Grey Skies

Chapter 1

Chapter One

When I was in high school, I thought that I would walk into college and be able to figure myself out. Discover who I really was. I would accomplish it through doing what I loved, and by enjoying myself. I'd soon come to find the things that I like and dislike, the people I want in my life, and those who I don't, and of most importance, where I want to be in the future. Then I lost soccer, and in the process I lost myself, with the plans I had in high school torn into pieces and evaded from my mind for the past year. For most, high school was a struggle of finding themselves. A long and troublesome journey carrying lessons and regrets, but for me, it was my safe haven. It was easy for me to figure out who I was. I was an athlete, and a hard worker. My senior year, I was a champion, and a captain. College started off in a similar route, but then the worst possible thing happened, and the experience turned into a nightmare.

I hate the image that constantly replays in my mind. I hate the fact that I let this happen, and that I didn't take care of myself when I should have. Ignoring obvious signs was fine until they couldn't be ignored anymore. Until I was lying on the ground, clutching at my ankle to try and stop the unbearable pounds of pressure the pain brought. Even then I wanted to get back up and continue with the game. I wasn't going to learn my lesson, and the only reason I did was because of the consequences that are still hard to swallow and accept.

I remember being brought to a hospital, riding in the back of an ambulance that continued to blare its sirens. I wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle, not caring if it made my ankle worse. Doctors were not my thing. I hated the smell of a hospital, and the stupid gowns everyone wore. Iris Grey didn't belong on a hospital bed. Iris Grey was strong and independent, and capable of handling anything thrown at her.

I thought it was all an exaggeration at first. All I needed was some ice, it was just a small sprain that would heal in a week. My ankle acting up was not something new, and I was prepared to hear from the doctor everything that I've already been told. His somber expression as he examined my x-rays only worried me briefly, and then I reminded myself that he was a doctor. Doctors were always serious. Nothing was ever fun about working twelve hour shifts dealing with other people's problems. As he turned to me, he gingerly examined my ankle again and I remember pulling away from him. Even his gentle touch aggitated it.

He looked at me with concern, and then explained the x-ray to me, using words that I was sure of didn't belong in the English language. I vaguely listened, tuning in here and there, but waited for him to finish. I just wanted to know what it all meant. Whether a little ice would do the trick as it always did before.

I remember my coach standing beside the hospital bed, with his hand covering his mouth as he looked down at me. He was more worried than I was, not sharing my optimism. As the doctor sat down on his stool, and set the x-rays down beside him, Coach Femi bombarded him with questions.

"How bad is it? Does she need to ice it? And when will be clear to play again? Maybe a week of rest will help?"

The doctor let out a short chuckle, but nothing was funny, and he soon realized that too. "We don't have a mere sprain on our hands. She has a tear in her ligament. The deltoid ligament has two layers, now its rare for the deepest layer to be torn during a sporting event, but you've had problems with your ankle before correct?"

"Yeah," I mumbled quietly.

"And it troubled you for four years?"

"I guess,"

"Alright, so there's no way to tell for sure what the cause is yet, but I think the constant pressure put onto the ankle without recieving proper treatment for such a prolonged period made it more prone to a tear. Especially in the sport you're in, it's a wonder why something of this sort didn't happen sooner."