In the Waiting Room
A few months ago, while playing competitive badminton, I landed on my left knee shabbily. I saw the shuttle lifted up at a delicious angle, and realized that I could either go for a backhand drop or I could try to reverse thrust and skip backward 3–4 steps and smash it with a forehand. I decided to go for the smash, but instead of backpedaling 3–4 steps, I tried to reach there in one big jump. But as I landed awkwardly, my knee collapsed on itself instantly. I heard a carrot snapping pop, and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the court face down screaming in pain. My friends and the other players rushed towards me, and a few who saw the way I fell concluded that I must’ve done my ACL. I hated hearing that at the time. Unfortunately, they were right.
The pain subsided pretty quickly, within a few minutes. I limped off the court but in my head, I was going through all my travel plans for the coming months that I might have to cancel. I went the next morning to get an MRI; sure enough, it was a full tear of the ACL. I was recommended surgery and was told I would be off sports and intense activity for almost a year. Fast forward four months after the injury, I saw myself getting ready for surgery that morning. I was taken into the pre-operation room where patients waiting for different kinds of surgeries were hosted until the time of surgery. My surgery was supposed to be scheduled for early in the morning, but an emergency motorbike accident case required my surgeon’s attention.
