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As summer 2019 came to a close, I would begin my junior year with high hopes. It was supposed to be my big comeback year. I progressed quickly after surgery #3 and even got to swing my bat (hitting only whiffles) and throw little by little. I was looking forward to coming back to school the strongest I had been in a long time. I was ready to tackle my junior year. Even though I wanted to go full throttle right away, my therapists, kept me realistic. Since I moved home for the summer I was not able to continue with my OT and PT with Loma Linda. I had to find someone new to trust with my aches and pains. This is always hard.. especially when you have surgeries that make you structurally unique. Not only was I different, but I was also extra nerve sensitive. I initially went back to MORE physical therapy and chiropractic care. Like I've said before, I've never been a stranger to injuries. I've had a slight tear in my right MCL in my knee, rotator cuff tendinitis, and a concussion. But, even with my knee injury, I was able to see the progress in my recovery. My arm was not as linear of a recovery, but I kept treating it like it was. Don't get me wrong, I love Mark Eastland as a chiro and PT. However, the treatments he chose at MORE were far too aggressive for where I was at in my recovery stage. So, I decided to venture off to make my own physical therapy routine. One that I knew I would be able to handle because I only had to listen to how my body felt. Going back to school, also meant going back to my usual therapists at Loma Linda. I was excited to be back. I felt well taken care of. It's nice to not have to explain my pain, symptoms, and surgeries every appointment. They knew my case and most importantly they knew me. So, when I started to feel my nerve pain, trinkle, up into my neck... I knew I could count on my surgeon to help diagnose this new pain. I went to see him on October 15, 2019. He immediately felt concerned about the "crowding pressure" that I felt compressing on my ulnar nerve. So, another MRI, but this time for my cervical neck area. The MRI didn't show any huge glaring signs of something being wrong. Other than having a straight cervical spine, rather than having the natural healthy curve. My surgeon suggested continually doing PT for massages and stretch release of the neck and trap muscles. He also suggested doing one more test to check for what could be causing my nerve to remain prevalent.... another EMG test. And this time they would have to insert needles up in my neck this time, as well as my whole arm. But, I knew it was necessary. Even though I wanted all the answers to my questions about my pain, I had to focus on taking it step by step. I didn't want to jump to any conclusions, just let the test and my pain speak for itself. Or so, I thought... The part that gutted me the most? The EMG dr's notes: WTF If it was normal, then why was I still in pain?? Next step?

its all a balancing act During the week of May Term break, Cal did the most. My mom entrusted me with him in a way that she never has with anyone. It made my heart beam. I felt safe, loved, and undeniably supported. But, I also started to feel something else... a tad of resentment. You see, Cal played baseball for the U of R. As a result, he was pretty much non-responsive and busy during the day while out on the field. This left me alone, in pain, and extremely bored in the dorm just recovering. Nobody is to blame for this, it's just a fact and it was rough. I too was supposed to be out on the field every day that week... my team was practicing. But, nope, I was stuck in bed because once again I had surgery. I started to feel like I couldn't accomplish anything meaningful. Cal was going to practice, changing my bandage, cooking for me, administering medication (+ keeping track of side effects), and not once complaining. I felt like such a burden on him. I worried about this changing how we interacted aside from him helping me. I didn't want to lose our happy fun side. I didn't want us to also revolve around my pain. So, we made it as much fun as possible. At night he would make a yummy dinner, watch episodes of HOUSE, and then start a MARVEL MCU movie marathon. Worries aside, it ended up being an amazing week. I took advantage of the time with myself and reflected on how my life had changed so drastically so quickly. In high school, I became too comfortable not expressing myself in my old relationship. To the point of a shallow co-dependency. I was hiding away the real parts of myself just to make them feel comfortable or like everything was stable (and I didn't even have chronic pain then). It had become a personality trait that ingrained itself within me whenever I started to feel like the world was going to come crashing down on me. Shell up and hide behind the "picture perfect" partner ideal, even though the feeling wasn't reciprocated. I hated hearing "oh what's wrong now"? This is something that Cal and I had to work through together, feeling comfortable with being vulnerable when I needed it, and always knowing that he wasn't going to judge or toss blame. I feel so lucky to have a life partner who helps me grow my inner self-confident voice. With an injury like mine, one that continues to regress despite the effort, it can be shameful. I blamed myself for my pain, for the surgeries "not working", and last but not least, I blamed myself for weight gain. I was struggling with insecurities left and right. Trust and communication. It's really what dating with a chronic illness is about. Trusting each other to talk through our inner struggles with my pain and communicating ways to accommodate. Yes, I'm the one dealing with the pain every night and day, but watching your partner struggle is not easy. I asked Cal what the hardest parts are dating someone with chronic pain were, here's what he had to say: "knowing that as much as I help I can never make it better" "feeling guilty continuing with my daily routines/exercises" "I think the hardest thing is communication. In every relationship, open communication is key to being able to grow as a couple. Somebody dealing with a chronic issue, especially pain, is going to be more internal than external with their feelings because if they were external all the time it would be mostly about the pain. Nobody wants to feel like they complain too much, so it becomes habitual to internalize the struggle and that habit can project onto other things like asking for help and asking your loved one to change something they’re doing because the pain is overwhelming So sometimes the way someone with chronic pain communicates is with nonverbal cues and you have to be willing to look for those and act on those as if they’re open communication. Communication is key to helping each other become better people and that’s fundamental to a long-term relationship. This requires being honest about each other’s flaws/mistakes. That’s hard in any relationship to do in a way that doesn’t make the person feel like it affects your view of them/love for them. But Someone dealing with a chronic issue is typically already thinking about themselves as having flaws and may feel like they don’t deserve to be loved by someone without a chronic issue. So if you point out flaws/mistakes it can make things worse if they’re in a very self-critical mindset already. So you have to understand the time and place for that kind of communication and when it’s just the time to push it down and be a supporter, not a life coach."

third times a charm? Here we go again. Surgery round 3... I was very nervous for this one. It felt like something looming over my head as I finished the spring semester of my sophomore year. Getting through finals and acting normal around the team was tough. But, alas, I told them about 3 weeks before the surgery date. It was also at this practice that I decided to throw for what could be the last time. Yes, it was very painful, but also very liberating. At that moment, I wasn't hurt, I was just playing catch. Surgery was going to take place during what the University of Redlands calls "may term break". It's essentially a week off from the last day of school till the beginning of the first day of may term classes. May term is basically a month of focusing on one course. It’s a great way to immerse yourself in a concentrated area of study. I signed up to take an English graphic narrative course. It was going to be tough bouncing back into school a week after surgery. But, I was more worried about actually getting the surgery. And just like before there were LOTS of opinions. Parents Let me start by saying that all parents want the best quality of life for their children. That being said, what they want out of life may be different. This was true with my parents. In their mind, I had already gone through two painful and invasive surgeries that "didn't work". So, why risk adding more pain and repercussions? Let softball go, school and the future is more important. And my mom said not to do it because she's a bit of a worry wort but, I love her for it. It was rough hearing my dad tell me to not get the surgery just for softball purposes, even though my surgeon was very certain I would bounce back to the field shortly after. You see, my dad was the reason I ever even heard of softball. He was the one to put the ball in my hand and say throw it as hard as you can. He was my first coach. How could he tell me to let it all go when I felt so close to fulfilling our shared goal? Seeing me playing for a college softball team. SURGERY DAY name of surgery: ulnar nerve transposition This time my mom and boyfriend took me to the hospital for check-in. We were all in this together, and it was the first time Cal was going to be there for me right out of surgery (he had baseball out of state all the other times). I felt very ready and supported. After all the discourse, my parents and I got on the same page. We all wanted the pain to get better. Not just for softball, but because I was tired of it. I wanted to return to who I was and just be young and active. The nurse came and grabbed me. I changed into my hospital gown and the best socks ever (yes I like hospital socks, the little stickies on the bottom lol I'm a klutz). Now, it was time for the IV. It took two tries on my forearm and then finally they put it in my hand (which is super uncomfy) Next was getting dosed up with the anesthesia. Fun fact, the more surgeries you have the more anesthesia is needed to keep you under. AND... smoking weed makes your tolerance against anesthesia go up. So, the anesthesiologist had met with me prior to the surgery date and knew that they would need to carefully increase little by little. Well, I remember everything before I went under, this time. I still felt pretty awake as I hugged and kissed my mom and boyfriend before getting wheeled into the operation room. "Um, guys I'm still here like conscious and a bit too aware of what's bout to happen". The nurse giggled and said, "don't worry we are going to monitor your meds and increase them soon. you won't be awake much longer". She then proceeded to ease my mind, "Don't be nervous hun. Dr. Riedel is amazing, he's pretty much rebuilt my arm and I'm doing great. (she showed me her beautiful and gnarly scars) You are in great hands. Plus 3rd times a charm!". Another nurse came in and began placing the adhesive leads to monitor my vitals during the procedure. "You know my daughter plays softball too. She actually had the same surgery you're going to have. Dr. did a great job and she was able to get back on the field". And as they were applying the iodine to my right elbow I drifted under... Coming out of surgery I remember waking up and seeing another patient across from me. We waved and laughed all loopy, I saw that he had jello and said, "what?! I want jello". My mom laughed and handed me apple sauce that the anesthesiologist had given to her for me to eat as soon as I woke up. Well, I hate applesauce. I threw a minor fit and demanded jello haha. Cal walked in the curtain laughing saying, "yep that's my girlfriend". See, I had to eat something in order to get my dose of painkillers. They were very strong cuz of my tolerance and I am very sensitive to medication. So, they forced me to eat the damn apple sauce. As I was eating, Dr. Riedel came in and explained how the surgery went. "Well, we moved it kiddo. I saw severe scarring around the nerve and UCL so we had to clean that up which is why the surgery took 2.5 hours rather than the 1.5 we had planned for. Your new 'funny bone' is now your bicep so be careful adding pressure. You might feel the nerve tingles and pain as hypersensitive for the week as they "wake back up". You may also feel that tugging or tightness in the nerve path for a couple of months until it settles in its new home. And last, but not least, you won't be able to straighten your elbow for about two weeks. All the muscle we had to cut through is healing still so it will be too inflamed to stretch. But, everything went smoothly. I think your gonna be ok kiddo, see you in two weeks to check on your new scar and overall progress of sensation in your hand"'. Recovery Week The plan was that mom would stay for the weekend and then fly back home. Cal was also enrolled in a May Term course so he would be with me the rest of the month. The hardest part though? The week after the surgery, Cal had to return to baseball practices and I was left alone during the day. All of my roommates had decided not to enroll in May Term. So, I had to find ways to distract myself from the pain. I went through copious amounts of television series and movies... after about two days I was bored out of my mind. The nerve pain was horrible. One thing I've learned is that nerves do not like to be messed with. And, the more you mess with it the more hypersensitive it becomes. This was especially true for me. Sensitivity to the cold increased and as the nerve continued to "wake up" the pain got worse. Yes, Dr. Riedel gave me painkillers, but they weren't cutting it. Well, this is why. Back in 2018, the CDC changed the opioid to acetaminophen ratio. Basically, they increased the amount of acetaminophen and decreased the potency of the opioid in hopes to reduce the opioid crisis. This sucked. Suddenly my medication wasn't strong enough and my pain was way past my threshold. The solution? Smoke more weed. Since I wasn't in school I leaned more on weed rather than medication, and well, weed became my preferred medication. I talked to my chronic pain doctor about it and he was on board. He agreed that a person my age should not rely on painkillers, better to go with a more natural approach. I also decided to start weaning off of gabapentin and try something new. We added more baclofen and meloxicam to combat the inflammation. Oh, the inflammation. It was terrible. it felt like I had a constant blood pressure machine squeezing my bicep and elbow. My fingers would turn purple... My hand would twitch even more... and i just felt like a Cheeto (cuz of the iodine lol) puff. It was incredibly difficult to keep it elevated so I wouldn't lose as much blood flow to my fingers. Sleep became more of a struggle trying to find a comfortable and elevated position for my arm... Tossing and turning all night.

i'm an undecisive shopper... this is gonna be rough I never knew I was so stubborn. But, being told you can't do something you love is the worst. My heart was torn in two when the doctor told me about my medical prognosis. It was now time to admit that my arm was not healing as originally planned. Throwing was becoming more and more painful, not to mention the all too familiar tugging sensation returning in my elbow. With a fun addition of annoying twitch whenever I moved my arm. My surgeon grew more concerned the more my physical therapy reports showed the following: 3.7.19 : patient explained intense tugging in elbow & 3.14.19: the patient has been told to stop throwing due to an extreme increase in pain and loss of sensation in the middle, ring, and pinky fingers (r). Yep, an overall decrease in strength, endurance, and flexibility. But, the most concerning part was the constant pain I was always in. Something wasn't right. I already had an inkling of what was to come... more testing... more searching. Now for one of the hardest doctor's appointments, I have ever been through. I had to skip practice and go alone. To me, this was just another weekly appointment to update my surgeon on what I was feeling, so I didn't think I needed any emotional support. It started like any other appointment, they took my vitals and asked about my pain scale rating(8/10). Then came in Dr. Riedel. We discussed the tugging symptoms and moved on to the physical exam. First, we started with the ulnar nerve glides. These are both a great stretch and a bit uncomfy. As I moved my arm in the designated positions, he moved his fingers along my nerve path, gently taping as he went. With every tap, there was that weird twitch followed by a stabbing pain. I winced and he took my left hand and placed it in the nerve pocket near my surgery site. Tap and then he said, "feel that twitching?" I nodded. "Is it painful?" I nodded and explained that it felt like each tap was cutting into my scar. "Kiddo, that's the nerve... it's moving." Shocked and a bit confused, I took a minute to get my shivering lip under control and blurted, "Ok just put pressure where necessary to put it back in its pocket. I'll bite my shirt." He shook his head, and grabbed my hand, " No kiddo, we need to surgically move it..." My stomach dropped and the tears came out. "Another surgery....? " He then explained the surgery benefits, plan, and risks. I tuned it all out when the words "the biggest risk is not being able to throw or play softball again". My first thoughts? Fuck that. I'm not having a surgery that might end my softball career. I haven't even begun to really live my life as a collegiate athlete, something I had strived for ever since I was 10 years old. Then, my other reality set in. I hadn't been able to actually use my right hand in over 2 years. Things like picking up my little sister, typing with both hands, writing with my right hand, and even brushing my teeth were actions of the past. What would my future be like? Would I be able to hold my own baby later on in life? Is law school still a possibility? I soon realized that I would have to think about a life where I wasn't Jazzy the softball player. Who the hell was I without softball? For the past 2 years being an injured player on the roster was hard but I still felt like a softball player, like I was part of the team. Now, being the injured player having surgery after surgery began to diminish the core athletic part of my identity. The only thing I could think about was the little girl in me who gave softball her heart. I felt like I was letting her down, past coaches, and especially my dad, the person who took me across the country for tournaments my whole life. After the shock wore off, only one question remained. Should I say goodbye to Jazzy the softball player? I needed advice and I needed it bad. So, I talked to my parents, Cal, old & new friends, old teammates, and pretty much anyone who really knew me, the me who felt the need to prove to myself that " I did it. I fulfilled my goal of playing college softball". The only people I couldn't feel like I could talk to? My team. After all the endless inquisitions and doubts about my injury and my pain, I didn't want to worry about judgment. But, the two people I knew had my back? My coaches. I drove back to campus and parked right in front of their office. I checked around for any straggling teammates and made my way up. I broke the news and broke down. One thing to know about me, I hate crying in front of people. But, I felt like my heart was torn in two, I couldn't help it. Coach Jose calmed me down and spoke me to me softly, "I'm so sorry kid. I can't imagine what your going through and the stress of making a big decision like this. Now, I'm gonna talk to you like a dad cuz that's who I am at heart. I know softball means the world to you, I can see it with how much you try to stay involved even though you're limited and in pain. But, if my daughter had an injury like yours, where it isn't just about getting back to the sport, but getting back to living your life, I would hope her coach would tell her to consider everything. You're a young adult who should take advantage of this new found time to grab new career opportunities and prioritize regaining your health, rather than antagonizing yourself stuck in the dugout and not in the field where you want to be. Take time to let the news sink in and digest it" And with that, I contemplated it all. A week later, my 3.28.19 physical therapy report read: patient walked in with 9/10 pain scale. "I'm going to have another surgery" patient states.

As we approached non-traditionals and practices in the fall, the pressure to keep up and look good was on. Everyone wanted to impress Coach and earn their spot. As for myself, I wanted to prove that I was never going to give up working my hardest to get back on the field. As for the team itself, there was also a change in leadership between us girls. The seniors from the class before had graduated which meant the new seniors had to find their groove. This transition will always be difficult for any team sport, especially when your prior coach instigated a toxic culture. Every decision made by the captains would be seen as a precedent. So, when teammates began to question each other's passion, commitment, and effort, it became the norm. The more whispers and assumptions, the more divided the team felt. My aspired comeback season... and yet, despite all my efforts, I wasn't healthy enough to be cleared to play. I had already used my one medical redshirt that D3 players are allowed. I was out of options to save any more eligibility time. But, forget about playing, even working out trying to hold my own in the weight room was becoming increasingly impossible. So, back to the indoor gym I went, to stretch, do PT, and work out on the stationary bike. It was the most I could do without further aggravating my nerve and ultimately try to manage my pain. My whole life surrounded that damn nerve, down to the minutes a day I would use my hand for softball, then school, and then overall life. Trying to prioritize which to physically exert myself on day to day was exhausting until someone reminded me that I needed to do what was going to help me survive through it all the most. Coach Jose made talking about my injury and the pain I carried a priority. He would always check up on me with face-to-face conversations after every Dr's appointment. Rather than scare my parents with ongoing ups and downs with my arm, coach became the adult figure I could look to for advice. So, when several members of the team began to question my commitment and heart, he was the first person I spoke with. It had become too much for me to simply handle. Unlike athletes who break a bone, I was not able to heal and bounce back. Man, how much I wish that I had broken my wrist rather than have the two dissociate, wrecking all the tendons and nerves. But, alas, it was not the case. My physical therapist and surgeon would assess the overall healing progress of both my wrist and elbow every week. This meant measuring everything, like strength, flexibility, sensitivity, and range of motion. Every part of my recovery was managed by my physical therapist and surgeon, to a certain extent, their word was my command. So, when they would tell me to stop running due to the undeniable and severe inflammation that would follow, I did. And when I was told to stick to doing limited throwing every week or so, I trusted them to know exactly how slowly to tread. However, as I stuck to their routine, someone else had thoughts of their own. Remember that arrogant trainer who, A. misdiagnosed me over and over, B. forced me to keep lifting and C. set his agenda above my health. Well, since I was in the trainer's room before every practice using a heating pad, stretching, and doing my throwing exercises, he was very aware of my recovery routine. He would come over and question why I wasn't doing weights, running, and long-distance throwing yet. My response was always the same, my pain is still too high, and my surgeon and pt from Loma Linda do not believe I am strong enough or healthy enough. The response I got was, "I think you need to push yourself more, you never know how much you can handle until you test it". Keep in mind that this was not said in private, but in the middle of the training room where the rest of my teammates and other athletes prepped for practice. And as a cherry on top? Since this trainer was dubbed THE go-to trainer for the softball team, he was obligated to discuss injured players with the coach. The tension between me and the medical training staff at my university continued to grow, and well with a new coach, I did not want to be painted as a player who rejected to being "coachable or trainable". I also wanted to prove everyone wrong, I was capable of pushing myself to get back to being an active member on the roster. So, against my better judgment, I tried out the trainer's throwing program. I gave his throwing program a real 2 weeks. It consisted of progressing distance and strength, "building up throwing muscles the way a baseball/softball should, by throwing" as he would say. The result? To say my surgeon and therapist were upset when the trainer refused to follow their instructions was an understatement. The throwing/exercise program they had made up was cautious for a reason. Every foot I extended my distance was marked and assessed for a week, not rushed day-to-day. Even the amount of minutes spent using my arm was listed out for him: throw for 15 mins if tolerable, continue if no pain for 30 mins, small steps back only. Most importantly, my Drs always kept in mind that while getting back to softball was a priority, academics came first, which meant balancing the number of activities my hand was being used for. This was all thrown out the window, and now it was up to me to enforce my Dr's command. My physical therapist compiled another list of exercises I was able, but not required to perform, and off I went to once again defend myself and my injury. I walked into the trainer's room and approached him. I showed him the note and basically told him that I no longer needed his help. My Dr. wanted me to be in charge of my exercises based on tolerance, not expectation. I made sure to be stern, but polite. After all, after I was healthy I was going to have to put up with him as the trainer for the softball team. But, for now, he had to be okay with my surgeon being in charge of my rehab. He reluctantly agreed and said he would update my coach. This so-called update stirred much more trouble. He spoke to his supervisor, the head trainer at the University, that I strayed from the therapy/injured protocol required by policy for every student-athlete. This was the first time I ever heard about a supposed protocol. The next thing I knew, coach called me into a meeting about the appropriate way to deal with the trainers. I walked into coach's office and told him that I was never told about this "protocol" in the two years that I had been an injured athlete. With him being new to the school, his response was as expected, "okay, go talk to them about the insurance paperwork she (the head trainer) discussed with me. I would also like to see any Drs notes if that's okay." I told him it was no trouble at all and that I would bring them to the field later on. As I walked back over to the trainer's office I felt so confused. Insurance paperwork? Why would the university trainers care what insurance I have? As soon as I entered the room I was told to sit and wait in her office. From the second she walked in I knew this meeting was not going to be a cozy one. She introduced herself and began with, "so *trainer* says that you went to a Dr. without telling him when first injured, went to rehab care outside of the university training room, and are now refusing to work with the trainers even though you intend to continue as a bulldog athlete. Now, understand we are liable for what happens with you and if you don't tell us then we can't help you". I stopped her there. "Sorry, I'm a bit confused, did I do something wrong by listening to my surgeon? *trainer* has been fully aware of my injury since the day it happened, I haven't left a thing out." "Well, as stated in the student-athlete insurance packet, we are to refer you to our team Dr., then an outside source. This is expected by every student-athlete under their secondary insurance with us." I responded with, "I see. I was never given any packet and I was never told by *trainer* that I had secondary insurance with the school as a student-athlete." You get this gist of it.... and by the end? I thanked her for informing me of the basic information needed to be a student-athlete at the university and left. Two hours later I get a phone call from my mom saying some rude lady called her complaining about my hypocrisy and attitude. Oh, did my mom give her an earful. See, I called my mom after and explained the insurance situation to her, she called my insurance, and boom we were not supposed to be paying out of pocket. What the #*@^! Remember how coach had asked to see Drs notes? Well, I brought my most recent ones to coach before the start of practice. We read and discussed them together and agreed on the terms set out by my surgeon and my arm's tolerance. It was nice and easy. Or so, I thought. See, the road to recovery is not a straight road, especially in my case. In reality, my road had a lot of blocks, route diversions, and even rest stops. This stop-and-go pace began to irritate teammates. I became the injured player who had excuses and slacked off simply because I had to limit and adapt every drill in every practice. I was more than okay showing close friends and coach my medical reports, but when teammates demanded they see evidence of certain physical limitations in my Drs stationery and handwriting, I had enough. I had already spent too much time that day defending myself. What else did I have to prove?

the horrid stench, the "gateway" drug, the holistic healer, the stoner Sorry mom and dad, once again haha. Here's the story of how weed changed my life for the better. My first impression of friends who used cannabis was that they were only doing it for one reason and one reason only: pure shits and giggles. And while that is a big reason why it isn't the only reason why weed was used. Growing up and attending Catholic private schools the only thing I learned about weed was that it was highly addictive and dangerous. Basically the whole "hugs not drugs". Yes, it's a very valid lesson to teach young kids, but it made me wary of anything and especially anyone having to do with weed. This all changed when one of my closest guy friends chose to start smoking. When we first met, in junior high Max struggled with his ADHD. After trials of medication switches, going through all the ups and downs, the terrible side effects, he looked for some extra help. The worst side effect for him was his stomach issues and anxiety; lack of appetite, nausea and you know what else. So, with the help of his mom and his doctors, they started to come up with a plan. Max received his medical marijuana card in high school (MMIC) and from then on the world of medicine opened up. His anxiety and stomach issues were relieved and he was much much happier. Not to mention balancing his side effects while taking his medication and learning what kinds of cannabis help forced him to become hyper-aware of his own body. This is what saved him from his own frustration of feeling like his ADHD was controlling his life. It's also what I remembered the minute my pain management Dr. asked if I had ever used marijuana solely for its medicinal properties. My answer was no, but I was aware of how it could be used as a medication and not just recreationally. He went on to explain how the many side effects I was experiencing from my medication could be relieved by ingesting cannabis without negatively impacting how the medications work. I was immediately intrigued and asked about the steps to get my own MMIC. This is where statutes against marijuana from the past have screwed over the millions of people it could help. Marijuana is classified as a Schedule 1 substance, meaning the government has deemed it as a drug with a high potential for abuse without any accepted medical benefits. Along with marijuana in Schedule 1 are drugs such as heroin, LSD, and ecstasy. The main differences between cannabis and the others? Cannabis is not addictive and it won't kill you. Regardless, hospitals have strict policies that keep their doctors from referring or administering an MMIC, except in cases where cancer is involved. As my pain management Dr. put it, "hospital boards hear cancer and think that is the worst thing for the body, so giving cannabis to a cancer patient is like adding another "negative" to one "negative" to spin it into something positive for the patient. Not to mention the hundreds of studies now done that show how the increase in appetite and reprieve from pain and nausea help patients fight for hope." I was immediately intrigued... I mean how could I not have been? The possibility of getting a reprieve for even just a little bit was enough. But, there's always a catch. Loma Linda Hospital sees itself as a Seventh Day Adventist institution (a.k.a. super religious branch of Christianity) which means they do not believe and are not legally allowed to administer an MMIC. So, I was informed "off the record" that medicinal cannabis could be helpful for me but couldn't find anyone to actually help me start the MMIC process. To make things harder, I was still underage at the time. Back to square one... how do I find someone to help me get what I need? Introducing, teammate Nicole, the original stoner(: She was the first person that I met in college that used cannabis as a medication and even shared it with her parents, haha. Nicole has really bad anxiety, ADHD, and hip and shoulder problems. She struggled to keep her anxiety about schoolwork & exams under control so she could focus. Growing up Nicole's mom had suffered from chronic pain due to familial hip issues and knee replacements, so weed was never seen as a terrible drug in her household. They were open about it all with her and from my perspective, this benefitted Nicole in more ways than one. Not only did she feel safe enough to try it with her mom, but speak to her about what it meant to be a functional and safe cannabis user. The more my side effects of baclofen and gabapentin increased, the more I needed something to change and get better. The gabapentin especially was a doozy. If not taken at the same time every day, three times a day, withdrawal kicked in. Withdrawal included mood swings, nausea, lack of appetite, migraines, and last but not least, brain fog. Within 15 minutes of taking my two pills of gabapentin for my first round of doses in the morning, I would feel super giggly, antsy (like adrenaline shakes) brain fog it out, and then crash, hard. During the summer this was all fine, but once school started up it was hard to maintain, on top of every other side effect. It was hard to focus and fully function (like driving) on the medication, but my pain was better. Off the medication, it was hell pushing through burning nerve pain, the inability to use my right hand, spotty sleep, and oh yea, withdrawal. I had experienced withdrawal from pain medication before, specifically tramadol since I was on it for the first several months of my injury, but nothing compared to this. Anxiety and depression skyrocketed in between doses, making seeing the silver lining of life more and more difficult. So, I decided to make a change. I pursued medical cannabis as an option. I started "chronically" smoking late in my sophomore year (with the help of Nicole). The first thing I did was research a ton of different companies and brands to find the one that I felt had the safest and most effective cartridges'. Introducing the brand that Max had put me on, Select. Yep, I pretty much only smoked pens because of dorm life and living at home with the family. I found it to be the only medication that gave me a reprieve without any negative side effects. My appetite went up so I was able to take the full dose of my medications throughout the day. I would smoke my wax pen whenever I felt nausea, headaches, mood swings, and nerve tingles coming on strong. The combination of gabapentin to calm my messed-up ulnar nerve in my arm and weed to keep my body calm was magical. I flourished and even grew physically stronger. How do you ask? Well, weed would help me feel energized despite being in pain, which in turn would inspire me to move my body in whatever way felt good. Not to mention that movement also helped painxiety. (my fun word for pain anxiety)So things like physical therapy, yoga, going for long walks, and even riding the stationary bike became fun once again. Despite the terrible suggestion I got from EMG results and the Dr, I was not going to give up being an athlete until my surgeon said I have to stop. As I went into junior year, I learned how my body functioned while under the influence of cannabis over the summer break, now it was time to balance my new medication with a busy school routine. Over the summer I had finally regained some sleepless nights, but this came as a consequence of sleeping in late. I'm not going to lie this was tough at first. Between waking up for morning weights and ensuring all my work was done on time for the next day of classes, my schedule was packed and my body was fried. The groggy feeling in the mornings from my medication and weed from the night before was the hardest to push through, but it had to be done. I was determined to make my junior year the year that I would finally get back to the one thing I missed the most, softball. And man was I excited. Regardless of my anxious need to play again, I still had to remind myself to prioritize keeping my body as healthy as possible. Remember how the EMG Dr. had given me a topical cream for nerve pain? Yea, it sucked. It was sticky and ineffective after 5 minutes of application. So, on the search, I went. My mom helped me out a bunch. She first got me two products from Papa & Barkley. (this is not an ad, just sharing an experience) The first was their CBD Releaf Balm. I remember the day I tried this like it was yesterday... Let me first say that one should ALWAYS read the label first. If I had done so, I would have seen some ingredients that my nerve sorely hates; tea tree, peppermint, and menthol. My nerve doesn't do ice or cold weather, so any product like BioFreeze only made my pain worse. This buttery cream is a lavender-stoned cousin of BioFreeze. Moments after applying the lotion I ran to shower crying that it was burning my nerve. Sorry for the wasted 30 dollars mom.... Next up were their CBD/THC sublingual Releaf Drops. I was fascinated with the idea of a sublingual drop because it is the epitome of being functional, especially in school. These drops don't make you feel the head high, only a concentrated and heightened body high. Yup, you guessed it, floaty body vibes. Within 15 minutes of ingesting the drops, the nerve pain edge diminished and I could use my hand for school. Now, I do want to mention that the taste is earthy, to say the least, so mixing it with sweet tea or smoothies is also a lovely option. Since the Papa & Barkley balm didn't work for my nerve, I went online to find more companies with topical options. Finally, I found my favorite company, Yummi Karma. More specifically, their topical cream line HIGH GORGEOUS. Let me just say that this cream is pure magic. No peppermint, tea tree, or menthol. This lotion has lavender, chamomile, and the good good. The wonderful women who own and made this product were right to name it in your dreams. Not only does it soothe inflammation and nerve pain, but it also makes you feel sleepy. So, it became my second layer of skin... hahaha. I would carry it with me to class, practice, and even on flights in the US. It was time to throw away the one from the Dr. and invest in something that actually works. And this investment is the key. This lotion goes for 30 dollars whereas the one from the doctor was 65. Plus, if you have HSA or flex spending with medical, well your CBD cream is covered (unlike any other medication)! You would think that this Dr. would understand all the reasons why I wanted to stop refilling a prescription that doesn't help, but this was sadly not the case. The Dr. ignorantly believed that it was impossible for her cream to not work. It was "all in my head". The stigma surrounding cannabis and all its wonderful products is one that leads people to shallow assumptions of your character. Stoners are coined as lazy, unintelligent, and habitual drug users. First, let me tackle the habitual drug use stigma first. Yes, weed is a drug, and yes I use it, but I also use drugs given to me by my doctors. However, it doesn't mean that just because someone uses cannabis they are automatically hard drug users. This distinction is something that many do not understand due to past and still present legal limitations. As for the lazy and unintelligent part, well all I can say is people have free will. If one chooses to indulge in a "lazy" day or activity while high, then so be it, there might be an underlying reason. Or even if someone just wanted to do nothing for the heck of it then whatever, it's up to the smoker what intentions they have prior to using cannabis. At the end of the day, the most important thing is listening to your body, not anybody else. I made a promise to myself that I would do just that, advocate for myself, all the symptoms, pain, side effects, and emotions. Everything I was going through was real and valid. So, when friends and even teammates began to question my judgment simply based on the fact that I was now a stoner on top of being physically limited, it sparked a flame.

forget school, medical exams are the worst... Since the elbow surgery, some symptoms were nipped in the bud, while others bloomed. The cold became enemy number #1. I have always been one to LOVE sweater weather. But, after getting my elbow bone shaved down and beginning signs of arthritis in my wrist, bones in my right arm ached, stabbed, and tingled. Not to mention, the vivid purple outlining my scars and veins, paired with the shivering twitches of my actual ulnar nerve. This meant undergoing a test that I would never wish on anyone. To be fair, this wasn't the only medical exam that I had to go through that I hated. If you all remember the terrible MRI experience with the needle in my joint gap in my severely injured wrist? Well, I was lucky for that one... I went into the appointment for my MRI completely blind to the process. The Dr. never told me what they would have to do in order to fully inspect the TFCC tendon and cartilage damaged. Unfortunately, that was not the case this time around. I spent hours researching what I was being forced to undergo before the EMG and to be honest, I think it only made my anxiety about getting the test done even worse. I don't know what I prefer... either way going through a painful test while you are maxed out on pain already, it's torture to have to wait before the exam and then for the results. Nobody wants to be told that they continue to fail test after test simply because they stray from the norm... not being in pain. It was now July 16, 2018, which just so happens to be my birthday. The semester had ended and I needed every minute of the break. The push to get through finals left my hand weak and my pain on a whole other level. It also left me absolutely frustrated with doing the most to get simple tasks done. So, I called my surgeon and told him about my worsening nerve pain and atrophy symptoms. He strongly suggested getting an EMG done to check on the overall health of the nerves in my hands and arms. If you have never heard of an EMG, be glad. There are generally two parts to this torture. The nerve conduction study is first. It involves placing small sensors called surface electrodes on the skin to assess the ability of the motor neurons to send electrical signals. The second part, known as the needle EMG, also uses sensors to evaluate electrical signals. The sensors are called needle electrodes, and they’re directly inserted into muscle tissue to evaluate muscle activity when at rest and when contracted. (thank you Healthline for helping me with this beautiful explanation) I remember not being able to get through either of the exams without my dad and the Dr. holding my arm down still enough. I had read online that part one of the exam wasn't bad, that the sensation would merely feel like an intense tap and tingle. That wasn't the case for me. The electrical jolts made my entire body tremor. The second part was only worse. I have never loved needles but, the insertion of those needles wasn't what hurt the most, it was the electrical shock stabbing me through the needles. It felt as though my whole nerve was on fire, and to make things worse, this had to be done in every area of pain (nerve sensation loss). To make it worse, the Dr. had to apply varying amounts of pressure in order to compare different immensities of the jolt. Oh and duh do the same thing to the other, healthier arm to compare... After it was all over, I was brought to a seated position, and BOOM, I passed out. When I came to I remember the smell of orange juice and the feeling of sweat dripping from my forehead. It was time to review the results. As I sipped on the oj and slowly gained my color back.. the Dr. said the worst thing she could have said, "you need to stop playing softball, your nerve is too damaged". I glanced over at my dad whose jaw had dropped ever so slightly and hung my head, the tears started flowing. It was the first time I heard a Dr. advise me to stop playing softball. She prescribed me a topical cream to use daily to numb out the nerve in the area applied and more gabapentin... Happy 19th Birthday Jaz

it’s only fitting that this be written at an ungodly hour. be aware of rambling :) sleep. it’s a love hate relationship... I cant remember the last time I had a peaceful, restful, and rejuvenating night of sleep. Actually, it was probably the night before I got hurt, but who the hell really knows. Not getting enough good sleep is a common problem for many. So, it’s nice to not feel alone in the struggle. But, as my pain got worse, so did my sleep. The best way I can explain it is to just dump, here it goes... So, let's be honest. Medication is great... when it works. Every medication will have its pros and cons, but not every medication is the right one. And when you tend to be overly sensitive to starting new medications and adapting to the side effects, you get tired of the Dr. casually adding meds, increasing doses, and yes crossing off the "failures". Well, here I was, more than halfway through my sophomore year with a hefty list of medications. Some for sleep, some for pain, some for inflammation, some for anxiety, and yes, some for both sleep and pain. The ones for both pain and sleep were my favorite. When the pain is so constant and you don't get any moments of reprieve, especially at night when the body is supposed to "self-heal" it's bound to drive one into a rage. In the weeks following my elbow surgery I was grateful that the baclofen was working. Within 15 mins of taking the one pill I was out. I knew sleep once again! Jump forward 3 weeks and the dose increased due to tolerance. Yep, it started to not work. A new battle arose. To take or not to take the meds? Due to my increased tolerance against the medication, going up in dose only meant one thing, more side effects. It became an internal argument every night. Do I take the full dosage, sleep and then wake up with a massive groggy hangover? or... Do I not take the full dosage, not sleep, and still wake up groggy but without the headaches and upset stomach? Regardless of the internal conflict, pain won and I would force myself to take the medication in some capacity. Night after night I would sit up in bed stretch, position every single pillow, find a semi comforting position, and then plop back down. This became my hourly routine. Each time getting woken up by sharp stabbing pains radiating down my arm and a puddle on my pillow. Crying myself in and out of sleep became the new normal. I couldn't handle it anymore. Laying in bed under the covers when your body continues to scream at you... is torture. Night time is for sleep, and when you have a roommate that follows the rest of the world and sleeps, you too are expected to follow suit. Monkey see, monkey do, right? Except this monkey only saw each hour change and do nothing. I felt trapped in bed, in my room, and in my body. Ugh Mornings... the only time I would actually get about two hours of sleep, but alas the sun had finally given me permission to move about my dorm room to burn off the anxious pain energy. I would roll out of bed and it would start all over again. Faking a smile, covering eye bags with makeup, participating in a class like a "normal", and cracking jokes about my ongoing injury. All as if I had slept.. but I fooled myself into thinking this was okay or my own coping mechanism. Something in me snapped. Who the hell cares how I sleep as long as I actually GET sleep? So, I spoke with my generous and down-to-earth roomie about having sleepovers with each other every once in a while. I still wanted to experience having a close roommate and enjoying nights together, but it wasn't going to happen with no sleep and never-ending pain. Our "sleepovers" consisted of some of my best nights during my sophomore year. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think back on the selfless actions of Adabel. She gave me the strength to say fuck it to everything & everyone that made my pain worse and to do what I needed to feel better. I began to sleepover with my boyfriend, using him as a body pillow to keep my arm warm and elevated(we love temperament nerves with temperature hehe). A pattern immersed. The more I slept with him in that tiny dorm bed, my bedtime anxiety lessened. Laying asleep in bed no longer felt like a chore I could never accomplish. The bed was an inviting place, a place of comfort and sanctuary. It was no longer a source of "tomorrow anxieties". So, when this worked I stuck with it. I was happier and much healthier. The only downside? Being labeled as clingy, dependent, weak, sensitive, or just downright selfish because of the amount of time spent with my boyfriend every night. What these people did not understand is that sleep is a privilege that the chronically ill yearn for. Yes, I love my boyfriend but trust me I love sleep more ;)

You guessed it, the surgery worked, just a bit differently than I thought. While my surgeon was cleaning out all the tendons and nerves, he discovered something odd. My nerve had been stretched out beyond repair, meaning that it was never gonna not move around after this surgery. It became a question of how painful and how often. As I progressed through the recovery process, the nerve would twitch, spasm but not jump over my elbow bone the way it used to, especially when I threw, which meant I could get back to practice. However, any subtle movement (voluntary and involuntary) came with excruciating nerve pain. The lesson I learned very quickly is once a nerve is irritated it stays pissed off. But, there was no jump. I was able to get into a more comfortable routine. One similar to those of my teammates. A "true" scholar-athlete. It was the happiest I had been in a long time, aside from the pain. My doctors still had me on meloxicam to try and control the amount of inflammation that would inevitably squeeze my arm. But, the newest additions? Baclofen and gabapentin. Baclofen is a muscle relaxant, one that I desperately needed to help me get my hand, elbow, and shoulder muscles to stop spazzing and twitching just enough for me to sleep. As for the nerve pain, gabapentin was the weapon of choice. This helps with severe neuropathic chronic pain, essentially it rewires the way your body senses and reacts to nerve burns and pain stimuli. My dosage was high, 2 pills 3 times a day, daily until further notice. At least I was done with the hard painkillers, the side effects alone made me want to quit much sooner. The countless upset stomachs (not going for two weeks and then the opposite problem), headaches, nightmares, mood swings, insomnia, zero appetite ( counterintuitive when you need to eat to take meds), and yes the brain fog and gaps in memory. But my favorite part was getting my athletic self back, my true me. Even if the only kind of "athleticism" I could exert was through occupational and physical therapy. Occupational therapy focuses on hands, wrists, and elbows. This was the best place for me to start. Since my wrist surgery, I continued to regain strength in my new model. However, my fingers and the overall strength of my hand were nonexistent. So, I had to go through these necessary steps of OT. First and foremost, desensitization and scar tissue work. My scars were SENSITIVE. Every scratchy or rough fabric felt like sandpaper against my skin, for both my wrist and elbow. And the cherry on top? Immense scar tissue build-up attached directly to bones. The only way to smooth it out is to either graston tool scrape it or use a piece of dysem to stick to the skin and twist. Neither of these techniques are fun to experience, especially 3 times a week. Alas, as the weeks passed, my occupational therapist would then move on to resistance training. Introducing... the BTE machine. This thing would become my best friend. It was the only way I was able to build-up any muscle I had lost due to my surgeries. It was also the only way I was ever going to get back on the field. So, three times a week I would stand in front of this machine and alternate which tool I would use. The main ones I had to focus on? -doorknob -steering wheel -jar/ bottle top - the ball - the bat w/ the bat head attached to machine Each week we would try to increase the amount of resistance against me. With this AND tedious occupational (hand) therapy, my arm was DONE. Not to mention, that I also had to squeeze in time to practice holding a pencil, writing, and typing. I struggled with finding the balance of using the muscles enough to get stronger, but also allowing myself to rest when my nerve was unhappy. And, this only meant that softball had to take a backseat on the list of priorities, which was NOT what I wanted. But, at the end of the day, my therapist would always remind me that I had to listen to my body and not my heart. Health over anything else. This was the biggest adjustment for me, so physical therapy became my "softball". All the extra hours spent in the clinic would hopefully translate to endless hours on the field. I had to focus on getting the basic strength in my hand and arm back, especially for school. Typing and finger dexterity became priority number one to tackle. After about a month of pure focus on PT I was able to type for a whole 30 minutes! I know, this doesn't seem like much, but after those 30 minutes I was sore & tired, but not in excruciating debilitating pain. I could switch from speech to text and rest my hand, it was real progress in my eyes. Not to mention that I was also now able to tie my own hair back, brush my teeth, and do every other normal activity we take for granted. And the best part of it all? Yes, I was getting better, but I was also getting support from my team. With a new coach the positive energy boomed. To this day his words ring in my ears, " Get healthy jazz its the best way for you to give back to the team. They see your effort and heart".

new elbow & a new coach I was finally able to get surgery and focus on recovering without the fear of what she thought. I was also able to get the full support of my teammates during my recovery process without the pressure of a ridiculous coach's softball "ideals". It felt like a dream come true, another chance to become an active member of a softball program I was proud of. The team was able to participate in the search for a new coach. We each knew what we did and did not want in a coach. First and foremost, they had to be approachable. After about a month or two of searching, coach Jose was hired mid Fall, right before Nontraditionals (our fall "mini-season"), and boy was the team energized. Our love for softball would once again become solidified. I imagine that as a new coach, it must have been hard to hear me spill about my injury and two surgeries. I wasn't sure how a new coach would take knowing that one player hadn't participated in practice or games and, that I wouldn't be able to until I was totally healed. I was scared that my roster spot would be somehow compromised. To my delightful surprise, he handled the situation flawlessly. Empathy, compassion, and support. No threats, no judgment, and no manipulation. I felt as though I had been reawakened. I was a softball player, just one who needed time to get her cleats under her. And now with coach Jose, I felt like I had all the time my arm needed. Aside from softball, I was also able to focus more on finding my path through the academic part of college. The first thing I did? Switched from being a biology major wannabe to an inspired English, Public Policy double major. I had found my true passion despite feeling lost in my search for identity in other ways. I dove into my studies, learning new techniques to survive courses, yet again, without the use of my right hand. This was the hardest thing for me to do. As you recall, the initial switch of not being able to physically write or type anything was terrible. I lost interest in classes and gave up on the fantasy of being a biology major on her way to veterinary school. But, through the backlash and concerns over my major change, my confidence in the decision never wavered. A new commitment began, one where I would do anything it took to prove to others and myself that even though I had limitations, I could not be stopped. Even though I hated using any speech-to-text software, it became my only choice to get through classes. I spent hours learning shortcuts and techniques on various software. The two software that helped the most? Dragon Naturally Speaking and Google speak on Google Docs. However, finding time when I could "speak type" my essays was another obstacle. Between living with 3 roommates, and being on the softball team moments of silence and peace were difficult to obtain. Essays that would easily take me under 2 hours to complete if I were able to write and type, turned into 4.5-hour projects. In turn, my grades went up, and my spark was reignited. Even though I picked two majors that required lots of essays, the hard work felt rewarding. I focused on learning how to utilize literary writing skills as a way to speak up about injustice across a wide net spectrum of social issues. Without the help of my professors and, I hate to say it, losing my arm, I do believe that I would have forced myself through a major that I disliked. So, maybe things do happen for a reason?

We had a game against Pomona-Pitzer, at Pitzer. It started out just like any other away game. We shuffled into the vans and made our way to the field. As warm-ups began, so did the drama. All of a sudden our catcher was getting yelled at across the field, being grabbed by her chest protector. The rest of the team attempted to act as normal as possible to try and not bring more attention to our side of the field. It stopped. Then as the game began and tipped to Pomona's advantage, she grew more upset. More yelling, more accusations of "not caring about the sport enough" & "us taking her love of softball away from her", and parents overhearing and seeing everything. As the game came to an end, seniors and other members of the team teared up. A miserable way to kick off the end of their season. Before we shuffled onto the vans, we endured yet another lecture... one that fans (including a whole organization of 12-year-old softball girls ) overheard. Naturally, our AD received many complaints about her ongoing behavior. The last step before the final close of the season, exit meetings, one on one meetings with the coaching staff. Every player on the roster was expected to attend. To say that this meeting was awkward would be an understatement. I broke the news about the increasing pain and my concern for being ready for next fall right away, but that I wasn't going to give up trying to play again. I told them about possibly needing to get another surgery and her response was "Well, I know your gonna do what you want, so good luck". Haha, not a I'm so sorry or we will be here to support you, just see you next semester. cool. The team got some good news on 06/15/18, coach was fired. The process of finding the right person to rebuild the organization could begin. And I, could finally worry about the only thing that mattered, my health and happiness. (getting back to softball)

Every person reaches their breaking point. After tolerating berating texts and words for months from coach, I broke. I remember this vividly. I had just finished my last English class of the day with my advisor. We were approaching the end of the school year. As usual, we ended up chatting in her office. She was the only professor at the school that I felt safe to confide in. And so, that day I was invited to her office due to my “vibe seeming off”. As soon as we stepped into the sanctuary that was her office, I allowed to walls to fall. The first of many panic attacks… I sat her on her couch and further explained the events I had endured under her authority. After using one too many tissues, we crossed campus to the center of Academic Disability and Success. A building I had become more and more familiar with as my injury prevailed. One important thing to note, my advisor is not a woman to be taken lightly. If you want a person fighting for your happiness and health, Priya Jha is who you want in your corner. We met with the esteemed Amy Wilms and came to find that my coach and the trainers had in fact defied University Athletics Policies with how my injury was handled. There had also been previous whispers of emotional abuse from the softball athletic program as a whole. For the first time since the meeting with her, the day before my wrist surgery, I felt validated. My injury was not my fault. My pain was not invisible. I was finally heard. It was decided amongst Priya and Amy that the next step was to set up a meeting with the AD. This I both looked forward to and dreaded. On one hand, I didn’t want to become that kind of player, you know, the one that turns a team or organization against a coach? On the other hand, I had just been told by two deans of my own University that I needed to speak up. First and foremost for my own mental and physical health, but also on behalf of current and future bulldog athletes. Meanwhile, I still struggled with the fact that I had to tell coach sternly that I needed to stop going to morning workouts due to high sensitivity to the cold (not me but my arm & hand). This was not only my decision but strict order from my surgeon to stay the hell away from meaningless exposure to prolonged cold weather (due to my fingers literally turning purple and not being able to use it). She was not going to take this well. I had heard countless horror stories from previous teammates about how she had handled smaller (only in the sense that those injuries did not go on for months) (there was even a double wrist injury before... ) injuries in conjunction with the training staff. Not to mention, that I was seeing the same pattern of ignorance affecting other teammates and athletes. If an injured player showed signs of having to limit how much they could participate in workouts or practices, they were immediately second-guessed. Here are three common examples: Many of my teammates had not been used to performing overhead weights 2-3 times a week in addition to 4 days of intense use of their arms for softball. Rather than tweaking the workout routine for sore arms, they were expected to increase the weight they could tolerate every few sets. Coach turned away from any complaints about arm overuse and pain. We were held responsible for ensuring that our arms were ready to go every practice. But after lifting more than one should have, an injury is more prone to show up. One teammate had an amazing. She had never had many complaints about rotator cuff abnormalities. As the season went on her pain only spiked. MRI results later confirmed slight tears along with her shoulder muscles due to overuse and severe rotator cuff tendinitis. In a span of one month, 3 of our main players all complained of quad and hamstring tightness. Instead of coach talking with the training staff about lessening leg workouts while in season, they were told to “push through it”. To “spend more time in the training room prior to workouts rolling out and stretching in order to prevent these things.” In her opinion, it was always the girls’ fault. They were never doing enough for themselves or their bodies. And the worst part of it all? The training staff that we trusted to take care of the health of our bodies never listened to the athletes. Those 3 teammates of mine were all told that they had the same tightness and to perform the same generic hip stretches. (Luckily, 2 out of these three would heal but that's a story for another time) As you can probably tell, I spent a lot of my freshman year in the training room using the heating pad and any tools to scrape out tight muscles in my arm. So, this meant getting to know athletes from other sports as well. The sad truth was to the training staff, the only sport that really mattered Was the football team. They were the only ones who I saw get any sort of special treatments and exercises. Anyone else who came in with an ankle or knee problem was going to do the same marble exercise (grabbing marbles with toes from one full bucket to an empty one). Anyone who came in with back pain was stretched out the exact same way regardless if symptoms varied from one to the next, and so on and so forth…. This kind of "second-guessing" culture surrounding committed athletes will never end well, especially if it comes from a level of high authority, in this case, the trainers and coaches. These"qualified" trainers make injuries worse and build up a negative stigma for anyone who stays injured for a long period of time or anyone who has a tendency to get injured often. It inevitably spreads like cancer. Trainers in the pockets of coaches and coaches in the pockets of trainers. The dreaded "push till you can tolerate" back-handed phrase. It was really a test of your supposed strength. When in reality this picture should look like a cohesive unit of trainer, coach, and player trusting and listening to one another while dealing with an injury. I wish this was the truth.. but alas, the culture did indeed bleed into our team. With a coach who continuously second-guessed their own players and gave them little to no affirmation or guidance teammates began to turn on one another, and she is to blame for the issues that arose from that season. Two new stigmas took root. A prolonged injury is a fake injury and A hurt player slacks off. Teammates began to question the numerous amounts of limitations I had on my athletic self because she did. I was expected to share every single note written by my doctor after every appointment with her, to prove that I really did need my restrictions. As teammates saw me doing this it's no wonder they too grew cautious and curious. My image began to be molded into that of an injured player not doing her best for the team, ever. No matter what I said and tried to show in my actions towards my team, coach had already poisoned them. I couldn't handle the exterior questioning when I had ongoing interior increasing and everchanging pain. I snapped and then crumbled. I snapped at coach, at teammates all for the sake of defending the only things I had left, honesty and passion. I hated being hurt, that was a blatant truth. Ever since I was 10 years old I wanted to be a college softball player and nothing got my way until the day I got hurt. I love the game. I love everything it has taught me and everyone I have met through it. So, without it as an active part of my life... who was i? This was the beginning of the crumble. At the end of it all, I just wanted to be like my teamates. Capable, hardworking, strong women. I owe the normal parts of my freshman softball season to them.... my anxiety rose, tensions rose then thankfully diminished, and the season continued on. but this was not the first instance of team issues and tension between the coach/team dynamic... Through stories I heard from senior teammates about coach’s first year at the university, she refused to consider any feedback she got. This made her the most dangerous coach of all, one who only acts, not for the good of the team, but for her own agenda. I finally felt like I could speak my truth to the AD. I had heard rumors from parents of other teammates that they had tried to speak to him about their issues with her before, so my expectations were slim. On the day of the meeting, I met Amy and Priya near the fountain across the street from the Currier Gym. We entered the hallway and walked into the AD's office. He spoke in a gentle tone and immediately apologized for all the trouble I had been going through. My advisor spoke on my behalf about the toll she had seen on mental health. Amy spoke about the numerous accounts of coach forcing players to put softball above all else, regardless of the consequences in the classroom. Then, she spoke about the medical insurance policies that the trainers failed to advise me about and her blatant defiance of the medical-redshirt policy. To my surprise, he took these concerns to heart. I was then given the chance to speak to him about how all of these experiences had affected me over the past year. I honestly told him that I felt as though softball was being taken away from me on two accounts. First and foremost because of my injury, then because of how she coached. I had never had a coach blame an injury on a player, threaten to kick them off the day before major surgery, and then continue to make their first year at an otherwise amazing university miserable. I'll begin to handle this... were the last words he said.