Take me out at the ballgame?

Often with a medical history, you can feel like you have no control. There are so many things that you have to do. You’re either told by doctors or by family to go through with medical tests and procedures because it’s for your own good. And it probably is in many ways. But it doesn’t mean that you are not in control of your own life. It is so easy to get caught up in doing what you’re told to do that you forget you can still make decisions. For me, there was never a break in being told what to do. There was never a transition from childhood to adulthood where people started to consult me and ask me to make decisions. Since I’ve been in the medical realm since I was 13 years old, the doctors’ and family’s orders followed me smoothly into adulthood. I didn’t even realize it was happening. I was too committed to going through the motions. I was doing what I thought I was supposed to do. And yet, I was miserable.

It’s crazy what getting smacked in the face can do to a person. And I’m not just talking physiologically. In the last few years, I haven’t felt very tough at all. I’ve felt quite weak. I’ve felt like everything was out of my hands and that I was being led by life. I’ve been unhappy and stressed out and have felt completely powerless. I didn’t know how to improve my situation at all. I even started to think that it was normal, that this is just how life is and everyone is secretly miserable or oblivious. Then I got smacked in the face…

It was the fourth inning. I was playing second base for the first time this softball season. I had played it a few times last year and was trying to get a feel for the position. I was having a pretty great game so far and was determined to keep that going. I had remembered a little bit about what I was supposed to do at second and one of my missions this year is to move more and get to the ball faster. Well, I suppose I somewhat accomplished that mission.

The batter swung and struck the ball and for some reason beyond my comprehension, my mind was like “This is my moment!” Well, it sure was. Just not in the way I had hoped. I reached my glove out just a few inches too low. The ball hit the top edge of my glove and before I understood what happened, my head flung backwards. The ball had walloped me right in the face.

I held my hand over my cheek and sat straight down from where I had been standing. I was thinking “I’m going to need a minute” though those words didn’t actually make it into the air. All of a sudden people were all around me. I don’t quite remember the sounds, but they were there. The things I do remember hearing were things I had heard before that brought me right back to first waking up in the hospital when I was 13. “Is she ok?” “Does she know where she is?” “Get her up” “No! Don’t get her up!” All of it was coming at me all at once. I sat there and quieted the sounds and looked straight ahead past the baseball diamond, past the fence, past the slight hill, and right onto the street. I held my head up straight and just looked off into the distance while not acknowledging the people around me which was perhaps not helpful to them. I knew I was ok and that was all that mattered.

A bag of ice ended up on my face and I remember blood. I was still ok though. Someone had even snuck gauze in there somehow. I got up and some people from both teams helped me to the bench. Turns out they had a sports injury guy on their team. What luck! They asked me questions and my answers seemed to satisfy them. Probably no concussion. As I sat there, I started to notice a shift. “Geez, you’re pretty tough!” Suddenly so many people thought I was tough. I felt dumb. I felt embarrassed. I felt discouraged that I had once again not caught the damn ball and now I was paying for it. I certainly did not feel tough.

I got into the car and started asking questions. “My face is swollen, isn’t it?” “Am I going to have a black eye?” “Is my eye open?” “Do you think I can stay home tomorrow?” “Do you think it’s ok if I don’t play infield for the rest of the year?” Then I remembered the blood. “AM I GOING TO BE DISFIGURED?” That’s when I started to cry. Disfigurement is apparently, and quite reasonably, where I draw the line. “NO, you’re not going to be disfigured! It’s not a big cut, you’ll be fine” I believed him, settled back down and anxiously awaited the arrival at the hospital.

After what felt like a very long night, we learned that I had fractured my face but was expected to fully recover with no intervention. Great news. I could not believe I had broken my face. It was kind of crazy. Of all the things I worry about in life, which is a ridiculous number of things, fracturing my face was not on my list.

I could not have predicted what happened next. People I had never even met who heard about my injury were saying that I was tough. Even then I was like nah, I’m not tough. I’m hurt and had to stay home for like a week. I couldn’t even play ball for two weeks because my face hurt when I moved too much. That’s pretty embarrassingly weak, isn’t it? Apparently not. People close to me were telling me that more experienced players would have quit with a lesser injury than I had. Really? After hearing it more and more it started to actually creep into my head that maybe I am in fact tough. It reminded me that this wasn’t the first time in my life that that had happened. I had been called tough before but for some reason the belief I used to have that I was a strong person had gotten lost somewhere in time. When I was 13 though, I didn’t really need to hear it as much as I do now. In a way, getting walloped in the face returned something to me that was mine all along and that I felt I had lost. It reminded me of who I am.

Being resilient is one thing but being tough is another. I knew I was resilient. I knew I could endure. But I forgot that I could do more than that. I forgot that I could still have a say in how my story is written even with all kinds of bad things coming my way. The universe reminded me of that when I really needed to hear it. The universe was like “If you can’t figure this out on your own, then I’ll show you! P.S. This may hurt a little” and hurt it did. I actually remember the pain quite well. But just like what happened before when I was a kid, my body and my community took really good care of me. They surrounded me, held me up, protected me from the pain, and reminded me of my worth all with one swing of the bat.

Now I absolutely would not recommend going out and trying to have the sense literally knocked into you, but I would recommend going out there and reminding yourself of how strong, courageous, and tough you really are. In a backwards ass way getting hammered in the face was freeing. I’m no longer afraid of getting hit because I know I can handle it. Don’t worry, I got myself a nice little fielder’s mask. There’s no sense in fracturing my face more than once in a lifetime. And Mr. Universe, if ever I need a reminder of how tough I am I have plenty of pictures! Hear that universe? Plenty of pictures! No need for a strike two!