Last summer, things were going well in my life. I had learned a front flip in gymnastics and was eager to land it perfectly before school. I had my eyes set on getting to Squash Nationals during the winter season at school, and I needed to practice a lot if I was going to do it. But those priorities would have to wait: it was the first day of summer camp and I was barefoot on a beach trying to avoid getting hit by a tennis ball in a favorite game until I felt this sharp, direct pain in my foot. They hit me with the tennis ball! Expecting to see nothing wrong, I limped a few feet to the dockside. And then I saw it. Not a tennis ball, but a four-inch fragment of a grilling skewer was sticking out of my foot. Horrified, I yelled for help, and the medics engaged in an excruciating half-hour-long attempt to remove the stick, which was unsuccessful. 

Eventually, I had to be taken to the ER at UrgentCare. The nurse there probably was a practiced professional, yet this was an odd case for reasons I’ll disclose later. However, doing what she thought was right, she yanked the stick out of my foot, with 2 people holding me down like a rabid animal. That hurt, but I went home happier, with the pain dramatically decreased. Because IN MY MIND, I thought I was healed when this was not the case. I kept this good mindset and healthy thoughts until that night when the infection started and the pain returned, and a truckload of good attitude wouldn’t have been enough to ease the stabbing pains in my foot. It should have gone away, yet a month later, after that ER visit the night of the injury, a week of IVs, and countless podiatrist visits, it did not. I needed surgery, and the doctor did what no one else could do, creating a pathway to remove the TWO-inch piece of wood trapped in my foot that X-rays, sonograms, and countless distractions couldn’t heal.

A week after the surgery, after the stick’s removal, life was getting normal. I had learned to walk and slightly run again, and basking in my overconfidence, I jumped a little too high when practicing a gymnastics movement, subsequently spraining the injured foot that I hadn’t walked on all summer. By now I was done, and I had lost hope of ever fully healing by my scheduled return to gymnastics and squash season. I thought my gymnastics days were tumbling, my squash season… squashed. Yet my parents brought up an idea to me. If I thought I was healed, it would happen. I thought this was NUTS. I scoffed at that, adhering to my routine of moping and babying my foot, never improving at all. However, they were right… and I was wrong. All the problems were now mental ones. And when my parents brought up their idea again with school approaching, I was willing to try anything. So I went back into sports, re-signed up for my gymnastics class, and instead of the pain I felt walking every day, I worked through it, pretending it wasn’t there. If I hadn’t done this, who knows how long I would have struggled in gym class or ached walking upstairs. Once again, there was nothing wrong that my mind couldn’t fix. I wasn’t giving my injury any thought or energy, so it wasn’t giving me any either. Thanks for listening, and I hope you learned something.