“I’ve never seen this injury happen before. I’ve read about this in books but, I’ve never seen it really happen.” Those exact words came out of my doctor's mouth like nails scratching on a chalk board. A small push from the back and a flop on the ground got me here. My big toe on my left foot was jammed inside my foot. At the moment, it was about two inches shorter than all my other toes. Just looking at it made me want to barf. Did I forget to mention that this was the first pre-season game of our varsity soccer season! Being hurt wasn't going to fly with me. The doctor then said, “It was time.”

Time for what?! Time to pull my toe out back into its normal place. The first thing my doctor did was “try” to numb my foot. She had four syringes all lined up in a row. With no hesitation, she picked them up one at a time; started poking and prying me with all four of them. I thought that was the worst part but that was nothing compared to what was coming next. Unfortunately, the only way for my toe to heal was to pull it back out. Once my doctor said that, I could feel the pain running throughout my whole body. It was like trying to swallow needles. With a big tug she got it out. The amount of pain I was in while she was pulling out my toe was excruciating. It was like trying to pull a wedding ring off your big toe. Here I was laying in a hospital bed in my stinky uniform in an unbearable amount of pain.

Days went by and the pain didn't get any better. I woke up every morning hoping the pain would suddenly be gone. Everyday I would hope that everything would go back to normal, but it wasn't that easy. I would go to practice every day and just watch. There really wasn't much I could do besides shag balls, but even shagging balls was pretty gruesome. Anything that involved being on my feet aggravated my toe. And you best bet that the aftermath of walking around was not very delightful. I watched everyone get better day by day as I was sitting on the side weakening day by day. 

After many doctors appointments, time started to slow down. Weeks slowly went by and my starting spot was given to someone else. It crushed me on the inside. I knew if I wanted to get my spot back I would have to work extra hard. I started going to physical therapy to help get my groove back.

Physical therapy was rough. Working through the pain and pushing myself was gruesome. It was not only physically tiring, but mentally exhausting. I realized, I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself because the only way I was going to get better was if I worked hard. I met many girls at physical therapy with torn ACL's. Some that had just had surgery and some that were in the final stage of almost being able to play again. At that moment, it hit me that they had been working hard here for months and here I was complaining about a couple weeks of this. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself because the only way I was going to get better was if I worked hard. All this motivated me to push myself to get better. These girls didn't have to be here working hard. They were here because they all wanted the same thing, which was to be able to play again. These girls I met showed me that success begins with me. It was up to me to decide if I was going to come back from this. Physically it's possible but mentally it was my choice. I could just give up and fail or I could push harder to regain my starting position.

Here I am today, my last club season. I’ve come a long way since this injury both mentally and physically. Physically I am now healed and able to play again. After all those physical therapy sessions I can walk to the bathroom in no pain. I look at my toe, but its ugliness isn't staring back at me. Instead I look at it and I think what a journey we’ve been on. Mentally, I learned that the decision to do better all starts with myself. I had to strengthen myself mentally and physically to get back on my feet, but it only made me become stronger.