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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.

here we go... It was time. There was no turning back, surgery number 2 had to be done. The pesky nerve that liked to snap over my elbow needed to be tamed, and the only way that was going to happen? Shaving down the elbow bone. That doesn't sound too bad, right? Thursday, October 3. Just a mere two days after my first anniversary with my boyfriend. Instead of staying up late planning for a fun weekend away, we were running around Target gathering supplies with my mom and prepping for the hospital. But, in an odd way, it was nice. It was something to look forward to, rather than feel impending doom. I wanted to think of this surgery as the saving grace, not an elbow surgery with an 80% success rate and 56% return to play success rate. Positivity was the motto. And the positivity I got from my surgeon, Dr. Riedel kept me going. He walked into the prep room filled with confidence in his surgery plan: 1. clean up scar tissue around UCL in elbow 2. shave down the elbow bone 3. clean up scar tissue and gunk around ulnar nerve 4. stitch-up. His main goals? Stop the nerve from moving and reduce tingles ( numbing of the last three fingers/ loss of sensation). Bonus for him? Get me back on the field. But, this became a necessity for me, getting back to the gym, back to me, was my main goal. But alas, we can't decide our own fate. There was an unexpected twist. Unlike my other surgery, it was very important I kept my arm mobile during the recovery process. After surgery, they wrapped it up in a white bandage with butterfly sutures along my scar. Despite the lidocaine they had applied, I could feel the scrape of the bandage outlining my newest beauty mark. Pain, discomfort, "nerve burns", and now a constant topical burn. It became a new sensation I had no control over, at least until I could change my bandages one week later. And boy, was I surprised. The constant burn that I was silently suffering about was a horrid rash. A quick picture to the parentals and a few phone calls later, I was off to urgent care! Now, I must admit, I am allergic to cats... however, my overall love of animals wins over better judgment. My mom's main concern was that my surgery site had become infected due to prolonged exposure to cat hair around my dorm :) ( I used to get terrible rashes and hives on my throat giving kisses and hugs to kittens as a kid) Once I got through registration and finally showed the rash to the dr, it was time to take the happy pills and let them clean the area. And.... Turned out that it wasn't because of Iris! After many tests, they found out it was an allergic reaction to the surgical glue dermabond. Just my luck. I was on my home shortly after ( 5 hours later) with a few medications to fight off any infection and discomfort. As for my actual elbow healing from surgery, it was going as expected. Slow and steady. After an ulnar release surgery, patients can expect two things, nerve slowly waking up (super painful process, spikes in nerve threshold) and being incapable of straightening their elbow for at least a week. So, right away I was in occupational therapy doing stretches, resistance work, and well-earned massages on my arm. The one concern my doctors had after this surgery was me sleeping on my arm in a twisted and dangerous (for my nerve & stitches) position. They were also worried that I would fall off my super tall dorm bed (yes, I fell out of my dorm bed a lot.. actually off beds in general since I was a kid... I'm a weirdo) . The only way to prevent both of those things? Sleepovers! My mom entrusted me with my boyfriend to keep me safe at night while I was on my medication when she had to return to the bay for work. And thank god she did. Sleep after this surgery became non-existent. Trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in with an arm that couldn't quite bend or straighten was my nightly struggle. Not to mention the spikes and twitches from my nerve also trying to settle in a new home. Oddly, the only position that worked was me against the wall with 2 pillows to keep my right arm parallel to the wall and Cal on the other side keeping me from turning on my sides. It was an ordeal, but it was necessary. Finally, after many hours stretching my nerve back out and everything in between my elbow and wrist, I could move my arm gracefully. As for my scar? I was falling in love! As a treat for recovering from the chaos Cal and I went on a little trip.... a delayed anniversary trip! Thanks to my high school alma mater for the free tickets from Fashion Show... DisneyBOUND!

its.... moving.... Getting back into throwing was both the most exciting and terrifying thing. I was relieved to be able to feel the dirt crunch under my metal cleats as I ran towards the outfield. Rather than stretching with the team and doing the same throwing exercises they had learned during the fall season, I had to follow my Dr's strict throwing program. So, that meant listening to my own body and knowing when to put the ball and glove down. This was by far the hardest part for me. I didn't want any more limitations, I wanted to be like my teammates, able-bodied. The more I progressed through physical therapy, the more capable I began to feel, that is until I started to feel the click, click, click. Ever since I got hurt in October of 2018, my arm started to make all kinds of weird popping noises and clicks. In fact, I've always been that one person cracking knuckles and popping their back. So, when some clicks became my new "normal" after my surgery I didn't think much about it. My Dr and PT at Loma Linda had told me that once any sort of clicks or pops started to pair with prolonged instances of pain to immediately notify my coach and see the trainer at school. I remember the practice it happened. I contemplated speaking up because of the backlash I knew I would receive from some teammates and my coach. But, once again pain made up my mind. I had to stop throwing. I went up to coach with tears in my eyes and said I needed to go see the trainer because my elbow and arm didn't feel right. She shrugged and replied with a cold, "then I guess go do what you need to do" I hated walking away from that field. Every time I had to listen to the fading sounds of bats my heart cracked. I entered the training room. I explained my concerns, and yet the focus landed elsewhere.. trainer: Wait. I didn't approve you for a throwing program. Let me see it. me: Oh, I didn't know you had to, this is from my PT and Surgeon at Loma Linda. So I figured I should listen to them. trainer: You are not supposed to go to an outside Dr. You tell coach about an injury, then me. me: You were already aware I was hurt, I didn't know I had to keep you in the loop that intimately. Coach knows about my medical status. trainer: Next time, follow the athlete protocol. Now, as for your concern today. Just ice it, it looks like inflammation and overuse. Just rest. You can go back to practice now. I had learned a hard lesson the first time I took his word. I wasn't going to do it again. I immediately called my surgeon's nurse and told her what had happened. Her response? "Dr. Riedel needs to see you right away. He has an opening in a half-hour." As I walked back down to the field my heart was pounding. I approached coach and told her that the trainer thought I was fine but that my Dr needed to see me ASAP. I got the same cold sarcastic response of "do what you need to do". If I was able to sprint all the way to Cal's car, near the baseball field (opposite side of campus), I would have. I hate letting anyone see me cry. Especially those who I didn't respect. But, alas, I could not. The entire walk over only thing was on my mind, "what if I can’t play anymore” Dr. Riedel came into the exam room and began feeling around my elbow right away. Asking where it hurt, for how long, and to describe the exact clicking that was causing pain. Here it is: Every time I go to bend or extend my elbow it clicks or pops. Like something gets stuck and then released with a sharp and constant tingle stab down my arm. It's been happening more and more... but most often and most painfully after I throw. I've also noticed that my fingers go numb when I type and write too much. Today I couldn't even grip the ball after I felt the click. It was too weak. He placed his hand right at the very tip of my elbow and began to explain... "So, you know when you smack your elbow against a table or a door and it curls on you cuz you feel tingles down your arm? Well, that right there ( he presses down, I wince) is your ulnar nerve. Meet your funny bone. Basically when you straighten and bend your elbow that nerve glides along to stretch and shorten as we move. Because you were in a cast in a supinated position (elbow bent, palm up) the ulnar nerve was stretched to allow for this motion. However, since you got misdiagnosed and stuck in a cast for way too long, the click kiddo... its the nerve moving. More specifically, snapping over the elbow bone causing the nerve to affect the dexterity of your fingers" He paused. "Let me show you. I'm sorry this will hurt." He gripped both sides of my elbow and stabilized it. Then he slowly mimicked a throwing motion and, click. Right there in plain sight, I saw it jump. Tears began to trickle down. "What does this mean for softball?" He looked at my chart and said, "Right now the priority is scheduling you for surgery. I need to get in there and get that nerve to stop snapping on you. I'm sorry but no throwing, no typing, and no writing. my world was falling apart

strength comes in many forms... I arrived at the U of R in a long-distance relationship. It had been a comfortable and familiar one, but one that lacked the most important virtues of all, unconditional love and sacrifice. These things didn't become apparent until I began to experience the hustle, bustle, excitement, and inevitable stress of college life. Not to mention learning the narrow balance of what it was going to mean to be a student-athlete. So, there I was, far from anything familiar. I clung to glimpses of "normality", meeting students and especially other athletes from the Bay Area. Since it was orientation week, it was the perfect week to mingle and start to find a way to feel at home in Redlands. Being the outgoing person that I am, this wasn't hard for me. I quickly found a group of Bay Area friends. The amount of time we spent together exploring a new campus didn't mix well with trying to manage a relationship tied to a phone. My space for individuality began to narrow and it became an issue. Like I said before, I chose Redlands for me. I chose it for my best chance at a great education and the amazing opportunity to play college softball. My dream did not have enough space for any restrictions. I had to make a decision that was best for me. I broke free to give my dreams everything I had and I don't regret it. It's also what led me to meet the man of my dreams. A mere two weeks after orientation week my friend Hunter, a fellow Bay Arean baseball player, and I went to the dorm across from ours to meet two more guys and enjoy some Thursday night football. I remember walking to the building and talking to Hunter about how happy I was to be able to just go hang out with friends without feeling like I was sacrificing a piece of myself. Wearing my Frank Gore jersey, I walked in and met up with CJ and Joaquin (more Bay Arean homies). It was the first night of Thursday Night Football. Growing up I had always had more guy friends than girlfriends, something about having a more "tomboy" personality. I felt back in my natural element. As we walked towards the open spots on the couch, writing on the back of someone's shirt caught my eye. It read, "South Bay Sports Training, Trosky Baseball." Long story short, I asked if he was from the Bay Area and explained that I used to play softball at that same facility. The more people I was meeting, the more homey campus started to feel. Especially, having more direct ties to home. Cal and I became fast friends swapping stories about the facility, people we both knew, and last but not least, our excitement over playing D3 sports. Having guy friends I could go to the batting cages with or even just casually play catch with was great. Yes, I had my female own teammates but after going to an all-girls high school and having a stricter past relationship, I missed having close guy friends. Since both Cal and Hunter were trying out for the baseball team, it was a great reason to hang out and get some work in. More weeks passed, more time put into softball, and the more time Cal hung around. Before I knew it, Cal had fessed up about catching ~feels~ while I ran in the opposite direction. (hehe sorry love!) I had zero interest in worrying about someone else's feelings, worries, and schedule. Most importantly, I wanted to really experience being independent and single, to put myself first without feeling guilty. But the cheesy cliche held true, you don't choose you who fall for. By October 1st we were officially a couple. Yes, some thought it was too quick of a transition from recently single to being in yet another relationship. However, what many don't know is the slow and steady pace we set early on. Our friendship was the initial priority, not losing a new found branch of support and individualism. This became the foundation of our relationship. Lesson One: Unconditional love So if you remember the timeline of my injury, I got hurt on October 24. A mere 23 days after Cal and I just made things official. Great. A new relationship and I lose all confidence in myself both mentally and physically. Having a huge cast, gaining weight and losing the ability to play softball made my spin. I felt as though my whole world came crashing down because I only focused on my apperance. My appearance as a "worthy" collegiate athlete... something I realized I had taken for granted my whole softball career. My self "worth" was solely based on my belief in the things my body could help me accomplish- feeling confident in my curvy body and kicking ass on the field. When I got hurt, I felt like a failure. Everything was changing and it was all out of my control. The one person who never lost sight of the real me? Cal. Forget the fact that yes he's a guy and yes we were dating. That has nothing to do with what I have to say. I am simply talking about what it takes to truly show love and support for someone you care for. If my close girl friend had been at Redlands I'm sure I would have learned this in a different manner, but I learned about true unconditional love (both platonic and not) from my time spent with Cal. His constant reminders of the athlete he knew I was at heart, his honesty about his own struggles with physical fluctuations and his experience of being hurt in highschool and away from basenall made me stronger . So, even though I felt unathletic, overweight , and unworthy his love shined unconditionally. I don't know many college guys who would stick with a girl after going through what I did a month into college... especially when there are so many other options out there Lesson Two: Sacrifice = no " I want to" Being in constant pain or having a prolonged injury takes a toll on the individual. It also puts a lot on a relationship, let alone a new one. I began to feel like such a burden whenever Cal would offer to carry my books, my backpack or even listen to me cry and vent about how much pain and stress I was in. Confiding in him became second nature and more times than not I would end the conversation with I'm sorry, I know you have to sacrifice a lot to be with me. Cal's relentless answer has always been, " No, no I want to". His choice to continue to be by my side has taught me the best lesson ever. Sacrifices are not always sacrifices in a relationship. They are decisions we choose to follow through on because it is something that is seen as essential. Cal saw my happiness and wellbeing as essential, not as a sacrifice. Why? because that is what real love is. Becoming better versions of ourselves through teamwork. He saw how badly I wanted to play softball again, he saw how much I missed my family, and he saw my heart. I am not saying that I don't still struggle with feeling like a chronic burden on Cal. But I am saying that I am beyond blessed to have found someone to help keep my head up on my lowest days. This switch of something being a choice rather than a sacrifice has helped changed my perception on dealing with pain. So, to all those hangouts with the guys or extra time at the field after practice that you decided not to do in order to show me love, support and admiration when I needed it most thank you forever...

finally, I was back... kinda, sorta, almost Nobody tells you before you start, but surgery is the easy part. Getting through months of physical therapy, on the other hand, is very very difficult. I was going at least twice a week to see my occupational therapist. Between scheduling around practice, classes, workouts and now neverending soreness, therapy was a pain in the ass, but a necessary one. Not only did she help me with regaining fine motor skills in my hand, but she also did deep tissue massages to try and give me some extra time using my hand for school. Writing and typing became the two things that became nearly impossible to withstand for more than 30 minutes... These weekly visits gave me sanity. Seeing the way I was progressing through physical therapy since my surgery was my only source of hope. And thankfully I was progressing a lot faster than anyone thought.. in fact, my surgeon told me I healed the quickest compared to previous patients who had my surgery. Every physical therapist will assign different stretches, exercises, and workout programs depending on your progress and their knowledge of your issues. So, the weeks right after my surgery I was using clothespins as a way to strengthen up my hand. Then, it moved to manipulating putty for finger flexibility and range of motion. Finally, came the exciting stuff, band, and weight work. Moving past the different resistance strengths of bands only means one thing, you are getting stronger. So, when the blue band (the hardest one), came easy, I knew that being able to use weights meant I was one step closer to being able to throw. During my months of recovery, I was slowly able to actually participate in more team-related practices. However, just like with every injury, it is vital to not over do it. Everything takes time to heal. So while I was able to do crunches and jog a little bit, I was still limited. Limited not only by medication that made me feel uncoordinated but by pain caused by inflammation build up around my wrist. But this didn't stop me from giving it my all, even if my coach didn't see my efforts. To her, it was always oh well if you can do a part of this why not do x , y and z. No matter how many times I tried to explain the stress I was under both mentally or physically, I was the one who made excuses. Practice became a hostile place, no longer a place of familiarity and love. I feared that my love for softball wasn't shining enough... Finally, after weeks of focusing on light weights for shoulder strength, I was cleared to start my throwing program. Granted, I could only throw a certain amount of feet, and a certain amount of throws, but it was the first time in a long time that going to practice didn't feel like a tease. I don't think I stopped smiling once that afternoon. I threw the ball to a teammate and we giggled. She said "Wow, I remember throwing with you during the recruitment camp.. that was the last time...this is crazy. So happy for you dude." My inner light was reignited. In the weeks that followed I raved about the soreness, I felt in my shoulder, the good kind of sore, the one where your body tells you " Look what I can do!" But it also reminded me of everything I still couldn't do. The more I pushed my arm for softball, dyfi and PT, the more the soreness trickled down into my hand. I had to face the truth.. some things were causing more harm than good. So, I went home and made a list: Things I need to use my hand for : Things I want to use my hand for: - softball, throwing -softball, throwing -writing, typing -future -everyday activities -exams, notes I realized very quickly that I needed and wanted to use my hand for too many important things. Everything needed my hand... but only a few things could be a top priority. I went to my mentor and asked for advice about time management in college in general, but also advice on how to manage time and pain. I felt tapped out... Her advice? To not use my hand as much for school so that I could keep fighting for my passion, to play D3 softball. So, I spent time training my left hand. I changed my mantra from "I can't do this anymore.." to "look what my left hand can do!" Here's a proud list of the things I taught myself : 1. type with left hand only (feel the burn & lack of patience lol) 2. speech to text typing 3. write lefty and legible 4. carry books and open a doorknob

going up? yea it's all fun and games till you come down It had been a month since getting the pins removed. A month full of healing, and new concerns. Did the surgery work? Well, happy to report that yes, it did. But, with one problem gone, two more came to take its place. During the last 4 months of wearing a cast, I had told doctors about a painful pulse in my forearm. I had been told it was normal due to the number of times I was misdiagnosed from the first day of my injury and therefore left in a cast for 8 months... The pulse and ache that I felt in my arm was muscle atrophy from being in a supinated position. I mean, okay, makes sense. I wasn't able to move the lower extremity of my arm that entire time. The only solution was to begin increasing medication that would help with the inflammation pain. Great, more ingredients for my morning cocktail. Meloxicam, tramadol, and now oxycodone. The beginning days of opioid dosing can be a blur, but the moments that are the highest and lowest are easiest to remember... There I was lying on the ground, flat on my stomach. Finally, something I could finally do again without the struggles of maneuvering around a cast. An alarm goes off, Cal turns to me "Hey love, time to take your medicine". He took note of the time and got back to work... The two most difficult parts about taking pain medication are remembering to eat and finding sufficient entertainment before it kicks. I rarely remembered to eat, mostly because the side effects of all my medications combined made my appetite fluctuate tremendously. Finding entertainment also had its ups and downs. See, I was able to get extensions for my assignments so on my rest days (my more medicated days) I could recover from school. After all, doing homework with one hand took more brainpower and time than I had while in pain. Finding friends who had similar schedules as mine to try and find a good way to stay positive while on strong meds was proving to be difficult. Everyone was go, go, go, especially during the beginning of midterms. So, I started to plan out a medicine schedule with my boyfriend. I would only take the strong meds around him so that I could hang out with him and his roommate in order not to be alone and manage the many side effects I would experience. Not to mention, I was physically unable to open any pill bottle with one hand, stupid child lock. Cal's roommate loved the classic tv show, Friends. His obsession worked out for both of us. He got to enjoy his show, and it gave us something to talk and bond over. Tyler's laugh could force anyone who was having a tough day to crack a smile. So, there I was on their carpet, watching Friends, trying very hard not to distract Tyler from his last assignment of the night. But, alas, the meds won... "Cal, do you have colored pens and paper? I wanna color I'm bored". They both laugh and promptly get back to their laptops. Minutes pass...the top of my head begins to tingle and the room slowly begins to sway. me: hehehehehe boys: *silence* tv: not a funny scene me: hehehehehehehehehehehehehe tyler: slowly turns around (the creak of the dorm chairs gave his swift move up) cal: whats going on over there jaz? me: everything... hehehehe ... is blue tyler: Yup, she's finally lost it cal: what do you mean? me: the pen is blue, the crayon is blue, the carpet is blue, tyler's bedsheets are blue, tyler's shirt is blue, his jeans, his towel... man's got an issue tyler: HAHA what the heck, your the one cracking up about a color... Im not the crazy one... cal: wow... idk what to say... tyler: here eat some goldfish. you need food. me: stops laughing, Hell yea, goldfish. This is by far one of my favorite memories of my early medicine days because it was one of the few times where things didn't feel so low. The medicine was able to give me some mental and physical reprieve from the pain.... so I started to cherish those moments, the moments where I felt as though I was drifting in ecstasy. From choosing to sing silly songs in the hall (sorry neighbors lol) with new girlfriends I had met while spending so much time in Cal's dorm building, to binging Lord of the Rings with the best guy friends, I found my moments of happiness. But the more I took the prescribed medication, the more the happy moments began to turn into growing side effects. Here's a list of just some of the ones I felt: nausea vertigo nightmares night sweats headaches irregular bowel movements (so uncomfortable ) loss of appetite anxiety brain fog dependency loss of sleep or oversleeping The side effects took center stage. It started to become a huge stress deciding whether to be in terrible pain and think straight or be pain-free and push through it all. At the end of it, I always thought about what would be best for me, not anyone else. The doctor's understood my pain, they knew I needed those periods of rest and reprieve, even if they weren't perfect, it was something. I had to keep taking them... I had to find a way to keep going

The only other surgery I had gotten was a tooth surgery in 8th grade. I don't remember being nervous about it at all. This was different. Who cares about losing a tooth, I was scared that I would lose my arm. Obviously not amputation or something crazy like that, but more so its strength and abilities. I had done everything I possibly could to try and get better without surgery, now all that was left "to do" was to trust my surgeon. My mom flew in on Thursday night for my surgery. I was so happy to have her support, especially after the conversation I had with coach that day. We stayed up and talked until I was finally able to sleep past the nerves. Friday morning, surgery day. No water, no food, and no meds, but yes to hella comfy clothes. We arrived at the hospital and began the check-in process, the most dreaded part of the day. I am a classic overthinker when I am forced to sit and wait. And, that's exactly what they have you do before surgery, wait. While laying in the hospital bed I called family members for blessings, good lucks, and a distraction. Then, the dehydration and hunger kicked in. Ugh, the headaches and cramps, horrible. Then, right as I was about to take a little siesta, BOOM! A clipboard hits the end of the bed and an energetic man stands before me. "Hi, I'm dr. Riedel. I'll be performing the procedure on you." Now, remember, this is the first time I'm meeting him, the day of surgery. "So, I read over all your files and looked at all Xrays and MRIs. I've decided I'm going to do another surgery on you, not the one suggested by Dr. Wongworawot." He went on to explain that the initial surgery plan was not going to be a long-term fix, more like a temporary one. Essentially, the original plan was to fix the dissociated bones by mending and supporting the tendon that stretches out across the two. This would have been done by putting an incision across the two bones and placing pins in the wrist bone to stabilize. Now, Dr. Riedel was saying that the incision actually needs to be closer to the ulnar side of the wrist bone in order to mend my severally torn TFCC. The plan was to grab the tendon and some synthetic material to elongate it. Dr. Riedel explained it like this, "Think of a rubber band that you hook onto a pin and stretch it out onto another pin to hold it tight and in place. Then, the tendon and bones will fuse naturally and start the healing process that they were hoping for when they put you in a cast." Well, Okay... let's do it. The anesthesiologist came by next, asked about my medications, and then gave me the good stuff. The only way I can describe the feeling of starting to feel the anesthesia? Levitation of the mind and body. Both inevitably escape you. Conversations become harder to follow and much funnier, while your body begins to drift to sleep. The last thing I remember was yelling "Ciao!" to my mom and my aunt as they wheeled me into a long hallway towards the operation room.... The days right after the surgery were by far the easiest to get through. The copious amounts of medication made me sleepy, which helped pass the time. However, the more the meds wore off and I began to come back to life, so did the unbearable pain. Although, now something was different. I looked down at my arm and saw it wrapped up in a new cast. It felt cushioned, stable and safe. I did it.. now the anticipation of being rid of the damn cast in weeks to come. ~4 weeks Later~ The day had finally come. I was going to finally be able to see my wrist since surgery. As I looked down smiling at my hand, Dr. Riedel said, " Okay, we need to take those pins out now". Wait. Take them out?! This was a vital detail that I must have missed during the explanation of the surgery. He continues"well, yea those things are probably super crusty... gross". I looked at him and said, "Okay, when do I need to schedule to go under and have them taken out?" He tried so hard not to laugh, "Uhh, kiddo we are taking them out right now, no medications needed." Great :) We walked into the room where I had gotten fitted for my cast. I sat down in the chair and held on tight to my boyfriend's hand. The nurse grabbed some heavy-duty pliers, grabbed my wrist, and went to work. The beginning sensations were numbing. I could feel the cold pliers touch the exposed metal and it vibrated across my bones. At first, she pulled gently trying to get them to loosen up and slide out easily. Nope. "Honey, I am so sorry but I need to start pulling harder because they bent." Then, the tugging started. And when I mean tugging, I mean both hands on my wrist, legs wrapped around the chair and full force. I started bawling. I could feel exactly where the pins had bent to the natural curve of healed wrist bones. Every turn, twist and pull scratched around the tender scar tissue that had begun to form. Meanwhile, my loving boyfriend had gripped my hand and turned away giggling. Yes, giggling. As soon as the torture was over we headed to the car and drove back to campus. The first words spoken through tears? "why did you laugh at me... " Cal grabbed my left hand and said "No, no I wasn't laughing at you I just couldn't deal with how hard she was tugging your wrist" He then grabbed his phone and showed me this giggling: "she straight up looked like this..you would have been uncomfortably laughing too.." And with that, the pain subsided, and once again love healed.

The day before surgery is both exciting and stressful, at least for me. The most important thing to prep? Your mind. I was excited because I was finally going to get fixed. Fixed for classes, my social life and most importantly, softball. It was February 8th now... only a month until season would be in full swing. I was determined to stay relaxed and as happy as I could be before tomorrow morning. As I walked to my first class, Constitutional Law, my phone started to ring. I picked it up, "Hello?" "Hi, this is Dr. Wongworawot calling about your procedure tomorrow. Do you have some time to chat?" Gasping for breath as I made the final incline to the 3rd floor of Hall of Letters, I dropped my bag and signaled to my professor that I was on the phone with my dr. "Yes, Dr. Is everything okay?" He sighed, "Well, I have a scheduling conflict with your surgery tomorrow. There is a patient with a dire arm injury that I need to operate on. I will either have to reschedule you for another month or have my other dr perform the procedure on you." I sat down and wiped tears from my eyes. "I don't want to have to wait. Who is the other dr, do you trust him?" Dr said, "Yes, his name is Dr. Riedel, many patients have great things to say about him. Call your parents and let me know.." Shit. I walked back into the classroom, picked up my things, told my professor the issue and was excused. What the hell was I going to do. To say that my parents were not happy with my Dr's decision to prioritize another patient is an understatement. I mean I was pissed too. It had now been 4 months since my injury, 4 anxiety ridden months. I wanted it to end. I wanted normalcy. After a long conversation (and research online about this new dr) with my family, we decided, surgery was going to be tomorrow. Their fighting spirit made me feel secure. They knew I was doing what was right for me. Even though I had my parents support, I felt like nobody else understood what it was like to be kept away from a game that you love... then it hit me. Someone did know. Coach. My coach hadn't really been involved in my injury processing. Her awkward social tendencies didn't make it any easier to approach. So, when I got a text from her shortly after dealing with the craziness of the early morning, I thought it was a sign. "Hey can you come by the office to talk today?" Finally, a one on one conversation, an opportunity to express my nerves about surgery on my biggest asset, my arm. I've never been one to feel comfortable talking about vulnerabilities, so this was going to be a big step. I needed this. Our meeting was set for 2:30 that afternoon. I met coach promptly at her office after my last class was done for the day. I walked up the narrow stairway and began rehearsing the details I wanted coach to know about my surgery. When I made it to the top, the assistant coach smiled, said hello, asked about my general well being and that was that. Coach opened her door and gestured me inside, closing the door behind us. We sat down facing one another in her cramped office. The conversation began with the usual small talk... classes, campus events, teammates, etc. Then, it became real. (`~the following is paraphrasing off memory~) Okay jaz, don't tear up, tell her what happened this morning and how stressed you are about tomorrow. This is what you wanted, a chance to be openly vulnerable about the injury and my anxiety . She will understand....she was hurt in college too. I explained the chaos of switching surgeons last minute, having to leave class to figure out scheduling and appointments for check in, and the post-op appointment... all the while taking deep breaths to try and control any tear that dared to fall "Well, that's actually what I needed to talk to you about. Your commitment to the team. The coaching staff feels as though you are only prioritizing yourself with your appointments and non-softball related meetings, not the team. This is not what it means to be a bulldog. I know you have your surgery tomorrow, and you will be missing the game, which is fine since its non-conference, but after that, we expect to see a change in effort and heart for the wellbeing of the team. This means no more missed practices, morning workouts or team events. If there are then we will have to meet again about your standing with the team." With every sentence my heart broke more and more. This has to be a misunderstanding. "I understand it may look like I don't care about practices or workouts because I just cheer on the girls, but it is all I am able to do right now. I have been trying to show that I am there for the team in other ways, most importantly that I still have their back as a member of the team, not just an injured player. As for missing practices and workouts I do apologize. Scheduling drs appointments around 5 courses and practice everyday has become difficult since the clinic for my dr is only open on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (which was something we had previously discussed and thought was settled) I have only missed one morning workout due to me being too heavily dosed by suggestion of my dr on prescribed painkillers so that I could sleep for my classes. I am trying really hard to manage medications, pain, class and softball, it's just been a lot at once..." "Like I said, coach and I need to see the changes, so I know you have your surgery tomorrow, good luck and I hope after things get better." She sat up and reached for the door. Quickly wiping any tears that may have built up away, I sat up and walked out the door... nothing more was said. Looking back on this now, I'm surprised I didn't fall while jogging down the steep narrow staircase that leads into the locker room. All I know is I wanted to get the hell out of there. I sat in front of my locker and while looking up at my jersey, the tears won. I couldn't hold it in anymore... the shock had settled, heart had broken, and all respect for coach had dissipated. It felt as though my world was falling apart.. 3 minutes later the captains showed up to change for practice. There I was, out in the open, bawling. shit. Immediatley the questions began... I told them everything. The response? Nothing but love and support for me after what I had to endure. Finally, people who understand my heartache... I no longer felt isolated and ashamed for being hurt. They reminded me that I did nothing wrong and to hold my head up high before my surgery, because what really mattered at the end of the day was my health and overall well being. I left the locker room and went straight to my boyfriend's dorm. All the while one question weighed on me.... what if she kicks me off the team if I don't heal fast enough? fuck.... surgery here I come..

having a piece of cake taken away after a small taste is not bittersweet, it's just bitter. Softball was my first true love. My first word as a baby was even ball! The only other injury to take me away from the game for an extended period of time was my right MCL. Even though I was on crutches for about 4-5 months and not able to play, I was still able to throw. This one detail meant the world to me. It made me feel as though I was a part of practices, workouts, and even games. See, when you start playing a sport from such a young age it becomes essential to one's identity. This is especially true for me... Growing up people always labeled me as a girly girl, completely ignoring the fact that I was indeed an athlete at heart. As I continued to get older the realization of "who gives a shit what anyone thinks" hit home. Why did I have to be just one thing? On the field, people knew the strength of my arm. Off the field, people knew my personable personality. The worlds meshed in high school. Presentation gave me the ability to truly believe in who I was and who I wanted to be. And I wanted to be a college softball player. I longed for the freedom of being away at college with new people, new coaches, and a new place to explore. A chance to take what I was beginning to learn about myself as an athlete and set it free from any judgment. So, when I got the opportunity to sign to play for the U of R on Valentine's Day in 2017, my dreams had come true. Despite the tense conversations of being far from family and my then significant other, I chose softball. More importantly, I chose myself. I had been undermined and challenged enough to not take the chance to play college softball at such a beautiful campus like Redlands. Going through the whole recruiting process is such a headache, but it was also one of the most rewarding experiences ever. Nobody else got me to this point. I did. It was one of the first times that I wasn't listening to any negative thoughts or comments. I wanted to take the time to appreciate the moment. I, Jazzy was a college softball player and I was at my happiest. That happiness felt fulfilled in the first months on campus. I was working out, practicing, and even playing in fall scrimmages. Getting used to the scholar-athlete schedule definitely took a lot of energy, but it was the exhaustion that I had yearned for all my softball career. I was living my dream... After I got hurt, the dream became a nightmare. Waking up for early morning weights was no longer a great start to the day. Instead, it was just a consistent reminder of what I couldn't do. Rushing out of class to get to the locker room no longer became a rush of adrenaline that drove you into practice. Each step towards my empty locker made my heart beat faster... "don't cry", I'd have to tell myself. Stay positive, stay happy and stay supportive of the team. This task became harder and harder. My heart ached on picture day as the other freshmen smiled for their roster picture and talked about being able to wear the uniform for games. That would be the only time I would be able to get dressed... players on the IL don't wear the uniforms. Remember, I had been on the IL before, so I knew the "protocol" an injured player should follow; even if you are hurt you are active in practice. I reminded myself to not seem selfish and pitiful. Since I was no longer able to show my strength, work ethic, and commitment to the team and my coach on the field, off the field would have to suffice. And who am I off the field? Yup, extroverted and supportive. So, the role I took on was the "helping hand" (ironic I know) for any teammates and coaches. I put my heart into it, just as I would in the weight room. The more time I spent away from physically participating the more my anxiety grew. Do my teammates think I'm weak? Does coach? Oh god, coach, Does she think I'm a joke or a waste of a roster spot? How can I show her that I am present? Should I learn how to throw with my left hand? Do I look too down or sad at practice? Questions like these and many more continued to spin around my head. All the while, my anxiety about my own general wellbeing also began to erupt. How the hell was I going to do tests with one hand? Can I learn to write with my left hand? Can my Drs workaround softball and classes? But at the end of it all, the only questions I obsessed about? When would I be okay to play softball? When can I be me again?

time to pinpoint the issue... MRIS never used to cause me any anxiety. I had gotten them done before on my knee and shoulder in the past. So woohoo, here we go again getting more imaging done. Little did I know that a needle would have to be inserted right in the joint gap of my wrist bones.... while I was awake. The Reasoning? They needed to inject contrast into the area in order to see all the webs of tendons and muscle. The more scientific term is called arthrography. Essentially, the dr told me that it was going to look for damage to specific areas surrounding my loose bones. My answer to cease the pain. Time passes at a different tempo inside the MRI tube. I think it's because your senses are nullified by the loud clanking and pain stimuli. The overwhelming experience makes the world seem still, which only makes having to lie still even harder. Every muscle wants to twitch and every nerve yearns to fire. The only thing left to do is close my eyes and fade into the music playing in the headphones. Finally, the minutes pass.... As the radiologist preps to take the needle out, he tells me to take a deep breath as he pulls it out. I feel like it is vital for me to tell you that I hate needles. Shots, blood draw, and even piercings don't bother me, but as soon as I make eye contact with the needle inside of me? Game over. I'm sure you can only guess where this is going... Radiologist: ok turn your head me: *whips head away from wrist asap* Radiologist: sweetie would you mind scootching your arm closer to us? me: *turns head to make eye contact with dr* oh yea me: .... I don't feel.... so.... Radiologist: I got your head and arm, you passed out, we are bringing you some apple juice me: I'm stupid, why did i look? haha nurse (with bomb apple juice) : it happens a lot more than you think,haha A few gulps of apple juice and I was ready for some answers. The dr came in and explained the imaging. As soon as he put them out for my dad and me to see, I saw there were two highlighted spots... yup... not just one but several. I zoned back into the conversation with tears in my eyes. "Do I really need surgery? I'm a college softball player.." I couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, "the ligaments that hold the two bones together have been torn since the start. It will only get worse with time if you don't get this fixed right away." This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. How could a minor sprain turn out to be something much much worse? My sadness quickly turned to frustration, frustration over the wasted time being misdiagnosed. Then, it clicked... the trainer. I turned to my phone and wiped my tears. I went to the album I had created in Iphotos, the picture of my wrist right after the injury was now staring back at me. "Should it have been obvious to the trainers at my school that I needed an MRI and X-rays right away?" Then I heard the words that have stuck with me.. "Oh yeah, it should have been their policy. The trainer is not a dr, he can't diagnose." I walked out of orthoNorCal with even more questions. Which I now realize is a common issue when the issue causing pain isn't just bone but tendons. I turned to my dad, "I wish I had just broken my wrist. I would have healed by now.."

Important fact: Star Wars, The Last Jedi came out this month Months had passed since the initial injury... months since I played softball..months since I'd been able to feel free. All the appointments, the meetings with professors to adapt to school difficulties, meetings with trainers who didn't tell you good news, these all take a toll on you. So, when I heard that I would be able to have my cast off for the three weeks of winter break.. I was ECSTATIC. Dr. Wongworawot wanted to check in on the progress of the restabilization of the wrist bones. He was also growing more concerned about my complaints of feeling forearm pain. Since my incident with the ocean.... I hadn't seen my wrist or the palm of my hand. Once, the cast came off the same tests were done to check on the rotation and overall stability... it still hurt like hell. He helped slip my hand into my brace. "Okay, I think it will be good for you to move your forearm around and slowly straighten out your elbow. Don't do anything strenuous with your hand. Take it easy and have a good Christmas" This was the second time I was flying with a cast/ brace on and I'll let you in on a little secret. Flying with either is not fun. Going through security and loading bags into overhead bins with all the eyes on you. I hated asking for any help, I wanted to still feel capable, so I swung my bag off my left shoulder and used the momentum to chuck it into the bin. Despite the loud noise, it was always a success (as long as I packed light lol). Ever since I was little I love to fly. I'm not sure what it is, but being on a plane has always been a calming and happy experience. But now, as the pressure in the cabin increased, so did the swelling. Slowly, I started to feel the steady throbbing of my heartbeat in my wrist then, eventually my fingers. "It's only a 45-minute flight... I can do this" I arrived at SJO and finally headed home. The first week home without a cast was great. Being able to feel the soft fur of my puppies with my right hand was magical healing. But the best part was the non-communal showers! Yup, while I was at school living in the dorms, I had to figure out a whole system on how the heck to shower without getting my cast wet. So just imagine a little freshman with a bathrobe and like 3 trash bags wrapped around my arm with rubber bands, hot stuff.. right? But, now that I only had my brace on, I was finally able to slip it off and feel the warm water run over my arm. After being stuck in a cast for a while, my arm was itchy and hairy, so being able to actually wash it sounded great, and great they were. That is until January 3. I remember it being a normal night. Christmas had passed, star wars binged (our family tradition near the holidays + new movies were coming out)and the reality of having to go back to school was starting to set in. Even though I missed Redlands, it was nice not having to push myself through the pain of course assignments. I turned on the showerhead and let the water warm up. I hopped in and started my shower routine. Reaching with my left hand, I grabbed the pump for my shampoo bottle. Using the palm of my right hand I applied minimal pressure to get the gel out. Now, for the hard part... detangling my hair. Since I have curly hair, the best way to do this is by using a special comb while it's wet. So, like I have all my life, I instinctually swept my hair off my right shoulder to begin parting it into sections. SNAP... my vision went blurry and red, all sounds seemed to buzz...I quickly grabbed my wrist and started screaming crying. My mom ran into the bathroom and found me sitting on the floor wrapped in a towel still dripping wet. I couldn't speak. It was the worst pain I had ever felt. I finally mustered up the words "something's not right" after the panic attack had ceased. My dad took photos for reference and off we went at 9 pm, ER trip 3... This visit was different. I had been in pain before while in a waiting room, but not like this. The never-ending sharp stabbing throb kept me in shock. I barely spoke while going through registration. Two hours passed and the sharp pain turned into a burning sensation that trickled down to my fingers... all I could think was something didn't feel right. Finally, a nurse walking by saw me cuddled up to my dad with my jacket wrapped only around my hand. "Hi, how is your pain. Have you been updated about your wait time?" I shook my head and my dad slowly unwrapped the sweater, unveiling my now purple and swollen hand. "Oh dear come with me". The nurse quickly put me in a wheelchair and rolled me into a room where the orthopedic surgeon was standing. More X-rays, more movement, more waiting, and more pain. Finally, the dr steps back into the room with the imaging and places his hand on his shoulder, "wow, what did you do? Fight a bear?" As I explained my injury and what previous Drs had said, he motioned for the nurse to come in. She walked in with a needle filled with a clear liquid. The dr continues, "We are going to give you morphine because after looking at these Xrays, I know you got to be in tremendous pain" The nurse slides on gloves and asks "right cheek or left cheek, we have to inject into an area with lots of muscle and fat" Without a care in the world stuck out my right cheek and said, "poke me". They placed me in "the cloud". It was the super comfy white chair that they put patients in to check on them after administering strong narcotics. The Dr continued to explain the images. "Well, I don't know why you were let out of your cast. You need surgery." My heart sank... surgery?! It was just a sprain..."The radial and ulnar bones dissociated from one another. During the X-ray you could see unnatural positioning of the bones. The snap you felt may have been the ligament that attaches the two together across the two bones. I made an appointment for you to get an MRI on Tuesday". Once again, I got fitted for a fiberglass cast.... what the hell. 15 minutes passed after hearing the words surgery... Suddenly, I began to sink deeper and deeper, into "the cloud". It was like I had just woken up. Was I really wiping away tears while watching Spongebob? Then I remembered, the morphine! It hit. The nurses were right. This shit was real. No wonder they needed to ground patients to "the cloud". I felt unstoppable. As if in those hours of having the medication pulsing through my veins, anything was possible, even happiness after hearing the devastating news. When the nurses heard my giggling coincide with Spongebob they knew it was discharge time. Now, remember prior to this I had been on some painkillers, but, this did not compare whatsoever. I was in another dimension. I was put in another wheelchair and rolled out of the building. I was expected to walk to the car, easy enough right? Nope. With the disorienting floaty feeling of the meds, I became paranoid. My poor dad, at 2 am, in the middle of the parking lot, called me like a new owner trying to convince a puppy to follow him. No motivation? No movement. Oddly, I remember this as if it happened yesterday. This is how the next part went down: Dad: Come on druggy follow me to the car. Me: meh Dad: Aren't you tired? Nurse: Go on honey, you are going to want to crash in bed soon, I promise. Me to nurse & dad: I'm not supposed to follow strangers....*giggling* Dad: .... *confused look on his face* *brief pause* Okay, remember Star Wars? The new movie we just watched? Me: *shakes head* Dad: Okay, I'm Chewbacca and your the porg. Now, follow me like they follow him everywhere. Me: *starts to literally waddle like porg* then stops Nurse: giggles Dad: *doesn't hear my steps and turns around" What's wrong? Me: Well, Chewbacca makes a noise for the porgs to follow Dad: *rolls eyes and scratches head" Ugh... okay CHEWBACCA NOISEEEEE Me: *quickly resumes & accelerates waddle* The rest is a blur...

lesson learned: no casts at the beach It is now time to admit that having a cast and going to the beach may not have been the best idea. Or, at least it would have been a good sober idea, if only it had stayed that way. Yes, mom and dad if you ever read this I got a little too close to the water that day... but it worked out in the end. My good friends wanted to do a beach day. Typical college experience right! Hell yea let's all go swimming and hang out. Wait... damn it, the cast. "Sorry guys, maybe I shouldn't go, I can't even do anything there" "No, no! Come on, you have to come with us for the college mems!" (this quickly became the theme of the day: capturing fun, goofy, and yes intoxicated college memories) So, naturally, I hopped in the car and decided to embrace what I could even though I was physically limited. I was determined to get my mind off the injury, the hurt, and missing softball more than ever... I was going to have fun. And fun, we had. See, I love the beach. I'm not one to go and layout on the sand for hours without going into the water at least once. Naturally, this thought process came up. "I'm only going to touch the water with my feet," i told my boyfriend, Cal. (more on him later hehe) "If you get that cast wet, I'm not going with you to fix it" and "Ew, its gonna get all mushy and gross" were just a few of the wise things he said in return... but happy and perhaps a bit tipsy jazzy (and for the first time in a long time pain-free) got too close. SPLASH... yup my cast got soaked. At first, I laughed it off and thought it really isn't that bad. Then, the mushy gauze of the cast started to get smaller and smaller. Soon I was able to move my wrist around away from the supinated position. Uh oh...I need to go get this fixed... but it feels better like this? Cal was right, the inside of my cast got so gross. It honestly felt like I had moss or seaweed attaching itself to my skin, ewwwwwww. We got in the car and started the journey back home. I called my parents and rightfully so they were very worried and upset about me getting my cast wet. My mom somehow got a hold of an orthopedic surgeon at the Redlands Community Hospital who agreed to refit me for a cast. So, round two ER trip! I don't know how moms do it but when they want something done at a hospital it gets done. This was the easiest ER trip I have ever experienced. I checked in and within an hour I was getting x-rayed (cuz I fell) and refitted. Yes, it was painful but I had Cal and my mom supporting me from afar. The crazy part is the orthopedic surgeon who gave me the new cast told me that the position the previous doctor had me in was incorrect. He told me that my wrist should never have been in a fully supinated split. When he finished putting my new cast together, my wrist stopped throbbing. I was amazed. The tingles and aches in my elbow and hand didn't ever stop but my wrist now felt supported by a white cloud.