When the nurses asked me what I did for fun as they changed my saline drip, I told them I played water polo.
For the first few weeks after transverse myelitis hospitalized me, I couldn’t raise my water bottle to my mouth for a drink. I couldn’t hold a pen steady enough to write my history test.
But as soon as I was able to walk without needing assistance, I showed up to practice.
I knew that I couldn’t play. I just wanted to feel like I was part of the team again.
And when my teammates asked me why I kept showing up, I shrugged my shoulders and jokingly said something about wanting to make sure the team wasn’t falling apart without me.
But somewhere inside of me, I knew the real answer. I was just scared of it.
Deep down, I went because I felt like I had to. Because I didn’t know who I was without my sport.
But now, sitting on the sidelines, that identity was taken away from me.
I’m no stranger to injuries: I’ve had shoulder problems every single year since I was 13, excluding my sophomore year, when I was hospitalized with transverse myelitis, which interrupted nerve signals between my brain and my body.
Visiting orthopedic surgeons has become routine. I’ve talked to my doctor so much that I call him uncle. I’ve gone through at least a dozen resistance bands by now.
But buying resistance bands over and over again isn’t the worst part of getting injured.
The worst part, the part that weighs on me as I watch my team celebrate win after win, is living in the space between healthy and injured. Being able to jump in and practice with the guys but not being able to show why I deserve to be on the team.
Trying to avoid another shoulder dislocation, I wore a brace during my junior year, and while it gave me confidence in my body, it impacted my abilities as a player.
But when I took it off, the anxiety was unmanageable.
Either way, I was embarrassed by my abilities and grieving the player I used to be. Brutally, I believed that I was a liability. Nothing more.
But I still suited up every day. I still went on the travel trips, splurged on the Buc-ee’s runs and laughed with my teammates as we photoshopped pictures of one another.
Sure, I still missed shots, lost races and made mistakes. My teammates didn’t magically fix my shoulder. But they made the grief manageable. Assured me when I had my head buried in my hands.
They made me feel wanted.
When people ask me what I do, I still say I play water polo.
And if anyone ever asks me why I keep returning to it, even though I know the consequences, I’ll give them the real answer.
That I’m not here for the glory or for the trophies or the crazy plays that make it onto Instagram.
I’m here for the people who still see me as a part of the team, even when I can’t see that myself.
