Lately, it has been irritating hearing the endless hate for injured Chicago athletes like Derrick Rose and Jay Cutler. We see these athletes simply as a means to championships, but we forget about the psychological aspects of injuries, surgeries, and recoveries that impact these very real human beings. I completely underestimated the psychological impact of recovering from a severe injury...until I had to go through it myself.
I've contemplated whether or not I would share this. I'm not inherently a private person, and if you ask me a question, I'll answer you. But I'm not one to volunteer a bunch of information in a public forum. However, the lack of uniqueness of my experience was so striking, that I think it makes sense to share my story for those who can relate and for those, who, like me, never thought about something like this happening. From talking to others who have experienced similarly debilitating injuries, it doesn't matter if you're me or Derrick Rose, the journey is torture.
A Quick Background
In March of 2012, I was playing basketball in the lovely suburb of Downers Grove when I came viciously crashing down on someone's foot, rolling my ankle. I'd like to share with you a first-hand, amateur account of being injured, going through a major surgery, and a recovery.
The Injury
Believe it or not, the injury isn't the worst part, at least for me. When I came down on my ankle, I had a feeling that it was broken. However, the physical pain was so overwhelming that I didn't really think too much. I drove home (about 45 minutes away) and limped up to my apartment. The pain was excruciating, so I broke my cardinal rule of rolled ankles and made my girlfriend take me to the hospital.
I received an x-ray that revealed no break, so the doctors gave me a pair of crutches and sent me on my way. I went back a few weeks later to have it re-examined at one of the top hospitals in the country. The doctor didn't want to do a follow-up x-ray, and he insisted that I was fine. When I told him that I was still in a tremendous amount of pain, he told me of course it hurts, but I need to suck it up. Having just read Nassim Taleb's Antifragile, I took his advice to heart and assumed I was being soft.
Boy was I wrong.
Pain lingered for the next year. I couldn't run very well, and I literally couldn't jump off of my right foot. As a friend at the gym said to me, "you look like Bo Jackson after he blew out his knee." I struggled to move my feet defensively, and I couldn't get into great shape because I couldn't run. Now, anyone who has played sports with me knows I'm not a great athlete. My game in every sport has always been predicated on hustle and outworking people. So you can imagine how much I sucked now.
While struggling mightily during a Chicago Sport & Social season, I decided to have my ankle re-examined, though perhaps a bit too late. I saw a wonderful orthopedic by the name of Ari Kaz (he'll be my injury doctor from now on) who could see from my inability to move my foot at all that this injury was worse than a sprained ankle. Dr. Kaz immediately spotted a hole in my bone on the x-ray that the previous doctor had missed. He ordered up an MRI, and voila, I was diagnosed with osteochondritis dissecans. Basically, my cartilage was gone, all of my major ankle ligaments were torn, and my tendons from my ankle had slipped down into my foot.
I had two options: run around with a limp forever or have it fixed.
The Surgery
I'm not great at sports, but I do love to play them, so naturally I elected to have surgery. Plus, I was getting fat, and I could hardly walk down the block. Heck, by the time I went under the knife, I struggled to walk at all.
Surgery, if you haven't had it, is scary as hell. Some nurse shaved my leg, a doctor with a heavy Eastern European accent came to administer drugs to me and tell me how much it was going to hurt. I was then wheeled into surgery, and the last thing I remember is Dr. Kaz looking for a saw. Again, thank God for the drugs. Any sane person would be pretty angry about going to sleep with some guy waiting to slice you up.
I woke up in a crazy amount of pain to the European doctor trying to shove a 6 inch needle in my quad and hamstring--at least it wasn't my ass. I was maybe 60% conscious, but I'm pretty confident he was yelling at someone. I couldn't really talk since my lungs were destroyed from the nitrous gas, but I can tell you that my leg felt like someone had just cut it open with a saw. And I really wanted to know this guy's take on Intuitive Surgical's da Vinci machine, but it didn't seem appropriate. Luckily, that huge needle contained a nerve blocker, so that terrible pain was replaced by numbness.
Heck, on the journey home I thought I was going to be fine in no time. I just wanted a Diet Coke.
The Waiting Game
This is the hardest part of the process, and the one that made me go crazy. For the first two weeks following surgery, I was excused from work and spent my days laid out on painkillers, anti-itch medication, and plenty of books and TV. Two weeks off for someone who hasn't had time of from work in years can seem like an eternity. I had nothing to do but to think and evaluate my life. It was during this stage that I come to a realization that working was really hurting my ability to have fun. I was working for a small financial research company, and I worked long hours with highly variable pay. I had a flexible work schedule since I worked mostly from home, but the amount of time I spent dedicated to working was outrageous, and because I had helped build the company, I cared about it quite a bit.
The pay and hours weren't what I hated. It was the lack of autonomy, management's unethical practices, and a lack of faith in the President that really shook me. For the first time in a few years I slowed down enough to realize that my direction in life was wrong. Crap. I determined then that I would search for new opportunities, but that since I was immobile for another 2 months, I'd grind out work until I could move.
Even that plan proved to be shortsighted. When you're physically incapable of doing anything, you have an abundance of time to think about everything. It became clear to me that the company was losing its largest client and there was undoubtedly some shady activity going on to prevent me from receiving my piece of the pie. In truth, my boss had always been strange and condescending, but with financial rewards on the horizon, I chose to ignore it. Now, after I had been struck by the fragility of life (thanks to my ankle and a timely second stroke from my dad), I realized it was time for me to move on. So I quit.
So here I am, "retired", I can't move, and now I have to find a way to pay the bills. Derrick Rose probably isn't worrying about money right now - I would guess that after taxes Rose is still netting $20 million easily. Thankfully I worked too much so I didn't have time to spend money anyways.
Still, the hardest part of this whole process is isolation and a lack of physical activity. For someone accustomed to daily exercise, inactivity is literally hell. Plus, without the ability to really leave the house much, you become socially isolated. Since I worked at home the lion's share of social activity was driven by going out with friends and going to the gym. That's it. Thankfully several of my friends visited during my recovery, but people have lives, jobs, and other things to do, particularly during the hours of 9 to 5 every day.
In any event, it translates to a lot of solitude and loneliness.
This is the part that kills you. Even the most introverted people need to socialize, and when you're cut off from the world, you don't feel human. You don't expend any energy so you're not tired, and you can't sleep. Instead of 16 hours, your days stretch to 18, 20, 22 hours. I hope Rose has a good crew of people around him because it is far too easy to feel isolated from society, and in his case, his teammates.
Being physically limited sucks, but it is far more difficult mentally than physically. If I'm questioning whether or not I'll ever be the same, mediocre basketball player again, then I can't imagine what is going through Rose's head. Or any athlete faced with a serious injury. I found it impossible to prevent self-doubt from creeping into areas that aren't even impacted by a bum ankle.
You get sick of eating healthy because even eating healthy results in you getting softer. I'd love nothing more than to have eaten stuff like Harold's fried chicken daily, but for the most part, I kept to a diet and only got a little fatter. Rose even admitted that this was a struggle with the ACL, and it only gets more difficult as the process goes on. Delicious food offers the same chemical reaction that can be found in drugs and exercise. When those two are absent, it is tempting to reach for the donuts.
I haven't even mentioned the most obvious part yet: boredom. I lost count of how many books I read, how many movies I watched, and how many games of Madden I played. There just is not much to do. Unlike Rose, I have to worry about money, so I've found ways of generating income online, but with his finances secure, Rose has even more free time than I do. Avoiding boredom isn't easy, and all it leads to is more anxiety and thoughts about the future. The Dixie Chicks said times heals everything, but I've found that too much free time, like any other excess in life, is toxic. The daily mental toll helped me realize why my grandpa didn't retire until he couldn't walk any more and why many people can't deal with retirement at all.
Though I bottomed may times throughout this process, perhaps the funniest moment came when I went through my floor. You can't really use your hands when you're on crutches, and my apartment is too small to use a scooter to get to the kitchen. So I hopped on my healthy leg to get food. Sure, sometimes I spilled a little bit but never much. Then one day, I was carrying some chilli into my living room, hopping along, when I went right through a floor board. I smashed down and spilled the chilli everywhere. It was one of those moments where I couldn't help but laugh it off while at the same time I realized how pathetic I was.
#TheReturn
I'm finally in this stage. I when I say finally, I can't stress how long my the waiting period was. Sure, I was able to walk around on crutches, but during Chicago during the winter, crutches can only take you so far.
My actual rehab program starts next week, but I've begun walking without crutches--and not quickly. I currently move around at less than 2 miles per hour to avoid changing my gait, and several steps cause pain. Not pain the sense that my ankle was shredded like before, bur rather pain in the sense that my heel hasn't touched the ground in several months. My biggest issue, and an issue that I'm sure is prevalent with several hardworking professional athletes, is pushing it. The way I've always overcome my lack of athletic ability is through effort. The more, the better. However, I've reached the point now where the more might mean a more serious injury or something that impairs my recovery.
Even though I feel only marginally better physically now than I did a few weeks ago, the mental difference is monumental. I feel capable, autonomous, and much more optimistic. You wouldn't believe how much you value a walk to 7/11 until you can't walk to 7/11. While the weather is dastardly, it is hard to care when you can finally engage in the most basic of human activities: walking.
I am only a few days into this stage, and the only conclusion I've reached is that it is better than playing the waiting game. It still sucks, and the road to recovery is going to take another couple months. But at least there's an end game in sight. Still, every day is a struggle in its own right to remain positive, and more importantly, keep my eyes on the end goal of returning to physical activity.
If it's hard for a desk dweller, what's it like for people who need their bodies?
As much as I hate ruining my body every day, I am a desk dweller, so I could (theoretically) get by without being great at walking. It would be terrible for my psychological well-being, but at least my livelihood wouldn't be at risk. Pro athletes and physical laborers suffer from my hell PLUS the stress of maybe not making a recovery and joining the ranks of the chronically unemployed.
The Derrick Roses of the world may be financially secure, but that pales in comparison to the suffering borne from the loss of identity. Since he could walk, Rose has been a basketball player. His whole legacy and life's work is invested in what he does on the court. It defines who he is as a person. His entire life's work is now in jeopardy. At least a bad ankle won't make or break my stock picking ability, even if my CSSL legacy is on the line. For basketball players, fireman, and tow truck drivers, the suffering and insecurity must be crippling. Perhaps it's time to think twice before attacking Derrick Rose.
tl;dr
Having a serious injury sucks, but mainly because of the mental toll. The physical pain comes and goes, but unlimited free time turns you into a crazy person. Don't hurt yourself.
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