Just One Leg

A Sunset’s Mirror – Oliver Kuhns

Just One Leg

Quinn Scislowicz

The street lamps guiding the cars on the highway flashed in my eyes. The last sight before I felt blood flooding the concrete around me and the broken car parts, scattered. I braced myself for the pain the moment I swerved off the road, but only heard an instant pop in my leg. My ears rang with the sound of sirens approaching my limp body.

After feeling the cold, gloved hands of the paramedics, it finally occurred to me what had happened. My vision became less blurred, and the red Toyota flipped over in the distance came into my vision.

The patterned beeps hit my eardrums hard, coming from the left of me. I don’t recall the transition from the side of the road to the hospital. Fluorescent lights filled my vision.

“He’s awake.”

Suddenly, several people surrounded me, fluttering with chatter and blue rubber gloves.

“Does this hurt?” I felt the sweat beads begin to form on my forehead, and I could practically envision my cheeks turning bright red, exposing the anxiety that I could all of a sudden feel deep in my chest.

“Mom?”

“I need my mom.” I only realized after the fact how harsh my tone was when the room became quiet and eye contact was made throughout.

“Your mom is on the way, honey. Right now, we need to focus on figuring out the severity of your injuries. We can only figure this out by getting information from you.” The nurse gazed down at my bleeding cuticles. She glanced out the door and stopped someone, “Bring me the stress toys.” “I’m going to touch your left leg, can you tell me if you feel anything at all?” I balled up my fist and nodded. She tapped on my leg. My leg was severely swollen, and I gasped at the slightest tap of her finger. She spoke into the intercom. “Torn anterior cruciate ligament, left leg.” I glanced at her, and I recognized whatever scientific term that was.

I lost my train of thought when my mom’s voice echoed from outside the room.

“Where is he?”

Air flowed into the room from the door swinging open, and I was relieved by the sight of a familiar face. She rushed over to me, but before she could get a word out, the doctor asked her to step outside for a word. If it’s about me, why should I be the only one not knowing? Before leaving the room, she handed me a fidget toy and gave a half smile. The ones that all doctors have to give. The fidget was soon covered in sweat, coming from my palms.

“Elijah, we have some news for you.”

My mom’s arms were crossed, meaning this news would be disappointing.

“The pain you’re feeling in your leg is a torn ACL, the harsh impact from your knee striking the dashboard. Luckily, this means only one leg was affected.” That’s why I recognized it, my coach had told us about how her good old days were ruined by a torn anterior cruciate ligament.

Torn ACL.

Tears ran down my cheek. Not of sadness, just of anxiety, remembering how just last week I was worried about my upcoming game, I should’ve been grateful to have to endure that worry. My head stayed down, but my eyes met the doctor and questioned what this would mean for me. I could envision the rest of my life going to complete trash, I’d get no exercise because of a stupid ligament, and become fat. Then the obesity would send me into a depressed state, and I’d be gone by 50. Luckily, a nurse interrupted my thought process.

“This doesn’t mean forever, you will go into physical therapy, and with either crutches or a walker, you can still move around day to day. We will ensure you get on the road to a full recovery.” I picked at my cuticles, just reminding myself that she is only saying this because she gets paid to.

She talked about it as if it would be a relief that only one leg was injured. She opened her mouth to talk again, but once she read my face, she looked to my mom to talk once again outside. They came back in.

“Elijah, the doctor and I think it’s best you get into both physical therapy and counseling, it’s to benefit you and get you better quicker.”

“How is counseling going to help anything? Talking about how my whole soccer career is ruined because I got into a car crash?” She looked sorry for me. I hated it.

“The good thing is, we can have you out of here within a night. After that, we just need to run tests and ensure we can prevent things like damage to the meniscus or other dysfunctions. We will then proceed with 36 days of intensive physical therapy and analyze what will have to be done from there.” Followed with a smile. I still found a way to incorporate sarcasm into the conversation,

“Great, sounds exciting.” I regret that sarcasm, because those nurses stayed with me through the battle.

48 days.

1152 hours.

69120 minutes.

That’s how much time I spent recovering from the torn ACL in my left leg. It doesn’t sound long, but when you’re constantly reminded of what you can’t do anymore. Trust me, it’s a long time. The worst part, though, was having to watch your team play through a screen. The 4th of July was the day I walked without crutches. Surrounded by the sound of fireworks. I think those fireworks were for me. The next day, I attended my team’s championship game. They gave me the trophy. That was the first time I realized how much my teammates were really family. I began to view my leg as a blessing. It allowed me to sit on the sidelines. Mentally and physically. I was so convinced that I needed soccer to basically live. Having it taken away from me let me realize my worth doesn’t come from a sport. I came back to the sport, rusty, but I gained something else. I was a better player; instead of my chest feeling like a knot during warmups, I sensed gratitude for being able to play. You really do have to lose something to realize it’s worth.

I lost just one leg.