By Blogger X

Hello guys, this time I am going to share with you the story around my ice skating injury. Ice skating in general is a very dangerous sport, and it can cause serious life-long injuries if you don’t practice the right way. So please, let this act as a reminder of how sports can really be.

It all started like a normal day. I went to school, ate lunch and went to the rink for ice skating practice. My dream was to become a famous Olympic ice skater. But, I was in a bad mood that day. I didn’t feel like ice skating that day. I’d fallen off my skateboard and scratched my knee on the ground earlier–to make the situation worse; but I couldn’t exactly say, “I don’t feel like ice skating today” out loud because I was afraid I’d be scolded by my parents about “not wanting to train hard.” So, I kept the feeling inside me and went to the ice rink.

That day was not my day. I fell out of many jumps, and I could already see my mom’s frowning face at the other side of the ice rink. I didn’t know why, but I felt my throat tighten and fought the urge to cry after failing on my latest Double Lutz jump. I felt so useless and tired, wanting to go home instead of being here shaming myself. I didn’t feel like standing up either. I wanted to keep my emotions under control. One of the clips that was supposed to keep my hair in place fell off onto the ice. Just as I was trying to reach the clip I heard a sound coming toward me, fast. The moment I realized what it was, it was already too late. I crashed with another skater who literally fell over me and landed on the other side. For a second, I couldn’t breathe; as I was trying to get my breathing under control, I felt a paralyzing pain coming from my left leg. I was on the ice, unable to move, and I did not have any ideas as to what was happening to me. I heard my coach yelling. He immediately rushed to my side and picked me up and then immediately skated off the ice. The parents outside of the rink were also panicking because they saw some blood on the ice from where we had crashed. It was unknown if it was mine or the other person’s; just to make sure it wasn’t mine, my coach started to pull up my ice skating pants from the bottom to check for any injuries. He and the parents checked my right leg; it was fine. And then, they moved on to pull up my left leg’s pants; just as they did, they gasped, and my coach covered my eyes right away the second he saw the cut. It was at that moment I knew the blood was mine. My head started spinning, and so was everything around me. I didn’t know what to do or what would happen to me.

By then my parents had rushed to my side; originally they thought it was not a big deal, so they didn’t come over to check on me. But I saw their faces when they arrived at the scene. It was a mixture between shock and agony. My coach handed me over to my mom, and we instantly rushed to the medic room. I was even panickier than before; my thoughts were “Am I going to die?” or “Am I going to the hospital?” The medic had patched my left leg with bandages and said, “It’ll do for now; go to the hospital straight away.” My parents nodded and thanked the medic. A few parents suggested that we call an ambulance, but my parents said it was unnecessary, they’ll get me to the hospital. The parent of the skater who crashed into me let us borrow their car so my parents could drive me to the hospital since their car was parked closer than ours.

On the way to the car I was panicking and didn’t know what to do; it felt like a dream, a painful one. I didn’t feel like I was in the real world; it seemed so fictional. But with my conscious mind I choked out the question for my mom as tears started rolling down my face, “Am I going to die?” She didn’t answer; I panicked as a wave of my emotions swam over me, “Mom! Am I going to die?!” “Shut up! You are not going to die!” She yelled back; I could clearly see her worrisome expression. I stayed quiet for the entire car ride, but I can still hear my dad’s calm and comforting words, “You are going to be fine.” It had given me at least a little comfort as I closed my eyes. 

The next thing I knew that I was lying on the hospital bed. The nurses had checked on me and said this isn’t too serious. My mom called the best surgeon she could find and informed me that he was on his way here. Once the surgeon arrived he immediately set into action. He said the cut was not big in size, but it was deep. It was only a few inches away from affecting my tendon under my knee where it could do some real damage–luckily it did not; or else I’d have trouble exercising my entire life.

And without a second word, the surgery began. My dad was with me for the first half of my surgery. But he got nauseous because of the amount of blood on my skin as the doctor stitched step by step into my flesh. So he had to go outside to get some air before he could possibly pass out. My grandpa was with me for the rest of the process. And for some reason, I did not cry during this whole process.

When it was done my vision had all become a blur. I passed out due to mental exhaustion soon after and couldn’t remember the rest of it. I was eight at the time.

What I remembered was my dad telling me to, “Be strong,” as he was holding my hand while the surgeon was doing his job.

Be strong. As I will forever be.

Health and Disease Editor: James Zheng