I wake up in a haste, drenched in my own sweat. My heart pounds erratically in my chest, rattling against my rib cage. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me and I struggle to take in a deep breath. Sitting upright, I glance around the room, noticing that Iâm in my bed at my parentsâ house.
My left knee throbs and I throw off the blanket as I glance down, hoping that it was all just a nightmare. The moonlight that shines through the window casts itself across my leg, revealing the angry, ugly scars on my leg. Thisâthis is the real fucking nightmare.
Itâs been two years since my injury.
Two years since I last played ice hockey.
Two years since my life was forever changed.
And no matter how hard I try, it replays in my mind every goddamn night. Itâs almost as if the universe hasnât gotten enough pleasure from taking the one thing that mattered the most away from me. No. Instead, I have to be punished every time I close my eyes to fall asleep.
Itâs always the same dream. Step for step, the memory that is forever etched into my mind of the one day that ended my hockey career. I was literally just getting started; I hadnât even transitioned into the professional level yet and it was all ripped away from me before I had the chance to fully taste it.
Collapsing onto my back, I attempt to steady my heart and regulate my breathing. Iâm afraid to close my eyes again and instead, I lie there, staring up at the ceiling until the sky is changing colors. First comes the deep blue, which then shifts into a pinkish orange tone as the sun is beginning to fully crest the horizon.
I donât bother moving when I hear everyone beginning to move around the massive house. My parents were gracious enough to let me come back to live with them after the incident. My knee was completely blown out and my ACL was shredded beyond repair. They had to take part of my hamstring and make a graft since they werenât able to salvage any of the original ligament.
That was an injury I could have potentially recovered from. Itâs not uncommon in sports, and I know people who have torn their ACLs before and continued to play. It was the severity of mine that was the real kicker. The muscles in my left thigh were fucked up from the force of the blow to my leg and there were splinter fractures in my femur. There was also damage done to the joint.
My leg was fucking ruined. It was a long road to recovery with the different surgeries I had to undergo. Not to mention the months of physical therapy afterward. Iâm still not one hundred percent, and I never will be. Thereâs a lingering pain that decides to visit me on occasion. I walk with a slight limp now.
And you want to know what the motherfucker who did this to me got?
A goddamn two-minute penalty and a sprained knee.