The Wishbone--Ashley

The setting is November of 2015, Water polo season has just begun and hell week is quickly coming up. We swim everyday for what seems like an eternity. I quickly begin to notice a sharp and annoying pain coming from behind my left knee, I brush it off by simply dismissing it as just the normal knee pains stemming from my preexistent conditions. I continue life as normal, drive to school, learn new things, go to practice, drive home, sleep, and repeat. The only thing that was new was this constant pain the lingered in my knee, it seemed to never go away no matter how much ice I put on it or how many ibuprofens I took. I finally owned up to it and told my coach and parents after one dreadful practice that left me limping and using crutches. I am no stranger pain, I have seen my dad be cursed by it through his constant battle with arthritis and fibromyalgia, my brother be vulnerable to it when his gluteus maximus muscle erupted and he almost died, to when I broke my collarbone in karate. I never want to admit when I am in pain because I don’t want people to see me as being weak; nevertheless, I confessed and from there on for the next 9 months I went in and out of physical therapy and doctor's appointments. Initially it was thought that I tore my Meniscus; however, on that fateful day when my dad picked me up was when I realized it was much more. He was quiet as we listened to the radio on the short drive home. He sat me down at the dinner table, told me to take a deep breath and be ready to listen with an open mind. He said with as much sympathy as a father could, “The MRI results shows that you have a small bone tumor in the back of your knee, it is rare and will require a painful surgery to be removed, there is a slight possibility that it is cancerous. You will not be able to play water polo this season”. Shocked and confused I broke down into a puddle of tears as my dad hugged me and tried to comfort me. ​ I meet with my surgeon and scheduled the surgery. On December 23rd 2015, I was cut open, he had to detach the calf muscle in order to reach the tumor, he had to break my femur in the process and implant 2 screws to keep the bone intact. Dazed and confused I woke up in the hospital bed with excruciating pain, I have a high pain tolerance but this pain was the worst I could ever imagine. After the morphine took effect I was calm. The surgeon arrived and told me that my surgery was much more complicated than expected, it took him an hour more than he thought. He told me to curl my toes, I did easily, he then told me to raise my toes to the sky, I couldn’t. I remember the look of fear cross over his eyes as he watched me struggle. He said in a tone that was trying to be comforting “It will come back in time.” With my bulky leg brace I continued my journey. The first 3 days were the worst, I couldn’t sleep and hardly ate. The pain woke me when I slept, and the extremely strong pain killers left me throwing up any substance in my stomach. I still couldn't move my foot, it felt as if trying to lift your foot up against a cinder block that was holding it down, my skin on my leg felt to me like rough cowhide and every time I touched that area it felt as if thousands of needles went through my skin all at once. After 6 weeks I was freed from my crutches and brace. Still unable to lift my foot on my own I was given a brace that went in my shoe that looked like a shin guard you would wear in soccer. I wore it, hopeful that my ability to contact my muscles would return. On February 17th 2016 I met with a neurologist about my inability to move my foot. He told me that it was known as foot drop, also known as foot paralysis. He said at this point it was irreversible. Afraid my parents asked if there was anything they could do. Surgery? Physical therapy? Anything? He said that surgery was my last hope but that it was a waste of time and would be a “hail mary”. I sat in the back seat of my mom's camry on the way home, tears flooded my eyes, thoughts racing back and forth. The music played but to my ears it was silent. I thought to myself, “I am no longer myself, a part of my leg is paralyzed, I cannot feel anything on my lower left leg and left foot.” Furious with the doctor’s response, my dad searched for someone to help me. He found Dr. Fala, a highly accredited neurosurgeon at UCLA. March 14th 2016, (my parents wedding anniversary), I met with Dr. Fala at UCLA filled with hopes that he would take on my case after countless other surgeons refused. He explained to me that this was caused by my first surgery, the first surgeon was careless to the nerves in my leg. He agreed to take on my case and although he didn’t guarantee that I would be able to regain feeling and motion he promised to do all he could. My parents left crying saying to me, “This is the best wedding anniversary gift we could have ever got, we want to give you your life back, the life you had before this brace. May 26th 2016, (My grandma’s birthday), I woke up at 3:30 a.m., we drove to UCLA to be there at 6:30. My surgery was to begin at 7 a.m.. Dressed in the thin gown I waited to be taken in. My parents cried as our hands drifted apart and I was wheeled into the operating room. The surgery was high risk, but high reward. I woke up later that afternoon hungry, I saw the doctor and he said with joy, “The surgery was a success, now we wait for your motion and feeling to return, it can take as long as a year. You just have to be patient”. Within a week I was already moving my foot more than I ever could in the last 6 months. In september of 2016, my leg was fully functional and I threw away my brace. It is now February 2017, I have not touched that brace nor will I ever. I still have my moments where my foot cannot move; I am not 100% but i’d like to think I am at least 90%. I have regained motion but not feeling. That is the price my body pays to be able to walk normally and not be looked at constantly by others. A price I am happy to pay. I bare my scar, in the shape of a wishbone, behind my knee proudly. The lesson I take away from these events is to never give up hope, to always have courage and be strong when you are faced with a challenge. I could have never gone through this emotional rollercoaster if it wasn’t for my closest friends and family.