Human emotions are a magnificent abyss of habitual turmoil. Tommy John Surgery, in theory, is an expounding doctrine of this phenomenon. I was once told that Navy SEALS are trained under the belief that the body is capable of doing ten times its normal physical capacity if the mind is properly trained. Thus, the assumption I've come to is that the mind controls much of what an individual accomplishes through his or her daily encounters and interactions. Whether those results are positive or negative is the sole responsibility of the person who's mind and body are under this influence.
As a college athlete, I am a part of a group of individuals that share a rare title. Only a small percentage of amateur athletes have had the opportunity to participate in their respective sport at the level that I have. While this is certainly recognized by many of the people in this gratefully blessed group, it is also a factor in a trait that is developed inside of us as well. Most- if not all college athletes thrive on the feeling of physical accomplishment. We spend umpteen hours preparing ourselves for competition, constantly working towards the betterment of our capabilities. In the end, our accomplishment is weighed in the success that we have in the arena of our competition; eminent prosperity in the form of self-gratification.
When I stepped into the rehabilitation facility portion of the Andrews Institute the day following surgery, I knew that I could manage with the physical therapy portion of the process. After all, I was well-accustomed to the sequential operation that comes with physical preparation. I was used to getting into the mindset of short bursts of daily focus, and seeing the results of my work over a gradual period of time. So when they told me that the process would take "a long time" and things would go "very slowly", I was comfortable with that. Rome wasn't built in a day.
Something else that athletes have been required to learn is how to adjust to failure. Very often an athlete comes across some sort of adversity that isn't typically experienced in other walks of life. And the better athletes...the ones who continue playing the game at higher levels...become very good at overcoming that adversity. These events, the trials and tribulations of athletics, is sometimes more prevalent in baseball than in any other sport. The best hitters that ever lived fail 70% of the time, having to hit a fast moving round object with a round bat and hit it squarely. A pitcher's job is to throw a 5 ounce ball with velocity and movement over a 17 inch-wide pentagon 60 feet 6 inches away from the 10 inch high mound of dirt he stands on. These practices test the realistic limitations that the study of physics has set on human kinetics. Failure becomes second nature to baseball players.
I am no different than any of the other athletes that have dealt with some sort of failure during their athletic careers. I've given up walk-off hits and back-to-back home runs. I've struck out three times in a game and made a game losing error. I've lost plenty of sleep because of my athletic struggles and I've thrown a haymaker at plenty of pillows and punching bags. But when the day is over and all of those emotions dwindle, I am able to hone myself back in. I am able to continue to physically prepare myself and continue to strive for consistent success on the field.
I have said numerous times on this blog that Tommy John Surgery is catastrophically difficult mentally. Many others have shared this sentiment as well. This Friday, however, I had an epiphany...a Eureka-like moment. I realized why the recovery is so difficult.
The recovery is not so difficult because of the lack of physical capabilities that you have. It is very frightening to walk into an ambulatory surgical center perfectly healthy and be wheeled out a few hours later with a motionless and damaged arm. It is very alarming to watch as you are physical incapable of squeezing a stress ball in your hand. It is very startling to struggle through one-pound bicep curls. But the main theme in all of the above instances is progression. Slowly but surely, you get better. You see the swelling decreasing, flexibility increasing, strength increases, capabilities skyrocket. It isn't an overnight sensation, but there is a constant progression during a successful recovery. Therefore, the mental difficulty does not lie within the lack of physical capabilities.
The recovery is also not so difficult because of the detachment from the game of baseball. It most certainly is not easy standing on the sidelines in the dugout watching your teammates perform on the field that you were on just a short time ago. It is definitely discouraging to see pitch after pitch and swing after swing and knowing that you aren't able to participate in any of it. But, it could be worse. You're still there with your teammates, providing them with emotional support and dedication. Team is a huge factor in the sport of baseball and the bonding role of each particular player is crucial for the overall success of the team. Even though you can't throw a ball, you're still part of that unit, and you are contributing in some way. And lest not forget about that "progression" word...you will eventually be back on the mound. Therefore, the detachment from the game is not the reason for the mental difficulties because you are still around your team and you will be back on the field at some point in the future.
By far the most glaring reason as to why the recovery is so difficult is one that is in truth, quite simple:
You don't have control of your recovery from adversity.
As an athlete, you are trained to recover from adversity. Your whole athletic/competitive atmosphere is geared towards learning how to get back up on that horse. The cliche inspirational quotes are plentiful...Wayne Gretzky's "I miss 100% of the shots I don't take" and Michael Jordan's "I've failed over and over and over again and that is why I succeed." Your entire athletic life revolves around these concepts. It's motivational and it's usually successful.
On Friday I started a new exercise in which I held a one pound rubber exercise ball (about the size of a softball) and stood six inches away from the wall. I took the ball and held my arm at a 90 degree angle and proceeded to throw the ball into the wall and then catch it on the rebound. Prior to surgery I'd hop up to the wall and whip a few throws without even thinking twice about the ramifications on my arm. This time, of course, was different.
I timidly stepped up to the wall and began the exercise. I went through every throw, and refused to let loose. Then, as I built some confidence, the trainer said I needed to get more flexibility in the back, to create more of a "whipping" motion with my arm. I cocked my arm backwards and began to bring it forward...and I felt a twinge in my elbow.
I immediately stopped. I told the trainer what I felt and that it was the first time I'd ever felt anything in the exact spot of the injury. I was told it was very normal and that this is the first time we've put this much valgus force on the new UCL, and its just tight. If there's no pain, I was fine. I accepted this explanation and kept going through the exercise. Sure enough the feeling never got any worse, just remained during each release. A little twinge, a pulling in the elbow.
After I got home from my physical therapy session on Friday I lay down in my bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. I just had something occur...something that I deemed out of the ordinary. Something that usually is a form of adversity, a temporary setback that I can conquer through my preparation and my dedication to my mental and physical state of mind. I could will myself through it and use my natural athlete instincts to enable myself to reach that eventual plateau of success. In this instance, however, I had no control of the outcome. I knew it bothered me, I knew why, I knew it was OK. What I didn't know was how to fix it. What could I do to make it better? Can I work a little harder at physical therapy?
Maybe I should do an extra set of an exercise or a little more weight on a band. Maybe I should hit the gym twice as hard so that the muscles supporting the area strengthen quicker and provide better results. Maybe I can study video and analyze my technique so that I repeat good habits for the future.
Unfortunately, none of the above are possible. I have to abide by exactly what is written in the protocol or I will be detrimental to my future. I can't control my own fate, I can't tweak something and make it work overall. I can't focus my body into performing in the way that I want it to.
This yearlong process would be a whole lot easier mentally if I was able to fix things myself. But I can't...not now, not in a week, not in three months. I'm a lab experiment to medical research, and my arm is the test mouse. The frustration lies not within the length of time or the physical disabilities or the baseball detachments. The frustration lies in my lack of control to recover from adversity.
That's the worst part of it all.
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