My fight.

I have never been punched in the face by a human fist. My nose has never bled, my body has never been thrown down to the ground by another. There was one time however that I woke up, dust in my eyes, facing second base, on my stomach, with the taste of blood in my mouth. I have always wanted to know if I got up right away. Did I lay there for some time? How long was it before I decided to find my spirit again? Did my team run to me? Was I alone?

It was the second pitch of the game. I was the allstar fastpitch pitcher. I had it all figured out. Fastball, curveball, slowball, riseball, you get the gist. Most importantly I had it all figured out in my head. I could stare down anyone. Play mind games. The funny thing about this story is that I was only sixteen years old. ----Where is my gumption now----

Tournament weekend. I had just been moved from the  reliefer to the starter. I was pumped. and then it happened. I was on my belly, staring at second base. I try to meditate on the exact moment. The moment when I was hit. I cannot feel or see anything. My ears only work. As the ball rolled off the bat all I can hear is an earsplitting crack, not from the bat, it happened inside my head and then I wake up. I can see second base. I watched the video later (much later). I pulled my glove up to catch the ball, but at only 32 feet away there is always room for error. The ball missed my glove and smashed into my jaw with such force that it knocked me down and around. The video cut out. All I want to know now is how long did I lay there? Who helped me up? Did I stand on my own? How do we find the strength to get back up when we have been beaten?

Believe me, I had been beaten. 6 innings later I was rushed to the ER and I spent the next week in the ICU. There were concerns about my well being, to say the least. But in the moment, the very moment of defeat all I can remember is longing to push through, to keep going. I pitched the next 6 innings. My mouth was so bloody from my braces and my jaw so sore that my sister chewed bubble gum for me to get it soft enough for me to gnaw on.  But yes, I pitched the next 6 innings. We lost. I lost. In the sixth inning, I began to feel like I could not breath. My neck had developed a large hemotoma that was blocking some of my airway. I have been told I passed out. There was an ambulance. There are stories of my Dad wanting to perform a tracheotomy with a slurpee straw. I spent the next 24 hours throwing up while the doctors started to realize I may be allergic to morphine. 7 days later, after a few seizures, tests and more tests, I found myself at the oral surgeon's office getting my mouth wired shut. I was lucky enough to have been given wire cutters to carry around in the case that I vomitted. They didn't want me to suffocate.

I had been beaten. They say after a significant head trauma a person can experience minor personality shifts. Really? Who can differentiate this syndrome with a 16 year old turning 17 or even 18. Who's to say?

I don't relate this story so that you can feel bad for me. No, not today. I simply want to know where my kickass self has hid herself....I do not give up easy. Lately however, I have felt my world tumble and groan. How long did I lay in the dirt? Why did I decide to get up? These are questions that I am pondering tonight. It's okay to be hit. It's okay to be hurt. That's part of the game. It's what you decide to do after that hit that really matters. Tonight I am facing another second base. My lovely kids are proofing my undoing. I need to get up. I WILL  get up. I am looking up for a hand up.  The bigger question though, once I find my way up, will I fight?

Within the love of the game we find the strength. The strength to stand back up and the strength to keep fighting. I will stand up tomorrow and I will fight tomorrow because I love my kids. I love them more than what I think love stands for. So it goes, my fight. For me, it is only the fight that matters. I have lost before. I have won before. Pushing through to the other side, now that is truly what it is all about.  Scorekeepers, please put down your pencils. I play for the love of the game. This is what I now must remember.