Lilly

There’s been a three-item list sitting on my nightstand for almost a week. It reads:

1. Ankle arthroscopy
2. Anterior talofibular ligament repair
3. Peroneus brevis tendon tear repair

It is written in the scribbly handwriting of the podiatrist that interpreted my MRI results and looks like a bunch of medical nonsense, but I know all too well what it is. It’s the list of procedures that a surgeon will need to perform on my ankle when I go under the knife this fall.

The podiatrist explained each of the injuries that had shown up on the MRI with a brisk tone and careful fingers prodding at my foot. She reassures us that the surgery is one of the safest and most reliable that they perform—the good news. Then the not-so-good news: It may be up to a month before they can get me on their schedule, and it’s a 10-week recovery plus extra physical therapy. Which puts my return to running, let alone playing soccer, at the beginning of February—at best. Last year my high school team started training on the first of March.

When she left my mom said, “You can cry, you know, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to,” I said, and walked out of the clinic with a phantom limp and went home and did not cry.

The next day my counsellor asked me if I was scared of the idea of surgery. “No, I’m not scared,” I said, “but I’m angry.” I’m angry that I spent months on the waiting list to even see a podiatrist because that meant that my injury was just getting steadily worse. I’m angry that I wasn’t more careful with it, especially when I started training again

this fall. I’m angry that the simple “sprained ankle” that brought my junior year season to a very abrupt end is now putting my senior year season in jeopardy almost a year later.

I’m trying to find the silver linings. Without soccer on my schedule this fall, I have more time to work on academics

and college applications. It’ll be humbling. A learning experience. I’ve never been on crutches before. Maybe it’ll be good for me—recovery, physical therapy, starting from scratch in terms of my fitness. I can do things “right” this time.

But at the same time, I just miss running. I miss the game. And right now February seems very, very far away. ♦