I’m sure I wang on about this a lot, but over the last 10 years in chronological order, I have dislocated and tore ligaments in my left little finger, ruptured my right anterior cruciate ligament (ACL in the knee), broken my left collar bone and ruptured my left anterior cruciate ligament. I have matching scars on both knees. My dislocated finger is mildly amusing to me now as I distinctly remember doing it on the cricket field, looking at it from what seemed like a detached perspective and immediately popping the digit back into position. It took me another four days before I went to the minor injuries clinic to get it checked out. I don’t know why it took me that long, but the good old NHS patched me up and gave me physio treatment. I retain full movement to this day, even though the ligaments in the finger will never repair. Funnily enough it took me four days to go to A & E about my broken collar bone as well. I thought I had a bad bruise. Nope, broke clean through.
The recovery was agony as there’s not a lot to be done apart from putting the arm in a sling and waiting. Those first few days after I got my x-rays, I stayed still a lot and rested. At points I could literally feel my collarbone heating up to fuse itself back together. It was exhausting doing nothing as all of my energy was being used on creating new bone to heal. Remarkable when you think about it. I have full range of movement, although it can hurt sometimes to sleep on my left side. Now I say I don’t know why it took so long for me to seek medical attention after both injuries, especially as our healthcare is free, but deep down I know why. It’s because I’m a stereotypical bloke who thinks it’s only a flesh wound and all I need is a plaster and everything is ok. Gents, if something is wrong, go and see a doctor straight away, trust me.
After rupturing both ACLs I did actually seek medical treatment straight away. The swelling, bruising and pain from both injuries were severe enough that even the part of my brain which is dumb and macho was silent. For both, I had private treatment and the two surgeons and surgical teams were awesome. With the help of an awesome physio called Marc (saw the same physio after both surgeries) I have been able to regain 85% bend in both knees and I can exercise, play sport, dance, jump up and down, climb trees – you know all the good stuff. I am hampered now by short hamstrings, but they don’t stop me from doing anything I want to do. I am now shit at yoga, but I was never that good anyway to be honest.
My biggest issue now resolves itself around pain. Exercising excessively or in certain ways can cause me a lot of pain in my knees. And because I know this, it lingers all the time in the back of my mind, laughing at me. It sometimes makes me not exercise because I just don’t want the potential for pain. This nagging teams up with the lazy part of me and pummels me into submission. I have ways of coping, but there are times where I will get into a rut where this ghostly feeling becomes oppressive. And it’s made me hate gyms. I have this real dislike for them due to the amount of time I spent in them, hurting myself so I could get better. Weirdly enough though, Marc the physio caused me extravagant amounts of pain and yet I have no ill will towards physiotherapists. I always knew that the more pain he caused me the better I’d feel the next day.
I don’t play competitive sport anymore. I mean the Lovely Girlfriend and my Mum would kill me if I played again, but I know that I can. I help to coach a non-contact American Football team called the Northants Phantoms and I get involved in training and run around a bit, have fun and from someone else’s point of view I could play. Sometimes my team mates enquire about me playing again and I always say no. I mean, in training I can control the pace in which I play at in relation to others. If I stop or I slow down, it doesn’t matter as much because it’s training. And almost all know that I have had severe injuries in the past and I like to think they therefore go easy on me. Whereas if I’m playing in a game, the other team won’t and don’t understand my situation and my own inflated ego would push me not to lose. And in the back of my mind, again, is this spectre of me lying on the ground hyperventilating because I’ve fucked something in my knee and I’ll be back to the physio and gym for 12 months after surgery. And it fucking sucks, because I’d love to play.
If I may end on a piece of advice – if you’re injured and you need physio treatment, find one you’re comfortable with and do everything they tell you. The hard work really pays off.