The first stage or phase is denial. I didn’t want to believe that I wouldn’t get better or that it would take a long while. I hated the idea and thought only of the worst possibilities. Anger. I was angry with myself. What if it was my fault? If I did something wrong? If quitting sports is the reason? Maybe I could’ve done something. Maybe not. Bargain. Then the pain got worse and I lost all will to go on. I couldn’t do anything without pain. The only way to not feel the pain was to sleep. However, falling asleep was a problem. There was not comfortable position to sleep in. Everything hurt. I wanted to quit. Just stop. I kept doing the stuff people expected me to do, but my heart and mind weren’t there. I wanted to take a step out of life and get back in when it was all over. Depression. Death didn’t scare me anymore, as it would be pain-free. If there was something growing inside of me which shouldn’t be there, the doctors might be able to get it out with surgery. At least it would be over if they succeed. Taking pills for the rest of my life is doable. The chances were high that I had to do physiotherapy. Of course I would do that if it makes my life pain-free. Acceptance.
Now I know what’s wrong and what I can do to make life as comfortable as possible, I’m going to do it. I will do whatever it takes to get rid of the pain. I know that even if I learn to control my body well enough, my life won’t be same as before. I honestly feel as if I left a part of me behind when it all started. Part of my dreams might never come true without me even trying. Other dreams are reduced to something smaller, more within my reach. My personality and interests are more or less the same, but somewhere deep inside me, I’m different. I am limited, physically and maybe because of that in the rest of my life. But I have accepted it.
I am limited.