I was a basket of nerves. One of the runners from the Chicago Heights team was the previous year’s state champion 400-meter winner. If I beat him, my chances for an athletic scholarship would be greatly increased.
The assistant track coach brought the athletic department’s camcorder to record the race, and I hoped the video of me winning would impress the track coaches where I’d applied for scholarships. All I had to do was run my best race ever, and I was ready.
I’d warmed up and stretched my muscles–this race was going to be mine. A few minutes before my event, a quick rain shower wet the track, so we had to stand around a while until it dried out. I know now that I should have put my sweat pants on, but the upcoming race had me keyed up.
Finally, race officials declared the track was ready and we were called to our starting positions. On the way to the starting blocks, I crossed paths with the previous state champ who sneered at me and said, “Wimp.”
I was going to show him who the wimp was, and it wasn’t going to be me. I heard, “Ready…Set….” The starter’s pistol fired and I pushed off like I’d never pushed off in my life. On my second step, I heard a pop and then a searing pain behind my right thigh. It felt like I’d been shot in the back of my leg. I went down hard on my left shoulder, crumpling into a heap, writhing in agony on the ground.
Coach immediately came over to help. He knew I was badly hurt. I heard him say, “Someone call an ambulance–we have a serious hamstring injury here.”
A few minutes later I was on the way to Northwest Community Hospital. The assistant track coach rode along in the ambulance with me. “You took quite a fall,” he said, “I was hoping to see you win this race and go on to win the state title.”
Gritting my teeth, I smiled weakly at him through the searing pain.
My parents followed the ambulance to the hospital. At the emergency room, the ER doctor and nurses were efficient. After some blood work and an MRI, I was admitted to the hospital in an hour or so. Luckily, the assistant track coach explained exactly what had happened and showed them the video he’d taken of my fall. Then he left the room to call the coach.
A nurse gave me a sedative and wheeled me on a gurney to a room they’d found with an open bed. I was still in great pain, but whatever the nurse gave me had dulled the worst of it.
Shortly afterward an orthopedic surgeon arrived. He described my injuries to my parents and me that the MRI showed I had two of the three tendons of my hamstring torn away from my pelvic bone. My hamstring muscle had retracted into my leg and he said I’d need to have surgery to reattach the tendons to the bone. He estimated it would take about six weeks for my hamstring to heal. Because of my injury, he said I wouldn’t be able to sit in a wheel chair, but I could use crutches to get around.
My surgery occurred on the Monday after I tore my hamstring. I don’t recall much about what happened since I was sedated. I do remember waking up in a daze in the surgical ICU. I recall my parents were there to see how I was doing. After they were assured I was doing okay, I must have dozed off again. Sometime later, the smell of Heather’s perfume hit my consciousness. A few seconds later, I felt her soft kiss on my cheek. I opened my eyes to see my angelic Heather in her Candy Striper uniform bending over me.
I recall her saying, “I love you,” in my ear.
“I love you too, Angel.”
It was the first time I’d ever called her “Angel,” but the way she appeared to me that day caused me to give her a permanent nickname.
Heather traded shifts with her Candy Striper friends so she could be on my floor the remainder of the time I spent in the hospital. She even spent her days off with me.
My orthopedic surgeon checked up on me daily in the ICU to see how I was recovering. He asked for another MRI to determine if I could be moved to a normal hospital room to recover.
They moved me from the ICU to a normal hospital room on the second day after my surgery. A couple of my teachers paid me visits to tutor me and they gave me their assignments. Of course, Coach and my team mates showed up to wish me well. To keep me from getting too far behind in school, Heather brought assignments, notes, and homework from school.
I spent several more days in the hospital on my back with my right leg in a brace, with my knee flexed at a 30-degree angle. A nurse had to help me sit up in bed so I could use crutches to get to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet with only one butt cheek was a real downer, but it was too painful to put my right thigh on the seat at all.
Before I could leave the hospital, my orthopedic surgeon had to give the final okay. My parents came to my room to get his instructions. They said Heather could join the meeting since she planned on becoming a nurse. My surgeon studied my leg and the latest scans. He told us, “Michael has sustained a most unusual proximal hamstring tear. In light of that, I’d say his days of running track are over. If he ever tears those tendons loose again, I doubt they can be surgically repaired, and he won’t be able to walk.”
Mom and Heather had tears in their eyes because they knew how hard I’d worked to get an athletic scholarship and that now my goal would be out of reach.
Dad was more reserved, asking the doctor, “Michael will still be able to attend college, won’t he?”
“Oh yes,” the doctor replied. “But he won’t be able to participate in sports like tennis, track, or football. Walking, or perhaps jogging, will be the most active activities I’d recommend for the next couple years.”
The ride home was the most painful I’d ever experienced. My right thigh was so tender from my surgery that every bump sent a shooting pain down my leg. It took them some effort, but Dad and Mom finally helped me into the house and into bed.
* * *
It was good to be home and in my own bed after being hospitalized. Since I couldn’t sit in a wheel chair, I spent nearly all my time on my back. Dad and Mom set me up and turned me so I could use crutches to go to the bathroom. During my recovery, both Dad and Mom worked part time so someone would be there to take care of me 24 hours a day.
Because of my leg injury and brace, I wasn’t able to get into a pair of pajamas, so Mom made me a gown, similar to a hospital gown. The bottom reached my knees. Although it wasn’t the same as pajamas, it gave me some modesty when I had to get out of bed.
About a week after I came home, Dad received a notice that a two-week training class he’d applied for several months before had been approved. Getting certified on the newest Post Office automated sorting equipment would put him in a higher pay grade. The course was only taught twice a year, so if he stayed home with me, he’d have to wait another six months. Besides that, the Post Office might put another trained employee in charge of the sorting equipment. Mom said she’d manage somehow without him and encouraged him to take the class.
Dad left for his training class in Oklahoma, leaving Mom to care for me all day, every day. Then Mom’s boss called and said no one at the hardware store knew how to run the accounting software. He wanted Mom to come in two or three hours a day to get the accounts back in order.