It was June 22, 2010 and my team was in nationals. This was probably the biggest game of my basketball career yet. I could recall my dad telling me before the game giving me tips, but I never listened. I was focused on winning the game, that’s it. On the second possession of the game I went up for a rebound and came down wrong. I’d never been in so much pain. As I lie there on the ground near the baseline teary eyed, I realized the pain was too excruciating and I wouldn’t be able to play the rest of the game. Everyone crowded around: Coaches, teammates, referees, and even my dad. I knew I had let my team down, but even more, I let myself down. As I got lifted onto a stretcher by the ambulance, I held the back of my knee, hoping it wasn’t a serious injury. I arrived to the hospital, and received X-Rays. I tore my ALC and my MCL, this meant I wouldn’t be playing basketball for at least a year. I let my team, my dad, and myself down. I was devastated when the doctor gave me the results.
Basketball was all I had, and now that I could barely walk without being in excruciating pain, I felt empty and alone. I spent most of my time in bed. I needed to have surgery on the ligaments that I tore, I hated the thought of surgery even though I’ve never had surgery before. The doctor put me to sleep before preforming the surgery. After the surgery, I was told not to put much pressure on the knee I injured. They gave me a knee brace and crutches, to help me move around easier. For the next few weeks I rested as told, all I wanted to do was be back on the court. That was all I thought about 24/7. I thought about how I had let my team down when they needed me most. This only made me angry. 6 weeks after the surgery, I was able to walk without a knee