My entire life, prior to my sophomore year, I had never experienced a true injury. Though I could absolutely say I’d had my share of smaller incidents, like a sprained wrist or having part of my ear cut by a hockey puck, I never actually had an injury that, in my eyes, counted as serious.
To me, a real injury should last more than a week, and most of the problems I had never lasted that long. Almost nobody wants to be injured; however, it nearly seems as though your bones have a sick idea of breaking at the most inconvenient times.
On September 30, 2025, at around 9:55 p.m., hockey practice was coming to an end. For context, during the fall season I had doubled up, playing football during the day and hockey at night. In the final minutes of practice, we were doing a board drill where we had to collect the puck along the boards and complete a one-on-one play. I went into the boards, collected the puck, and started moving out. My teammate, who was trying to challenge me one-on-one, slammed into the boards, which, given the sport, was completely normal. However, I fell, and soon after, a sharp, unbearable pain shot through my body, primarily in my shoulder.
I left the ice, painstakingly took off my gear, and was taken to the hospital 30 minutes later. It was there that doctors discovered my collarbone had completely snapped in half. They determined that I would not be allowed to play sports for a minimum of 10 weeks.
The first week was the worst. I couldn’t sleep, no matter how much I wanted to, because every movement I made in bed sent pain through my shoulder. For those two months in general, I couldn’t write or participate in any activities. Thankfully, I had my sling taken off in time for our PE swim unit, which apparently everyone hated. I’m not so sure I did.
December came around, and it was time for hockey tryouts. On the first day, I was not cleared for contact, but on the second day, I was. My first day went well, but during the second day, it happened again. A hit from a fellow teammate—one weaker than the last—was all I needed. I fell, heard a pop, and pain shot through my shoulder again. Originally, the nurses thought it was just muscle pain caused by the lack of activity I had done, but during my second checkup—or maybe my eighth by that point—an X-ray proved otherwise.
The entire bone had broken again.
I missed nearly the entire hockey season, but by the end, I was able to skate with a club team, and by the time I was cleared, I was ready. My final games on JV were not superstar-level performances, but in my opinion, I played considerably well for someone who had broken the same collarbone twice in a row and had not played a game since September. We finished the season with an astonishing winning record.
Having a broken collarbone is easily one of the most painful experiences I have ever gone through. The worst part about it was not being able to do what everyone else was doing, and that boredom was by far the hardest thing to deal with. Being injured taught me that, regardless of the setbacks, when life pushes you five steps back, you need to be prepared to take six steps forward.
