Go ahead, take a deep breath. You and your softball team made it to your final season after 10 straight years of playing together. You hope and pray you can carry your team to victory this season. 

Your passion for the game of softball has continued ever since you were a little girl. At first, the sport was just for fun but now that it’s your final season, you realize how much softball has given and provided you. It taught you how to be a team player, have a kind heart, and always be there for one another. It has also given you the greatest bonds of friendship you could have ever asked for and you're forever grateful for that.

It's your senior year of softball, the last year with your team until it's off to college. You're the only catcher on the team and you've been playing your whole life, training for this season. Your mother played softball too. She was a legend. She carried her team to the state championship for 4 straight years of high school softball and you hope to carry the legacy for at least one year.

It's 12:30, time for your very first game of the summer and you arrive at your destination. King Park, Green Bay Wisconsin. We are playing the number 1 team in the state. The Rhinelander Wood ticks. You walk onto the sandy brown softball diamond in the humid air. The sun wasn’t out, but it was scorching.

“I'll miss softball, but not this disgusting weather,” your favorite teammate says.

You walk into the dugout and set up your catcher bag. When you’re finished the umpire flips the shiny quarter. We call heads.

“Home team in the field!” he yells.

You put on your white gear encrusted in brown and red sand and jogged behind home plate. Finally, you felt at home again. The first pitch comes in hot. The neon yellow softball hit your glove and made a loud leather smack. 

“Strike one” yells the umpire from behind you.

As plays are being made you start to notice the clouds becoming darker and darker.

The sequence of strikes continued and your pitcher continued to throw good pitches. She threw the last one for the at-bat, and finally, the first half of the inning was over.

“Good job kid!” you say to your pitcher as you jog back to the dugout for a coach pep talk. 

During the talk, light drops of water trickle down your neck and arms. It had started to rain so you, your coach, and your teammates sprinted into the dugout to keep dry.

“Great, humidity AND rain.” your father yells from the stands.

You're the lead-off hitter so as quickly as possible you take off your sweat-smelling gear and put on batting gloves. All you can think about is getting a nice hit.  You grab your favorite bat, a DeMarini CF, and watch the Woodticks' pitcher throw at least a 65 mph fastball right down the middle. You imagine yourself swinging and sending the ball to right field.

“Here we go kid!” you hear your coach yell, “Take her yard!”

 As you step onto the dirt your nerves started to kick in. Your coach could see the jitters in you.

“Hey, relax up there! Swing away.” you hear him say.

The grip of your bat becomes slippery from the rain and you begin to relax as you step into the box for the first pitch.

The first pitch came in, it looked faster earlier. You take a strike. It was now starting to rain harder. The second pitch was a change-up. You keep your weight back just like coach taught you, and you drive it over the right fielder's head. The slick ball from the rain slid off the tip of your bat and took you to opposite field. You hear the loud cheering from your teammates and the crowd and you round first base. You hear your cleats sloshing in the wet sand. You get to second base, but halfway through you see the ball soaring to the third basemen’s glove. You sharply stop and slip in the muddy, slick dirt. You realize the huge mistake you just made. You collapse into the dirt and globs of mud fly up from under you. Your knee is in the most pain you've ever felt and 1000 thoughts are soaring through your mind. Coach comes sprinting toward you with an uneasy face.

“My knee!!” you screamed, “My knee!”

Coach carries you off the field and you hear everyone clap. You feel defeated, like you just lost the game, and the season, for your team. 

Soon enough you hear an ambulance siren while sitting on the cool metal bench with an icebag on your knee. You're carried off to the hospital in the loud roaring car. You can hear the raindrops hit the ambulance's roof as you're speeding to the emergency room. 

When you arrive at the emergency room the EMTs escort you to a room. The room was cold and you were shivering only wearing your jersey. It took what felt like hours for the nurse to finally enter your room. She asked you basic questions like your birthday, how the incident happened, and how to spell your last name. The adrenaline from the injury was still rushing through your body. The nurse informed you that an immediate MRI was necessary because ACL tears were common with softball players. By now, your mother and father were filled with fear and afraid they might never get to see you play the sport you love again. This fear filled you too. 

The nurse left your room again and you waited. The doctor came in a few minutes and pushed your cot to the MRI machine. This was a new sight and you are a little frightened. You took off all of your jewelry, 6 earrings, a necklace, and 2 bracelets, and prepared yourself to be scanned. It took a few minutes, then you were escorted back to the room you began in. All you could do was wait for results. As time was ticking away, you were getting anxious. You begin twisting your earrings between your fingers and fidgeting with your necklace. Thoughts raced through your mind like what if this injury is season-ending? Your mother saw the look on your face and she reassured you.

“ Everything is going to end up fine,” she says softly.

An hour goes by and finally, the radiologist scoots in the door with a screen. The tear is visible. Your eyes start to well up with tears and you know what you're about to hear. 

“It looks like your ACL is torn kiddo. Surgery will most likely be needed in a few months. I'm sorry, I know this is tough news,” the radiologist says quietly. 

You start to think about recovery. You ask yourself how long it will take. If the recovery is good it still takes around 8 months. You still are itching to ask the doctor about your softball season. That’s the only thing you care about. The doctor walked back into the room with your new splint. 

“Will I still be able to play softball?” you ask in a panic.

The doctor makes a face you wish you had never seen. It was a look of disappointment.

“No kid. You're going to be out for quite some time. Physical therapy will take a few months and so will recovery from surgery.”

The news is gutwrenching. You wondered if this would end your softball career.

The splint is on your knee and you walked out with crutches.

As you scoot past the front desk they offer you a blue raspberry-flavored sucker. You accept it happily and open it right away. It tastes like failure. You let down your team, there is no one else experienced enough to take your catching spot.

The car felt miles away in the rainy, dreary weather. Finally, you reached it and maneuvered into the front seat. The realization hit you. The endless hours you spent in the gym and at practices were all for it to end like this.  You're never playing your favorite sport again, the sport that was everything for you.