The Bug on My Wrist

It was a Friday in September of 2015. My phone alarmed at 6:30 AM for an 8 AM workout. I almost cried from exhaustion; but even as pitied myself, I knew I was going to roll out of bed, get dressed, and head to the gym.

My ten years of discipline as an athlete wasn’t going to fail me that morning; I knew I was going to the gym regardless of how run-down my body felt.

I was an athlete at Florida State University, a contender to win the discus throw (the metal frisbee) at the NCAA championships, and the ultimate goal was to compete in the Summer Olympics the following year. There was no way in hell that I would not make it to the gym that morning.

After fighting through my fatigue, I was concluding my weightlifting session by power cleaning 215 pounds -- the most weight I had lifted in a long time. I was ecstatic; my vision for pre-season was coming to life. It took a small moment of celebration for me to forget how tired I was, resulting in poor technique as I tried to manipulate 215 pounds.

I remember the fear that overwhelmed me as I toppled to my back in what felt like slow motion. The weight slammed me to the floor; my elbows were perpendicular to my body, and my wrists were extended forcibly to facilitate the 215 pounds in my hands that threatened to crush me.

I didn’t immediately feel the soul-crushing pain that ensued, but when I did, I thought that it was the end of my career. Anyone with ears could hear me as I screamed in pain for my wrists and my future as a world-class athlete. Every athlete fears the possibility of a career-ending injury, and I was devastated when I thought I was experiencing mine.

At the orthopedic clinic, I sat optimistically waiting on my doctor to assess me. With the weight off my wrists, I felt like the injury wasn’t as bad as I thought initially. So I smiled as I waited. Doctor after doctor -- none of whom were assigned to me -- came to evaluate me, but they smiled at me, so I thought, “Ok, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

When my doctor eventually came, he prefaced by saying, “In my 20 years as an Orthopedic Surgeon, I have never seen an injury like this.”

Though both hands were injured, I had a lunate dislocation in my left wrist. The lunate is a small, intricately positioned bone in the wrist that is held in place by a labyrinth of ligaments. When 215 pounds were forced against my wrist, those ligaments snapped, causing the bone to pop out of place. Understandably, I thought I was experiencing my worst nightmare.

I needed to have two surgeries. One to put the bone back into place and to reattach the ligaments with pins, and the other to remove the pins three months later -- after the ligaments had healed. Those three months were the most influential of my entire life, leaving me with four scars on my left wrist.

The biggest scar looks like a bug with fourteen legs, while the other three are less assuming. I hated my bug-shaped scar because it was a constant reminder of pain and a threat to my dream of becoming an Olympian. However, despite the overwhelming fear of unfulfilled potential and failure, I was not going to cower to my circumstance.

For the first three months, while I was still in my cast, I spent a lot of time in the gym, getting my legs and core stronger. When I wasn’t in the gym, I was at the track doing technique drills. My coach and I accepted my injury for what it was and prepared for when it healed. After the removal of my cast, we dived right into physiotherapy, doing strengthening exercises for my wrists. It was a slow and mental process, but eventually, I was able to throw the discus and lift 200+ pounds again.

Altogether, my surgery was followed by ten months of resilience, pain, hard work, growth, and acceptance, leading me to achieve every athlete’s dream: to compete at the Olympic Games. Through sweat, tears, and literal blood, I journeyed to become an Olympian claiming local and regional titles on the way.

That Friday still brings tears to my eyes, but instead of pain, my memories resound strength. The bug on my wrist is a symbol of resilience; in the face of a threat to my dream, I remained positive, and I persevered. My scar is a representation of the wisdom and lessons that came with my journey to becoming an Olympian, reminding me of what I am capable of and what I can overcome even as I cry and bleed.

The bug on my wrist is a mirror, showing me where I have been and where I can go.