Monday, March 9, 2015

Pain, But No Gain

I did not feel the "pop". I did not experience unbearable pain. Looking back, I almost wish I would have. For just over 10 months, I battled through elbow soreness, elbow tightness, and several rounds of therapy. Needless to say, I was not shocked when I was told I needed Tommy John surgery. Over that period of time, as therapy failed and soreness did not subside, I realized the possibility of my elbow improving without a procedure was becoming less and less.

My life has revolved around the game for as long as I can remember. I quickly fell in love with pitching and the competitive nature it brings. At the age of ten, I received pitching instruction from a former big-leaguer, who I still work with now at 18 years old. Through this, I developed clean mechanics at an early age and began to learn the art of pitching. I was fortunate to have my dad as a coach throughout all of travel ball. I know this is often times frowned upon, especially today, as an alarming amount of parents push their kids over the edge. However, this was not the case for me. "Overthrowing" was never a concern and neither were curveballs (for the sake of improper mechanics). I was always on a pitch count (rarely above 45/50) and did not pitch consecutive days during tournaments, throw three times a week, etc.

By the time I reached my freshman baseball season, I was a 6'3" LHP with an advanced feel for the game. I was able to earn a spot on the sophomore team and established myself in the rotation early on. Through the spring, I threw consistently both in the outfield and on the mound. Mix that with the unfavorable spring Midwest weather and it can take a toll on the body, especially the arm. Towards the end of that year, my velocity significantly dropped and I was told I was simply going through "dead arm". So I shut it down for a few weeks and got ready for summer and fall ball, where I drew interest from a few division one schools. It was at this point when I first realized I, with a strong worth ethic, would have the opportunity to play beyond high school.

With no problems after that, I was called up to varsity my sophomore year, where I felt strong and I felt healthy. I had a solid sophomore campaign on the mound and gained significant experience, which carried over to the summer where I saw continued success. I found myself on the roster of a Prep Baseball Report Midwest Future Games team as well as a fall team that entered in the PG Tournaments in Cedar Rapids, Iowa and Fort Myers, Florida. I had heard all about these tournaments, but this is the first chance I had at actually playing in them. I was ecstatic.  Between physically maturing, as I was now 6'6" 200 pounds, and hitting the weight room, I added velocity and felt better than I ever had. From the fall of my sophomore year to the fall of my junior year, I went from 81-83mph to 85-87mph. With my physical stature certainly helping me, I began accumulating serious interest from major division one schools. The recruiting process exploded and I set up several visits, eventually committing to a division one program. But the last tournament of the fall, my velocity dropped to 81-84mph and I felt some unusual soreness in my elbow. I never had elbow soreness in all my years of pitching. But since it was the last tournament of the year, I moved on to basketball and shut my arm down for the winter. I thought nothing of it.

Back on the bump in February of my junior year, I attended a regional showcase where I let loose on 12-15 pitches. My velocity was at 86-87mph, where it had been the previous fall, and I did not feel the elbow soreness to the extent of that fall. Over the next few weeks of high school ball, I developed further elbow issues. The ball coming out of my hand didn't feel as comfortable as it should, my body didn't seem to work together, and the worst part was my level of frustration. I started looking for a mechanical flaw, I tried resting it, and I tried to throw through it. I was told "it's early" and that it is "going to get stronger." I trusted those words even if I knew my body was off. I wanted to compete. I had two outings at the beginning of the season, experiencing a burning down my forearm and tightness after the outing. It didn't hurt while I was throwing and I didn't lose velocity or control. So I tried throwing through it. After my second outing, I erred on the side of caution and decided to have it checked out. Long toss was no longer "long" and the burning feeling was overwhelming.

I ended up throwing seven innings over two outings during my junior year of high school. After the first week of the high school season, when I decided to have my elbow looked at, I was told I had a "strained flexor tendon" (after an MRI) which would require two weeks of therapy before return. Two weeks quickly passed and no improvement was evident. I was then stopped from all throwing, both in center field and pitching, and spent the next six weeks doing more therapy. I wanted to get back to competing, so I completed my therapy rep by rep, and was able to return to the outfield with three weeks remaining in the high school season and I logged one inning on the mound in the last game of the season. But something still felt off. It wasn't as bad as it was before the therapy, but it was still off. Regardless, I kept faith in the throwing program and in the words of positive encouragement I received.

That summer, my elbow was inconsistently irritated. One day it would hurt, one day it would be tight, and the next it would feel great. But once again, I was told to "give it time." I pitched throughout the summer with a high level of success against talented competition. The last week in July, I set up an appointment with a second doctor. The elbow wasn't improving and I still had the gut feeling that something was not right. That visit resulted in another MRI and another five week round of therapy for a "minor Ulnar Collateral Ligament (UCL) strain." This round of therapy was similar to the last and completed by the book. The doctor had said to make an appointment after therapy to contemplate the next action. Since I did not show improvement, the follow-up visit ended with the suggestion of a procedure. I was slightly confused because I had not been diagnosed with a tear and the MRI did not show an obvious tear. Taking the doctor's advice, my parents and I organized yet another appointment with a third doctor to discuss surgery. Different from the last two, this doctor is a nationally-recognized surgeon who specializes in Tommy John surgery. It was here when I finally, finally received a clear-cut answer. Following my third MRI (this time with a dye injection) in six months, it was a confirmed tearing of the UCL, which meant surgery. Surprisingly, I was relieved.


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