As we approached non-traditionals and practices in the fall, the pressure to keep up and look good was on. Everyone wanted to impress Coach and earn their spot. As for myself, I wanted to prove that I was never going to give up working my hardest to get back on the field. As for the team itself, there was also a change in leadership between us girls. The seniors from the class before had graduated which meant the new seniors had to find their groove. This transition will always be difficult for any team sport, especially when your prior coach instigated a toxic culture. Every decision made by the captains would be seen as a precedent. So, when teammates began to question each other's passion, commitment, and effort, it became the norm. The more whispers and assumptions, the more divided the team felt.
My aspired comeback season... and yet, despite all my efforts, I wasn't healthy enough to be cleared to play. I had already used my one medical redshirt that D3 players are allowed. I was out of options to save any more eligibility time. But, forget about playing, even working out trying to hold my own in the weight room was becoming increasingly impossible. So, back to the indoor gym I went, to stretch, do PT, and work out on the stationary bike. It was the most I could do without further aggravating my nerve and ultimately try to manage my pain. My whole life surrounded that damn nerve, down to the minutes a day I would use my hand for softball, then school, and then overall life. Trying to prioritize which to physically exert myself on day to day was exhausting until someone reminded me that I needed to do what was going to help me survive through it all the most.
Coach Jose made talking about my injury and the pain I carried a priority. He would always check up on me with face-to-face conversations after every Dr's appointment. Rather than scare my parents with ongoing ups and downs with my arm, coach became the adult figure I could look to for advice. So, when several members of the team began to question my commitment and heart, he was the first person I spoke with. It had become too much for me to simply handle.
Unlike athletes who break a bone, I was not able to heal and bounce back. Man, how much I wish that I had broken my wrist rather than have the two dissociate, wrecking all the tendons and nerves. But, alas, it was not the case. My physical therapist and surgeon would assess the overall healing progress of both my wrist and elbow every week. This meant measuring everything, like strength, flexibility, sensitivity, and range of motion.
Every part of my recovery was managed by my physical therapist and surgeon, to a certain extent, their word was my command. So, when they would tell me to stop running due to the undeniable and severe inflammation that would follow, I did. And when I was told to stick to doing limited throwing every week or so, I trusted them to know exactly how slowly to tread. However, as I stuck to their routine, someone else had thoughts of their own. Remember that arrogant trainer who, A. misdiagnosed me over and over, B. forced me to keep lifting and C. set his agenda above my health. Well, since I was in the trainer's room before every practice using a heating pad, stretching, and doing my throwing exercises, he was very aware of my recovery routine. He would come over and question why I wasn't doing weights, running, and long-distance throwing yet. My response was always the same, my pain is still too high, and my surgeon and pt from Loma Linda do not believe I am strong enough or healthy enough. The response I got was, "I think you need to push yourself more, you never know how much you can handle until you test it". Keep in mind that this was not said in private, but in the middle of the training room where the rest of my teammates and other athletes prepped for practice. And as a cherry on top? Since this trainer was dubbed THE go-to trainer for the softball team, he was obligated to discuss injured players with the coach. The tension between me and the medical training staff at my university continued to grow, and well with a new coach, I did not want to be painted as a player who rejected to being "coachable or trainable". I also wanted to prove everyone wrong, I was capable of pushing myself to get back to being an active member on the roster. So, against my better judgment, I tried out the trainer's throwing program. I gave his throwing program a real 2 weeks. It consisted of progressing distance and strength, "building up throwing muscles the way a baseball/softball should, by throwing" as he would say. The result?
To say my surgeon and therapist were upset when the trainer refused to follow their instructions was an understatement. The throwing/exercise program they had made up was cautious for a reason. Every foot I extended my distance was marked and assessed for a week, not rushed day-to-day. Even the amount of minutes spent using my arm was listed out for him: throw for 15 mins if tolerable, continue if no pain for 30 mins, small steps back only. Most importantly, my Drs always kept in mind that while getting back to softball was a priority, academics came first, which meant balancing the number of activities my hand was being used for. This was all thrown out the window, and now it was up to me to enforce my Dr's command. My physical therapist compiled another list of exercises I was able, but not required to perform, and off I went to once again defend myself and my injury.
I walked into the trainer's room and approached him. I showed him the note and basically told him that I no longer needed his help. My Dr. wanted me to be in charge of my exercises based on tolerance, not expectation. I made sure to be stern, but polite. After all, after I was healthy I was going to have to put up with him as the trainer for the softball team. But, for now, he had to be okay with my surgeon being in charge of my rehab.
He reluctantly agreed and said he would update my coach. This so-called update stirred much more trouble. He spoke to his supervisor, the head trainer at the University, that I strayed from the therapy/injured protocol required by policy for every student-athlete. This was the first time I ever heard about a supposed protocol. The next thing I knew, coach called me into a meeting about the appropriate way to deal with the trainers. I walked into coach's office and told him that I was never told about this "protocol" in the two years that I had been an injured athlete. With him being new to the school, his response was as expected, "okay, go talk to them about the insurance paperwork she (the head trainer) discussed with me. I would also like to see any Drs notes if that's okay." I told him it was no trouble at all and that I would bring them to the field later on. As I walked back over to the trainer's office I felt so confused. Insurance paperwork? Why would the university trainers care what insurance I have? As soon as I entered the room I was told to sit and wait in her office. From the second she walked in I knew this meeting was not going to be a cozy one. She introduced herself and began with, "so *trainer* says that you went to a Dr. without telling him when first injured, went to rehab care outside of the university training room, and are now refusing to work with the trainers even though you intend to continue as a bulldog athlete. Now, understand we are liable for what happens with you and if you don't tell us then we can't help you". I stopped her there. "Sorry, I'm a bit confused, did I do something wrong by listening to my surgeon? *trainer* has been fully aware of my injury since the day it happened, I haven't left a thing out." "Well, as stated in the student-athlete insurance packet, we are to refer you to our team Dr., then an outside source. This is expected by every student-athlete under their secondary insurance with us." I responded with, "I see. I was never given any packet and I was never told by *trainer* that I had secondary insurance with the school as a student-athlete." You get this gist of it.... and by the end? I thanked her for informing me of the basic information needed to be a student-athlete at the university and left. Two hours later I get a phone call from my mom saying some rude lady called her complaining about my hypocrisy and attitude. Oh, did my mom give her an earful. See, I called my mom after and explained the insurance situation to her, she called my insurance, and boom we were not supposed to be paying out of pocket. What the #*@^!
Remember how coach had asked to see Drs notes? Well, I brought my most recent ones to coach before the start of practice. We read and discussed them together and agreed on the terms set out by my surgeon and my arm's tolerance. It was nice and easy. Or so, I thought. See, the road to recovery is not a straight road, especially in my case. In reality, my road had a lot of blocks, route diversions, and even rest stops. This stop-and-go pace began to irritate teammates. I became the injured player who had excuses and slacked off simply because I had to limit and adapt every drill in every practice. I was more than okay showing close friends and coach my medical reports, but when teammates demanded they see evidence of certain physical limitations in my Drs stationery and handwriting, I had enough. I had already spent too much time that day defending myself. What else did I have to prove?
コメント