I'm going to have surgery

It's a sunny summer evening in Auckland, New Zealand.

It's the 29th of January - a Wednesday - 7-a-side football as usual.

We're 3-2 down, five minutes to go. I'm running down the right wing, the ball's played perfectly in front of my path, my first touch is good. I see the keeper tippy tapping unsure whether to charge out, or just hold his space.

I know a move to the left can open all the space I need to tap the ball in the net past the now rooted goalkeeper.

Feigning right with my shoulder, I force all ninety two kilograms of me through my left leg to enact my trick.

My body disagrees.#

I feel a pop.

Down I go, screaming in agony.

Unfortunately it's just the start#

Turns out my ACL - Anterior Cruciate Ligament, a term I only understand to mean a season-ender for footballers - is completely ruptured.

I take pleasure in the irony of this injury taking place during the last two days of Dry January, and that I had been in the best relative shape of my past few years.

Fortunately New Zealand has socialised healthcare#

The ACC (Accident Compoensation Corporation) covers accidents in New Zealand. Also at the advising of my wise partner, I have private health insurance too.

I'm going to have surgery. The 16th of May, 2025.

The surgeon will take some of my patella, and use it to reconstruct my ACL.

I'm a bit scared to be honest, I've never been under general anaesthetic, and typing this now I wonder when the last time I had any form of anaesthetic.

Theoretically, I go to sleep and wake up better#

But it seems strange to artificially pass time like this, like you would in a video game. I'll go in able to walk, and emerge in a cast with crutches.

I'm sure it'll be fine, but I can't wait for it to be over.