Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Second Chance

I told you I love football right? Well I love football. Did I mention I love football? Really though, I've heard people say love kills...I didn't think it was real. I've been playing football ever since I can remember. Playing in the yard, on the street and was so eager when I was finally old enough to be on an actual team. Time went by fast, all I dreamed about was football. Next thing I know, I was graduation 8th grade and going to high school.

I got hurt during my freshman year and during the most inconvenient time. Like I said before, a player tackled, my head got in the way, and snap. Just like that, that simple, or quick I meant. By the time I woke up, everyone was quiet, people were asking me questions and seeing the look on all those people faces, it's something I won't forget. And I got so worried about the game I wasn't even worried about myself. I got put on the stretcher and asked the coach. "Was that in, coach, did I made it in?" He just nodded without a word. And I got so excited before hand, though Dad was deployed he was on his leave. It was the best timing in the world. Thought Dad can watch me play and see what I've got. But guess the saying "expect the unexpected" is right. Dad's leave to see me play turned out to be watching me run for the last time.

Though Dad wanted to stay longer he was only there to make sure he hears what the doctors had to say, saw me moved out of ICU, and went through some medical work with Mom before he had to take off again. While laying in bed with a metal neck brace, unable to move any part of your body is hard enough. What's harder is watching Mom sitting late into the night tending to my every needs, working from the hospital, trying to go through piles of insurance jumbos and somehow she still found time to read everything she can on Spinal Cord Injury.

I tried my best to hide my shame and depression, though somehow, I had a feeling Mom knew. I wished I never got hurt, why me, out of anyone, why me. And not only that because of me, Mom had more burdens to carry. Dad have more things he have to worry about on the rest of his deployment. I took time off from school to finish up rehab. The time off gave me time to think, to re-live what happened, and eventually, kick (no pun intended) myself out of depression with the help of many doctors, nurses, and both occupational and physical therapists.

Somehow...slowly though not yet completely, I'm starting to know what I have to do with the hand I was dealt. I still get depressed, I still cry (though sometimes not wanting to admit it), and I still wish for things. But I'm better now, I'm alive, got myself a nice set of wheels, and I'm alive.


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