the time I was cleared to do so all the way to tryouts. The gauntlet was a timed agility test we had to do at tryouts. It was so hard, especially after not having been able to run for five months. My mom took me to the high school track every Saturday to train for it. There were times that I did not want to get out of the car, or instances where I would feel really discouraged because I could not make the cuts for the test. One day, when I was having a hard time to motivate myself to get out of the car and go run, my mom looked me in the eyes and gave me some of the most memorable words that I have ever received.

“Hannah, you have done all you can. You have worked so hard. I want you to pray to your Heavenly Father and now ask him for his help. That is okay to do. After you do all that you can, he will help with the rest. You are the strongest girl that I know.”

And, let me tell you... All of this, all of the tears, the pain, the things I missed out on, the soreness and tiredness, all of it, ALL OF IT WAS 100 percent WORTH IT. That first game back, I don’t know if I can actually put it into words. My heart was full of a happiness that I had been waiting a long time to feel. I was beaming from head to toe. I was happier than I had ever been. That season, my junior season, was one I will never forget. I came back stronger than I ever was before, the season was amazing. I thanked God after every game and practice because I could not believe that I was actually back and playing with more confidence and skill that I ever had before. I was having so much fun and I was so grateful to be back. Before I get to the next part, I want to say that even though it did not turn out as well as it sounds like it will, I got all-state recognition, as well as all-region and first team SEC, I learned so much about myself as a player and person, and I gained a new profound respect for the game itself.

So, do not think that for a second that my hard work meant nothing. Anyways, rewind a tad, first post-season game and I was thrilled to be playing again. The season before my team won the state title and I wanted nothing more than to be a part of that again, and this time on the field. So I go out on the field, I bend down and give my knee a kiss and a little pat and then the whistle blew. Not far into the game I see a Skyline defender dribbling the ball toward our half. I run up, take the ball, and I start dribbling horizontally across the field looking for the next pass. Another Skyline defender approaches trying to double team me so I planted my right foot to get the pass off with my left. With a single plant of the right foot, it hyperextended.. and there you have it. In just three split seconds I was back to where I was nine months previous. I laid on the field, the stands went silent, and I screamed “I cannot do this again.” The trainer and Coach Ryan Williams rushed onto the field to monitor the situation. They kept asking questions and all I could say was how much I loved soccer. They asked where my pain was, if I was okay, what it felt like or if I heard any pops, and all I could tell them was how much I loved soccer. That is all I could think about. I loved it so much and the thought of doing what I had to do all over again was tearing me apart. I was not thinking about the pain, the hours, or the frustration that this would bring, I was thinking about how I had to go another nine months without playing the sport I love. While my knee was in a pretty good amount of pain, the mental pain was what got to me most. Right when I got home, my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. I remember this blessing so clearly and immediately wrote it down when it was finished. The blessing brought comfort and peace, but also made it clear to me that as I strengthened my relationship with my Heavenly Father, my knee would be strengthened and would be healed. I then went up and got in my bed while my mom grabbed ice. As I sat there, I could not exactly wrap my head around the fact that this had just happened. I had worked so hard, so, so, so hard. I put in every last ounce of hard work that I had in me to get to play again. I heard stories all the time of people who tore theirs again, but the thought of that being me never even crossed my mind. As my mom sat next to me in my bed, I could tell she was struggling with what to say because in the end, she knew how much I loved soccer and probably knew just how hard this was on me. She just kept reminding me that God had a plan and that no matter what it was, we could do it. She told me to hope for the best but to be ready to take on the worst. She told me that if I did it once, I could do it again. I think I said a three hour prayer that night, just asking Heavenly Father over and over to heal me, repeating over and over “I have faith, I have faith, I have faith.”

I woke up the next morning and was afraid to move. I knew the second I moved any part of my body, I would know if my knee was okay. I sat there as still as I could, praying again that I would sit up, move my legs to the side of the bed, and stand up with no pain. I had seminary that morning, but I did not want to go. I then had a strong impression that I needed to go. If I was going to be asking God for a lot of help, I needed to put him first. As I planted my feet on the ground and stood up, there it was, that sharp, unsteady feeling in my right knee. I got light headed and ran to the bathroom on the verge of vomiting.

I got to seminary, eyes all puffy, but I received my answer as to why I was supposed to go that day. We talked all about tithing and how it can bless our lives. Everyone was telling stories of the miracles and blessings they and their families had received from paying their tithing. I got home and immediately paid mine. I felt an immediate peace—an immediate feeling of “take a deep breath” and a reassurance that God had my back. I stayed home from school that day. I would sit and ice for 20 minutes, then get up and walk a lap around my neighborhood, and I did that over and over all day. I thought that maybe if I kept doing that, my knee would be okay and that this was all just a little fix.

As time went on, my ability to walk was not getting easier. Deep down, I knew, but I could not figure out how to get out of this denial stage. So, there I stood, in the denial phase for quite some time. In fact, I went to Orangetheory every day... and ran. I even went for runs outside on uneven ground and when my mom asked me how it felt, I told her it felt great because I thought maybe if I faked it long enough it actually would be. I kept it inside, telling anyone and everyone who asked that it was nothing, but I knew. I was about to go to a camp in California followed by a camp at BYU, it got closer and closer and I was panicking because I knew there was no way I could play on that knee. The Sunday before I was set to leave for these camps I got a text from my physical therapist saying that a little bird had told him I had been limping and that they were worried. While this could be looked at as a coincidence, I know that the “little bird” was a little angel in disguise. I went to the doctor that next morning to get it looked at. My physical therapist looked at my knee and quietly walked away to go grab a second opinion. After the second opinion took a look, they quietly talked and told me they would like me to go see a PA to get a third opinion. I sat on that table awaiting the PA trying to stay positive, smiling and laughing and pretending everything was fine. The PA walked in, took one look at my knee, doing that same stinkin’ test, and, could not look me in the eyes. I had gotten my answer. She could not look me in the eyes because it was torn. As soon as our eyes met, I lost it. The first time I stayed pretty tough but I couldn’t seem to help it this time. Why did this have to happen to me, again? What had I done to deserve this? I thought that my Heavenly Father knew me, but if he knew me he would know how much I love this game and he would not do this to me again.

We were sent to the hospital for an urgent MRI to finalize the tear. We got the MRI and decided to travel to Utah instead of California to spend time with family and get my mind off of it. One Friday afternoon we were headed to my cousin Billy’s baseball game. I had let my family go ahead while I took my cousin Stella to the bathroom. As we were walking up to catch up with the rest of the family, I saw my mom ahead. As I got closer, my mom turned around and walked towards me. She had sunglasses on, but as she got closer I could see the tears strolling down her face. I could see the pain she was feeling for having to break the news of the finalized tear to her daughter who had the biggest heart for the game of soccer. In uncontrollable tears, I hugged my mom for a solid seven minutes. How was I going to do this again? Could I even do this again? It took me a few hours to relax and begin to cope with what had happened. I texted my coaches, trainers, and physical therapist and used their words of support to press on. I then texted one of my most supporting friends through it all, where she sent one text that has stuck by my side, “You can, and you will.”

That night, I hiked the Y in Provo, Utah. This hike was not just a hike. It was symbolic of how I was going to take on this battle. I was going to climb that mountain no matter how painful or hard, no matter how scared or unsure I was, no matter how dark and alone I felt. I got to the top of the Y and felt a complete confidence that I could do it again and that this had nothing on me. I told myself that anytime I was struggling, to remember that feeling of being at the top of the mountain, knowing that if I worked hard enough I would make it to the top again. So, I went home, got the surgery and took it like a champ. I was going to do everything just like the time before, but ten times better. I was going to use this trial to make me a better person and help anyone that I could. Easier said than done, time went on and just like before, it was hard and long and painful and mentally taxing, but I was doing it with the end goal in mind and ready ready ready to play my senior season. As tryouts for my senior season got closer, I had to meet with my doctor to make sure I would be cleared to play for the season. He looked at my knee, telling me how impressed he was and how amazing and strong it looked, but then told me I should not play. Mhmm, he told me I should not play. He told me if he were me, he would wait a lot longer. He told me no. Well, I was not willing to accept that answer. I looked at him, and confidently let him know that I would take my chances and play and that nothing could stop me. I was not ready to be done and I would play again even if it meant I only got to play for 30 seconds because of tearing it again. My physical therapist had my back. He did all he could to respect the doctor’s wishes, but he let me know he was in full support of me doing what I felt was right. He knew how much I loved it and how bad I wanted it. I then went to an additional trainer named Skip. While Skip was crazy intense and made my knee so stinking strong, Skip was huge on getting me mentally prepared. He helped me to be okay with the thought and risk of tearing it again, showing me that it should not scare me or stop me.

So fast forward, I met with Coach Dana, letting her know I would be back. Not at the very start of the season, but by spring break I would be ready in full force. Coach Dana is one of the most supportive, inspiring people that I have ever met. Without her, I do not know if I could have had the mental ability to play again. She showed so much confidence in me and helped me to find that confidence in myself as well. My team, my team was the best; both club and high school teammates and coaches showed constant support and encouragement. Without them, I could not have done it. My senior season was one to remember. We made it all the way to the state semis where we lost 1-0 to the team who went on to win it all. What was so special about this team was that we struggled in the beginning, real hard. But we pulled it together and did what nobody thought we could do. People doubted us and we proved them wrong. Some of the happiest moments were made that senior season.

The point of this paper is not to tell you this long story and try to make you feel bad for me. I wrote this because I want everyone know to not feel bad for me, to not be scared or lost if this happens to you. Yes, every day is hard. Every day is equally hard because it is just another day that you aren't playing the sport you love, but when you get to the top of that mountain, it is all 100 percent worth it. ALL OF IT. When that day comes where you get to play again, those hundreds of hours and breakdowns mean nothing and all of it is completely worth it. Earlier I mentioned how I kept asking why this had to happen to me, and why it had to happen again. I know that it happened to me to make me stronger and to test my love for the game. The questions of “what did I do to deserve this” turned into feelings of gratitude of having been given this trial. As I strengthened my relationship with my Heavenly Father, my knee got stronger. God does know me. He knows how big my heart is for soccer, in fact, he knows me better than anyone here on earth, he knows me better than I know myself AND THAT is why I did not need to worry. If God was in control, I had nothing to worry about. Sure, it stunk more than anything to have to go through something so trying and hard, but how lucky am I to have had a learning experience where I could learn and grow in ways I would not have otherwise.

To my mom, thank you for never giving up on me and never letting me give up on myself. Thank you for finding the strength in me when I seemed to be struggling to find it on my own. To my dad, thank you for all the needed priesthood blessings and love you showed me, for giving me constructive criticism after every game and helping me to work on improving. Most of all, thank you for never letting me give up on my dream. To my siblings, thank you for being at every game, it meant the world whether you realize it or not. To Tyler, I owe you the world, you saved me! You showed me a care that I had yet to experience and that I will never forget. Thank you for helping me return to my sport. To Barwis and Skip, y’all are crazy but I thank you times a million for making my knee a strong sucker and for pushing me past what I thought my limits were. To my coaches and teammates, thank you for being the team and people that made wanting to come back so important to me. Thank you guys for cheering me on and supporting me on my journey to return. To my best friends, thank you for listening to me complain and ramble on about the hard days, and then cheering me on when I did return. To anyone who helped me in any way, I do not know if you will ever understand the impact it had on me.

Throughout this process, many people would say “this is just another part of your story, it is not the end.” I took those words and embraced them. This is my story, but it is not the end.

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About the Creator

Hannah Bird

I am a nineteen year old college student who loves to write. I write about random things at random times but it all comes from the heart.

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