“Don’t freak out, but you're going to need surgery, and you’ll be out for at least 6 months.”

At that moment, I broke down. I never would have imagined that I’d be suffering such a traumatic injury, and even worse, have an even more traumatic experience later on. I remember so vividly how everything happened and how I felt when my achilles tore. I remember laying in the trainer’s room immediately after with ice across my ankle. I remember the conversations that were going on around me and all the phone calls that were made to let everyone know what happened. The constant reassurance that there was still hope that it was not a complete rupture was insufficient for me, and I felt helpless at that moment when I realized that I would be unable to contribute to the team. I had no idea what I was going to do, I was so excited about the season. It did not take me long to realize that volleyball was an escape for me and the discouragement I had to deal with put me in a horrible place in life, by far the lowest I have ever been.

My surgery was exactly one week after my injury and I woke up feeling great. My surgeon had told me that my achilles went back together smoothly and he had no complications. I was relieved when I heard this news, as I was terrified of something going wrong during the operation. I was told no weight bearing at all until I saw my surgeon again for my first postop appointment, two weeks after surgery.  

The date of my operation was August 16th, and school would be starting 6 days later. My friend group supported me and helped me with whatever I needed at the beginning of my injury, but when school started, everything went downhill. I got pretty anxious early in the school year, and it took little time to understand that my mental health was rapidly declining. There were a few factors that contributed to the deterioration of my mental state, the biggest one being the fact I wasn’t able to play my favorite sport, and stress also played a huge role. During the time of the depression I was in, I found out that my incision was infected due to the sutures used during surgery, which made everything worse. It was obvious to the doctors in my first few postop appointments that I was not healing correctly, and I was given many medications to hopefully get rid of anything unwanted. I started having weekly appointments with my surgeon to closely monitor my infection, and I was even sent to be cared for by wound care specialists, but everything only got worse as time went on.

In the middle of all this, my friend group became extremely toxic. I felt like their support was not there anymore, but hatred for me was in its place. I thought it would be right to talk to them about how I felt in hopes of things changing, but things went a lot worse than they were supposed to and I went several days without communication with any of them after that day. On those days that I didn’t talk to any of my friends, I felt so alone, and to this day I consider it one of the worst weeks of my life. I eventually got the opportunity to explain myself further to them and clear up the confusion, but things still weren’t the same with us and have not been since.

Soon I ended up finding my way back into a friend group, which I am in now, and have experienced what a true relationship should look like. As for them though, they are still closer than ever and as much as it hurts me, I realize that I was mistreated at a time when I desperately needed to be held up. I will always still have a love for every one of them, there are just some that I speak to now more than others.

Throughout this time, I was still considered a part of the volleyball team, doing everything that my injury would allow me to do with them. I was on the bench for varsity games all season, watching them win the league title for the third year in a row, and it killed me that I wasn’t able to play. In the first round of the district tournament, I watched as all my friends got in and ran their varsity stats. After that game, knowing that it could’ve been me, I could not stop crying. All I could think was, “Why me?” 

The infection in my foot continued to grow. After about a month of seeing my surgeon, wound care specialists, and infectious disease, it was evident that I would need a second surgery. I got another MRI, which showed that the infection in my foot was in the tissue, but slowly spreading to my bone. I’m glad everything happened when it did because who knows where I would be now if it would have become more serious. I was already almost three months postop when I found out that I needed another surgery, and all I could do was cry over the fact that I would potentially have to restart my entire recovery time. Fortunately, though, my second surgery went well, and my infection as well as the undissolved sutures were cleaned out thoroughly. I was told that my recovery time would not have to restart and that it would only be pushed back about a month because my achilles was perfectly intact. My surgeon did make it clear to me though that my tendon would be very weak as I was getting back into slight physical activity.  

Around one month after my second surgery, I was cleared to walk without crutches for the first time and a  little less than two months postop, I was finally cleared to start physical therapy. Physical therapy had been something I was looking forward to since shortly after my initial surgery. By this time, it was club volleyball season and I made the decision to play for the coach that I had last year due to the fact that I wasn’t able to try out. He knew my attitude and my skill well, so I knew that I had the best shot at making his team compared to anyone else’s. I went to every practice, even when I wasn’t able to do anything, and gradually, I started getting more and more comfortable with the game again. 

I continued to advance in physical therapy, but I ended up having to go much more frequently than I was supposed to. What was intended to be two appointments a week for four to six weeks turned into two a week for 15 weeks. I spent a lot of time in therapy, and my biggest struggle was getting the power in my foot back. The 15 weeks went by fast, and I proceeded to do more and more in practice. There were times in practice when my feelings overwhelmed me, and I felt so behind compared to the rest of my team. I was super nervous as I was getting back into things and as my clearance date was approaching. 

Finally, on February 23rd, after a long 7-month journey I was cleared to play sports with no restrictions. I was still in therapy working on the things that I struggled with, and my struggles showed in practice. I wasn’t able to run as fast as everyone else, and I played a lot more hesitant, but there was obviously progress from where I had started out. It took a while to get back into the flow of being an athlete, but a few months prior to this I would’ve never thought I would be where I was.

One month after I was cleared, on March 23rd, I had my last physical therapy appointment. This was the moment I was waiting for, as I was finally allowed to go on my own. To this day I still do not feel 100%, but close to it. I’m still in a lot of pain when I play, but I trust that it’s all part of the process. I have hopes to better myself in time for the school season, which is approaching, and make up for the season that I missed. Over this entire incident, I learned a lot and got through many things that I assumed I couldn't. Before my injury, I had heard the common expression, "Achilles heel" used to describe a weakness, but I would have never imagined that the phrase would become a reality for me.