Chapter 1 #2
Dr. Patel, the ER guy, said, “This is an uncommon injury, Paisley. Only one percent of athletes’ knee injuries involves a fractured patella.
Basically, this is a break in your kneecap, which is a small, flat bone which covers your knee joint and protects it, like a shield.
Any fracture impacts your ability to bend your knee. ”
He whipped out a pad and pen and began sketching to help her understand. All the while, the gnawing pain made it hard to concentrate on what he said.
“You have quadriceps and a patellar tendon that attach to your patella,” he told her.
“This is how you can flex and extend your knee. The knee is covered with cartilage, and that acts as a cushion for your knee joint. The X-rays showed your excess swelling is from the hemarthrosis. Blood from the broken bone pieces which have collected in the knee joint.”
Dr. Patel smiled sympathetically at her. “I’m going to hand it over to Dr. Sinclair now. He’s in charge of your case now. I wish you a speedy recovery, Paisley.”
She couldn’t even muster the strength to say goodbye and turned to the surgeon. “What now?”
“We also had a CT scan done to help define the type of fracture you suffered,” Dr. Sinclair told her.
“Your injury is called a comminuted patella fracture. Unlike a transverse one, where the patella breaks into two pieces, a comminuted is where your kneecap has shattered into three or more pieces. I won’t know if it’s stable or unstable until I open you up and take a look.
If it’s unstable, some of the bone pieces might be too small to reconnect.
If that’s the case, then I’ll remove them and work with what I have. ”
Dully, she said, “So, I’m having surgery.”
“Right away. I’ll also clean up any cartilage damage that I find, but I need to warn you that there’s a strong possibility of post-traumatic arthritis.”
He shook his head, empathy in his eyes. “Your recovery will be long. Slow. Painful. But I’ve followed your career. You’re a dedicated, disciplined athlete. My gut tells me that you’ll do whatever it takes so that you’re able to walk again.”
His words were like a knife to her heart. If walking again was the goal, then she was really up a creek.
“I’ll have the surgery then.”
Papers were brought for her to sign. In the midst of it, she asked if the Aces had won the game.
The team doctor, who had remained with her, said, “Yes. But the game was called after the brawl. Since we were ahead, we’ll move on to the playoffs.”
“And Nikki Jones?” Paisley asked, not bothering to contain the bitterness in her voice.
“She’s been suspended indefinitely for her actions against you. The league’s brass plan to conduct an in-depth investigation into the incident.”
Jones may have been suspended, and she would most likely have to pay a hefty fine, but she would go on to play.
Paisley never would again.
She had been lucky her entire playing career.
She’d suffered a few ankle sprains. A stress fracture in her left foot, which had healed during an off-season.
A nagging case of plantar fasciitis had occurred in her right heel, but she had done PT for it.
Even three years later, she continued doing the set of exercises the therapist had given her to perform each morning after she got out of bed to keep it at bay.
But she had never experienced serious injuries. No ACL tears. No hip, thigh, or wrist ailments. The fact that she could not bend her knee now let her know how bad her injury was, especially with Dr. Sinclair saying the end goal was for her to be able to walk again.
A nurse came by and notified Paisley that she would be taken to the operating room in the next ten minutes.
Dr. Sinclair appeared again. “I know you have a few minutes to process things. Do you have any questions for me?
“What is the recovery time for a patella fracture?” she asked neutrally.
The surgeon’s face gave away more than she wanted to know, and he said, “Usually three to six months. Of course, it depends upon the severity of the injury. As I mentioned, I’ll know more once I get inside and clean things up and do the necessary repairs.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry, Paisley. Once you’re out of recovery and have a good night’s sleep under your belt, we’ll talk again.”
It was already September. Six months from now, TEAM USA women’s basketball roster would be announced. Paisley knew she wouldn’t be named as a player—and that thought sapped her spirits.
Even though she had already determined the answer, she asked, “Will I be able to come back from this injury, Dr. Sinclair? Play with the Aces again?’
“I don’t like to make predictions before surgery,” he told her.
“I’ll be blunt, though, Paisley. At your age—and with the wear and tear on your knees after playing basketball for two decades—I would say the possibility of playing at the professional level again won’t occur.
I know you’re a competitor and want to come back from this injury.
Even in the best of circumstances, your mobility is going to be limited.
You won’t be able to play world-class basketball anymore. ”
She nodded, desperation seeping through her every pore. “Thanks for your honesty, Dr. Sinclair. Do you really think I’ll be able to walk normally again?”
“Absolutely. I guarantee it. It’s going to take a helluva lot of PT—and dedication on your part—but you’ll be able to live a normal life.
It won’t be one running up and down a court because your knee will not be able to take that severe pounding, but you’ll be able to walk. Work out. Live a fairly active life.”
A shadow crossed his face. “It just won’t unfold on the basketball court. For that, I’m truly sorry.”
“I understand,” she said, despondency washing through her. “Let’s go get this done.”
Paisley saved her tears. She could hold a pity party when she was alone.
Hours later, she woke up in a hospital room, feeling a little sluggish. She vaguely remembered being in a post-op recovery room, coming in and out of consciousness, but she had charge of her faculties now. She noted the sunlight streaming through the window and knew it had to be the next day.
A nurse greeted her. “Good morning, Paisley. How are you feeling?” she asked brightly.
“Like a truck ran over me. Multiple times,” she admitted.
“I’ll go get Dr. Sinclair. He wanted to know the minute you were awake.”
The nurse returned with the surgeon a few minutes later.
“Everything was successful. I was able to make the repairs needed and only had to remove two bone fragments which were too small to be reattached.”
He told her how long she would be in the hospital and that he had already contacted a physical therapist who specialized in sports injuries, especially those to the knee.
“Rodney is going to take excellent care of you, Paisley. You’re going to come through this.”
He looked at her with kind eyes. “I also hope that you’ll be willing to see a mental health specialist. It’s going to be a lot, the physical exertion of rehab.
What may be even tougher for you, though, is adjusting mentally and emotionally to your situation.
I know how passionate you’ve been your entire life about basketball.
It’s going to be a difficult adjustment to living a life off the court.
I hope you will let me recommend someone specializing in talk therapy. ”
Paisley knew he was right. The life she had led up until this point would be very different from the one which followed.
Nodding, she said, “Give me the name. I realize I’m going to need all the help I can get, Dr. Sinclair.”
The nurse returned. “Paisley has a waiting room full of coaches and teammates, Dr. Sinclair. What should I tell them?”
He looked to her. “You don’t have to see anyone now. You’re barely awake after major surgery.”
She knew this would most likely be the last time all these people would be gathered to see her.
They would be practicing and then playing in playoff games around the country.
Once the season ended, her teammates would scatter to various places, some heading to their homes in other states, while others would be going to play in Europe’s women’s basketball league, where the pay was much better than in the US.
It was her last chance to say a proper goodbye to the family she loved and the sport which was in her blood.
“No, have them come in. All of them. But only let them stay a few minutes before you chase them out.”
Dr. Sinclair said, “I’ll go tell them they can stay ten minutes.”
The nurse helped place more pillows behind her and then raised the bed so that Paisley was sitting up.
“I’m Peggy. I’ll be taking care of you this shift.
And I’m a pit bull when it comes to sending visitors on their way.
I’ve followed your career since you were in college.
I played basketball myself back in the day.
AAU and high school, but I still love the game.
You’ve been a great role model for girls.
I won’t lie to you, Paisley. You’re in for a rough rehab, but if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’re physically and mentally tough.”
Peggy touched her hand to Paisley’s shoulder and squeezed. “And I’m Team Paisley all the way.”
The door opened, a flood of people entering the room. She saw the looks on the faces of her teammates. Hopeful. Worried. She glanced to the head coach and shook her head. Armstrong nodded to her in return.
Everyone crowded about the bed, wanting to hold her hand and wish her well, saying they were dedicating the remainder of their season to her.
She told them, “It took a lot of guts to claim yesterday’s victory over the Hurricanes. If you can do that, you can do anything,” she said. “And I’m going to be cheering you on all the way to the WNBA Finals. Bring home that championship for me.”
The room erupted in cheers, and then Peggy shepherded everyone out.
When the last person had left, the nurse returned to Paisley’s side. “I know you’re probably still a bit groggy. You need to get some sleep now. Rest is restorative.”
The nurse left the room, leaving Paisley all alone. With all her teammates and coaches now gone, she finally gave in, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.
Paisley hoped she had the strength for what lay ahead as she moved toward the next chapter in her life.