Fixing "That"

Today was a day that involved me coming to a startling realization. I spent the afternoon in the basement of one of the middle schools in my hometown re-imaging computers (oh the glamour of summer college jobs). I wanted so badly to have my IT brain set in...the computers were giving me so many problems. But being that I'm not exactly a techie (still don't understand why they hired me), the mind quickly began to wander away from the flashing light saying "Error" on the hard drive and onto, but of course, my left elbow.

At this point it's been nearly three months since the initial injury. I have no pain whatsoever in everyday life...I've lifted furniture, moved boxes and done pushups. There's literally nothing that bothers my elbow at all...except throwing a baseball. So when I looked down at my left arm during that wandering time in front of the computer, the frustration set in. Why do I need surgery if it looks as normal as always? How could there be a torn ligament still in there, there's no swelling? How come it doesn't hurt anymore?

The growing frustration continued. I glanced towards the floor and noticed that the bottom of the chair I was sitting on had a tennis ball with a hole cut in it attached. It was a clever attempt by the custodians to try to save the floor from scratches and provide somewhat of an aesthetic appeal to the 6th-8th graders at the school. I reached down and took the tennis ball off the leg of the chair and caressed it in my hand. I flipped it around like it was a baseball...two-seam grip, four-seam grip, curveball, changeup. It flowed just as easily as it always had. I looked at the door to the room to make sure no one was opening it and coming in. I stood up, calmly pushed the chair in, and walked to the middle of the room. I took a second look back at the door just as reassurance that no administrator would walk in on my procrastination. I looked in for the sign, and took aim about two feet about the ground at the wall 30 feet in front of me. I came set, lifted my leg, and released.

And it hurt. A lot.

I clutched my arm and went to retrieve the ball I'd stupidly just thrown and put it back on the leg of the chair. I assumed my position sitting in the chair working my hourly job, feeling painfully defeated and realizing that perhaps these MRIs really don't lie and these doctors really are smart.

The realization I got to set in as I continued to image the computers in front of me. I would never throw a pitch in a game as a 21 year old. The original injury, the (not so) mythical "pop" that I heard, was on April 22, 2011. My birthday is April 23rd...the next day. My surgery will be next week, about eight months before my 22nd birthday. Not enough time to be game ready to pitch.

The physical pain that has ensued from the injury is something that I can deal with. Pain is a tangible obstacle, something that can be withstood with a tough mind, a strong heart and sometimes a bottle of Tylenol. The pain can be handled.

I have been playing organized baseball since I was five years old. It has been the one thing that has been most consistent in my life for the longest in my life. The mound is the one place in the world that I feel most comfortable and confident...the one place where all my worries and troubles seem to go away and somehow I'm able to focus on the thing I love. Baseball. And for some reason, unbeknownst to me, that has been taken away from me. I haven't been able to throw a ball normally since April, and I won't be able to again until the middle of 2012. THAT is the concept I am struggling with. The fact that I can't play a simple game of catch, let alone an entire game of baseball.

I find myself staying up at night in front of a body length mirror, going through my dry pitching mechanics. I must have thrown 10,000 make-believe pitches in the last week, repeating my motion in more ways than anyone could imagine. I begin wondering why I got hurt. Was it something over time? I knew I shouldn't have thrown all those innings when I was 14. Was it my physical condition? Maybe I shouldn't have dogged those last laps in preseason workouts. Was it overuse? I probably could have avoided a three-days-rest start here and there. Was it my mechanics? I can fix that.

I can fix that.

So I find myself trying to "fix that." I don't know what "that" is, but I want to fix it. I don't even know what the true reason why I tore my UCL was. But I'd like to think it's something I can fix. So I'm going to "fix that."

In just a few days, my father and I will be hopping on a plane from New York and flying to the Gulf Coast of Florida so that I can have Tommy John surgery. It'll enable me to eventually be able to have that catch. Be able to step on that mound. Be able to resume what I've come to love so much, to play baseball.

Eventually.

But for now I'll stop blogging. I have a glove next to me, and a mirror across the room. I think I am going to go "fix that" some more.