Broken Beautiful Hearts

6. Robo-Girl

My life is divided into two time periods - before Reed pushed me down the stairs and after. In less than 24 hours, I went from being a star player on the girls' varsity soccer team with a boyfriend who loves me and an offer letter from UNC to being an injured athlete with a blown out knee - courtesy of my steroid abusing ex-boyfriend.

After my visit to the emergency room, two MRIs, and three appointments with Dr. Kao, a highly respected orthopedic surgeon, the doctor gave me an official diagnosis. I had a ruptured PCL - The ligament that runs behind the knee to stabilize it - and damage to some of the surrounding cartilage.

I needed surgery.

Now it's 3 weeks later and I'm in Dr. Kao's office again, sitting in the same chair, waiting for the post-surgery verdict.

I hook my thumb in the middle of the chain around to my neck and slide Dad's dog tags from one side of the chain to the other. Dr Kao opens the folder on her desk and skims a page, her expression unreadable.

My future is written on that page.

What if she says I can't play soccer anymore? Or if she says I can, but when I get back on the field again I suck? I'm not sure which is worse.

Playing soccer is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. I don't have a backup plan. Obviously, I'll get a degree in something when I graduate from college. But I have no idea what.

Dr. Kao flips through her notes.

"I have good news. Peyton's post surgery MRI looks better than I expected. I was able to repair the PCL with the allograft Achilles tendon without causing the knee any additional trauma."

Mom exhales like she had been holding her breath. "Thank God."

Hope swallows in my chest. I'm desperate for good news.

Mom turns her wedding ring back and forth on her finger, a giveaway that she's worried. "What happens next?"

Dr. Kao swivels her stool towards me.

"You'll meet with a physical therapist 3 to 4 times a week to strengthen your quadriceps and regain your range of motion. If everything goes well, you should be out of thd leg brace soon."

She's referring to the black brace strapped to my leg that looks like black body armor from a sci-fi movie My dad loved called RoboCop.

Two bars run up the inside and outside of my leg, secured by three adjustable straps that wrap around my leg - at the top of my thigh, and above and below my knee. Circular hinges allow me to bend my knee, but it feels awkward.

"When can I start playing soccer again?" It's the only information that matters to me.

"The ligament needs time to heal." Dr. Kao points at my MRI glowing in front of the lightbox. "Your lucky the knee cap didnt shatter."

Nothing about this situation feels lucky.

"How much time, exactly?" I rake my hands through my hair.

"Four months. But you should be able to resume normal activities and 4 or 5 weeks." Dr. Kao keeps talking but I'm not listening.

"Four months? Thats almost half the year." I knew I'd be out for the rest of the fall season, but four months? I do the math. "It's November now... I could miss the spring season."

My high school doesn't offer spring soccer, so Lucia and I play on a select team that travels all over the country - a team that's more competitive than the varsity team at Adams.

We start playing in March. Even if my knee heals by then, Dr. Kao isn't going to let me throw on a uniform and run straight on to the field.

I'll probably need more physical therapy, and my selection coach will ease me back and slowly.

This isn't happening.

I stand up too fast and my chair skids backward. I'm not used to the brace, and it throws me off-balance.

Mom catches my arm and steadies me, her hand shaking. "We'll figure it out. It will be okay, Peyton."

I sit and slouch in the chair. "I'll lose my spot at UNC. How is that okay?"

Dr kayo ships on her stool.

"You can't be the first athlete to sustain an injury. They must have protocols for situations like this." Mom turns to Dr. Kao, her expression hopeful. "Don't they?"

"I already know how it works. It's all in the letter." Which I practically have memorized. "The offer is to contigent on how I perform this year and my ability to start for UNC next year. Division One teams can't afford to take chances on injured players." My voice cracks.

The office walls are covered with autographed posters and framed thank you letters from college and pro athletes who's careers Dr. Kao saved.

I look at Dr. Kao "Is there anything we can do to speed up the process? Anything at all?" Tears roll down my cheeks. "Please. I have to play in the spring."

"I know this must be hard to hear, Peyton," Dr. Kao says calmly. "But if you start playing before the PCL heels properly and use sustain another injury on the soccer field, you will end up back on my operating table."

It didn't happen on the field.

Mom panics and hammers Dr. Kao with questions about recovery rates and physical therapy. I wish the questions in my head were as simple to answer.

What if I had stayed home instead of going to the party that night? Or if I hadn't found the box in Reed's gym bag? What if I had figured out he was doping sooner?

Would I be sitting in this chair right now?

The answers don't matter, because I'll never know.