Shamus Sullivan

Contributing Writer

During my junior year at Holy Cross High School, a small Catholic school in Dunmore PA., I had no idea what major I wanted to pursue. Many of my friends knew exactly what they wanted and had even picked their school, but it was proving to be a difficult decision for me. My parents reassured me that I’d know when the time was right, but I wasn’t as optimistic. Then one cold January day changed my path.

In January 2022, I was playing basketball for my high school team. The game was going well, and I had just earned a spot as a starter, which was no small feat. I was playing my best game of the season, doing great on both sides of the ball, getting steals and knocking down shots. The second quarter buzzer rang and the team headed into the locker room for halftime. We received our usual halftime berating sprinkled with bits of encouragement and it was soon time to get back out on the boards.

Confident in myself, I was ready to attack the second half the same way I did the first. I started the third quarter with a quick steal and an easy layup. After a missed shot by our opponent, I jumped up for the rebound pushing the pace down the court. I passed the ball to my teammate on the right side. He pulled up for a quick jump shot and missed off the left side of the rim. I secured what seemed to be a routine rebound, but when my feet hit the floor I felt an explosive pop in my right knee that seemed to reverberate through my body. A second later, I was fouled. As my teammates set up the inbound play, I tried to walk it off, hoping it was just a tweak from an awkward landing. It didn’t take long before I realized that it was something potentially serious.

I walked to the bench and told my coach that something was wrong. Not being a warm and fuzzy kind of guy, he wasn’t very receptive but proceeded to sub me out of the game. I made my way to the team athletic trainer. At first look, she thought that I had dislocated my kneecap, and it had gone back into place. All I could think of was, “Why? Why me? Why now? I just proved myself as a valued player on the team, and now I’m going to be sidelined for a few days, maybe weeks, or even months.”

The next morning an MRI showed a torn meniscus. That explained the pain that ripped through me when my feet hit the ground the night before. Then I heard the news that I was dreading… surgery and months of physical therapy. I was nervous. I never even had a simple tooth filling and now I’m having surgery?

Covid had canceled my sophomore year of basketball and now this.

The days following my surgery were not my finest days. I was afraid to even move, which was crazy because normally I am in constant motion. I felt helpless. My mom was desperate and called an old neighbor who was a physical therapist. In 20 minutes she had me up and moving. Never would I have thought that getting from the couch to the bathroom would be the highlight of my day. I felt ready to start my recovery at Geisinger Orthopedics and Sports Medicine. I continued attending basketball practices and games to support my teammates, but now I had a much different perspective.

After weeks of PT, the day finally came when I started one-on-one training twice a week with a sports trainer specializing in training and recovery, especially for athletes like me who played soccer and basketball. He was intense and no-nonsense, and honestly kind of scary. He was a tiny guy, but incredibly athletic. He thought nothing of cursing out his clients if they weren’t ready to put in the work. I exceeded his expectations, partly because I was driven but also because he was intimidating.

I admired him and appreciated his intensity and dedication to his athletes. I looked forward to my sessions with him even though I knew he was going to kick my ass physically and mentally. I know that sounds insane, but it gave me confidence and pushed me to be better and stronger. Could I do this for a living one day? Have I found my major? I realized what my parents were talking about…that I’d know what college major I wanted when the time was right. My interest in athletic training and helping other athletes recover from injury grew from one unfortunate event on a cold winter night in my high school gym.

Sports injuries are common at all levels of play. High school, college, professional, and especially the weekend warriors are all capable of injury and not one of those is more important than another, regardless of how they may be perceived. My physical therapists treated me as a priority and gave me the confidence to build a stronger me. They tended to my physical and mental well-being and unknowingly directed me on a life path, Some people may say that my on-on-one trainer is an egomaniac but I prefer the term impassioned. Who knows, maybe someday we’ll work together, but I think I might have to be a bit less frightening