Injury nightmares, new dawns and the solitary search for next spring
It was a dream. The first time I captained the Cork senior hurlers in Croke Park was a league game against Dublin. I planned the day so I would always remember it. The journey there. The journey home. Fish and chips. The usual.
The first time I captained the Cork senior hurlers in Semple Stadium was against Tipp. In the first half, I reached to control a ball. There was a snapping noise, like a thick rope breaking. My achilles tendon sundered itself. A couple of hours later I was being wheeled into an operating theatre. I wanted to pee. I didn’t want to wet myself while I was asleep under the anaesthetic and being cut open. The attendant wheeling me through the doors told me I’d be grand.
Where are you from, I asked.
Ha, he said with a laugh as we went through the doors, I’m from Kilkenny.
I woke up hours later. It was just beginning...
I kept notes.
if 10 was my full, today I am at a 2.5 Swelling: Less today, if 10 was a max at its worst. It is now down to 6. Pain: with 10 as the worst, than it is at a 3.
50mg of Diaphene
1 being the weakest that I have felt during this, then my mind feels at 10 except for about one minute this evening after coming back from work. I realised that lying down was all that was ahead of me for the night. I quickly replaced those thoughts with appreciation thoughts for what I have. I am fully accepting of what has happened to me and appreciate what I have!
The worst pain is in my calf. If my calf was the GAA field and we were playing from the heel side up, then this pain is between the right half forward and the right corner forward position. My worst fear is that it could be some sort of tear — done during the operation — Is this possible? Best is that it has been caused by lack of movement?
I was captain of Imokilly that night in Carrigtwohill when Paudie Sull went down. I pucked out the ball. Bang. He was gone. Nobody near him. Nobody knew anything but everybody knew enough to know that it was bad. That snapping noise. Paudie lay there moaning. Fellas came and leaned over him and walked away again shaking their heads. They put some tracksuits over him as he lay there on the pitch. Somebody called an ambulance. We were playing Cork IT. Lorcan McLoughlin was their captain. Between us and the ref, as Paidie lay there in trouble, it was decided nobody had the humour to play on. We just walked away from a championship game after nine or 10 minutes.
That was a year ago. Paudie is still fighting back. Cork named him last week for the panel in the summer. Fingers crossed for him — he has too much left to give.
3 from 10; Swelling: 7; Pain: 8; Medication: 50mg of Diaphene and 100mg Tramapine; SOM: 8
Went to Physio. 11am until 12.10pm. After examining me, he spent a lot of time freeing out pressure points on my calf. Got my Dad to drop me to Ringaskiddy after as I thought I would get a bit of work done while things would be quiet in the office. Within an hour the pain had risen to 7/8. I had to ring him to come and collect me. I spent the rest of the day in bed and got sick on two occasions. I didn’t eat anything other than a cup of tea and a bit of cake.
Springtime is the worst time for an injury. All winter, you slog through the dark and the cold. You lift the weights and put in the miles and never feel a bit of sun on your back. Championship seems a lifetime away. But you dream. You dream of a sunny day in Thurles. Then it is spring and something snaps. Your tendon. Your cruciate. And you are dead. There’s a fuss and then you rest but with no real peace. The phone stops ringing. You never hear the noise of a crowd. The team goes on. The championship goes on. Nothing stops because you are injured. Quiet but no peace.
You wonder do you still exist. Gooch, Ciaran K, Paudie, all the players in physio, on crutches, in plaster, on painkillers. You aren’t forgotten. Keep dreaming there’ll be another spring.
4; Swelling: 7; Pain: 8; Medication: 50mg of Diaphene and 100mg Tramapine; SOM: 8
Had a challenging night. Hard to sleep with the pain. Woke this morning (Sunday) and got sick. All day in bed. Craving for fluids but found it hard to get them down. Drank a cup of tea and toast but the toast came back up within minutes.
I think that I am dehydrated. I got sachets of Dioralite and got one inside me with water before the night was over. I didn’t eat anything for the rest of the day and slept a lot and stayed in bed until this morning, when I got up at 6.05am.
All anybody asks is, how is the leg? Morning till night. How is the leg? How’s the body? How’s the injury? It’s week three and there are nine months of this crap ahead. All they want to hear you say is that it’s grand. Ah, getting there. Yeah no worries. Could be worse.
Well it hurts. I can’t work. My poor father has to help me have a shower and dress me. I have had to move home again to my parent’s house. The painkillers make me sick. I don’t know if I’ll ever play again. If anybody asks me again how the leg is I will fucking kill them or kill myself!
There you go. I’m grand now, thanks for asking. I’d be annoyed if you hadn’t asked.
4; Swelling: 5; Pain: 8 to 1 (8 in morning and 1 later in the day); Medication: 3 x 500mg Ponstan Forte, 2 sachets Dioralite; SOM: 9
Day started very hazy. Challenging enough in even getting into work. Spoke to Dr Con and went to the chemist in Carrigaline where he rang in a prescription for a change of pain killers (Ponstan Forte, 500g) I took immediately — he told me to take three a day with a fourth if necessary. The pain improved.
I went to Colin (Lane) at 5.30pm for physio. 45 minutes. He says it is the perfect storm: being run down, dehydrated and doing physio. His session consisted of ensuring the scar isn’t sticking to anything internally — he’d pinch the scar right along the cuts and then rub the scar up and down. Unforgettable.
I kept my side of the promise. Ten months of rehabbing back from injury didn’t end my career. Management did. That’s sport. Colder than surgeon McKenna’s scalpel sometimes.
Look to the good news stories, boys. Shefflin. Colm O’Neill. Roy Keane. Every time they came back, they looked better than they did when they got injured. Once it doesn’t kill you, there’s always another spring.
4; Swelling: 8.5 to 9 at its worst; Pain: 6 Medication: 3 x 500mg Ponstan Forte, 50g of Diaphene, 1 x 500mg geriflox caps, 666mg Calvepen tabs, 5mg neo mercozole; SOM: 8
Met Colin at 6pm. He opened the boot and said that he didn’t like the look of the swelling. Bad. He suspected cellulitis but would need Dr Con to confirm. Con examined my leg in the medical room of the Páirc. Confirmed the cellulitis. I am doing too much. He instructed me to take 48 hours with my leg in a raised position. Easy for you to say, Con boy.
I explained the commitment I had made to present at a work conference on Thursday. Con said that he would meet me there afterwards but then I had to put my leg up until Sunday. He gave me a prescription which I took immediately. Went to bed at 8pm with my leg in a more elevated position than normal. Slept till midnight. Again from 2am until 8am. I had a good few nightmares — from the medication, I hope. I rose at 08.40. Feeling bad... My father dropped me to work. We saw Mrs McCarthy at the cross. She was one of the people I had nightmares about, that is for another day…
Dream for this spring? That every player will have a physio as good and as wise as Deccie O’Sullivan was for me. At least four times a week for 10 months putting up with my pain and madness. Doctors like Con and Eanna Falvey, not to mention parents like I have.
And that long term in the GAA, we make it a project that from mini-league onwards, we teach basics of balance, posture, stretching and running. There’ll still be bad days, but fewer.
To all the players out with long term injuries — keep fighting that lonely fight. If it doesn’t kill you, you’ll be back stronger. Sometimes darkness can help nurse your dreams.
Dreams of next spring.
CONNECT WITH US TODAY
Be the first to know the latest news and updates
