I cried quietly in the front seat of the car. I didn’t want Isabel to see or hear me. In the back seat, she sang cheerfully along with the radio as her dad and I drove her to John Muir Hospital for knee surgery. We had been preparing for this day for two months, but it didn’t make it any easier. I’ve never broken a bone, let alone had surgery, so imagining what my 16-year-old was about to endure felt overwhelming.
We had done everything we could to prepare: found an excellent surgeon, scheduled the procedure to minimize impact on her schoolwork, stocked up on medications, and followed every pre-op instruction. Yet, I felt powerless. I wished I could take her pain away.
The Accident That Changed Everything
It all started with a fluke accident during a casual one-on-one street soccer scrimmage in early August. At first, the X-ray suggested she had simply tweaked her knee, and we expected her to be back at soccer practice in two months. But when the instability lingered, an MRI revealed the truth: a completely torn ACL and a possible meniscus tear. The diagnosis meant a four-hour surgery, two grueling weeks of recovery, three months on crutches, and a year before returning to soccer. ... read more