Melbourne Victory captain Kayla Morrison had the dream start to the Liberty A-League season – until her knee snapped and the start of a very different journey was suddenly in front of her. She is sharing her rehabilitation story with KEEPUP’s audience.
It’s December 5 and I’m buzzing. After a year full of Covid, lockdowns and a five-month preseason, the season is finally here. We have a venue befitting the occasion of our first game, and I have the absolute honour of leading the girls out of the tunnel and onto the field at AAMI Park as captain. It felt like I had finally made it to where I wanted to be.
We race out of the blocks – 10 minutes in and Lia Privitelli scores. Nine minutes later Catherine Zimmerman is fouled in the box. I take the penalty and it’s saved… but I’m able to tap in the rebound. Add another four minutes and my fellow centrehalf, Claudia Bunge, scores off a corner. It seems like a dream start. It is a dream start.
And then we get to the 38th minute. The minute I will never forget. Adelaide have a corner. I head the ball to the top of the box and sprint out to try and stop their player from crossing it back in. She moves one way, my body moves the same way, but my foot slips in the grass and my knee moves the other way.
Snap.
Looking back, I knew in that moment, I knew exactly what happened. A loud, thick pop in my knee. I’ve been around football long enough to know. I remember looking up at Lia and Bungee and saying, “Oh my god, this can’t be happening to me.” They reassured me that it might not be my ACL, but my body knew, I knew.
The referee called the team doctor and physio onto the field and they started the test. If you’ve played sport, you know, have seen, have done the test. But wait, I’m testing really well? And I can’t really feel it anymore… my leg is a bit numb. I think I’m actually okay. Maybe I’m just being dramatic? That is my personality. I can keep playing. I have to keep playing.
I walk off the field, feeling pretty stable and confident that the physio and doctor will let me go back on. I do some more agility and jumping tests and it feels fine. It feels strong! The referee waves me on, while the game is still being played and I run to catch up with the back line. I go to push off laterally and… nothing. I have no power. It feels like my leg has just wobbled underneath me. Something’s wrong. Confirmation.
The doctor has seen it, the physios have seen it, and Jeff, our coach has seen it. I put my head down and walk off the field. I look at Jeff as I cross that white line to the bench, tears in my eyes. “Sorry,” I say. I sit on the bench and the thoughts are flying through my head at 1,000kmph.
This can’t be happening to me. This is my worst fear ever. The season is over. Rehab for 12 months. So much running. This can’t be happening to me. Why me? I do my prehab. I do everything right. I do every extra session, every extra rep. I love football. Football is my life. This can’t be happening to me. We were just celebrating a goal. How can things change so quickly? Please, please, please, anyone that can hear me, please don’t let this be my ACL. I can’t breathe. I feel sick. Why did I do that? Why did I run out so fast? I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve just stayed. This can’t be happening to me.
I’m in the change room now. I can’t stop crying. The physio checks my knee again, seems pretty positive. The team doc checks my knee and just walks away, seems less positive. A second physio checks my knee and I ask her straight: just tell me what you think it is. “There are signs of an ACL tear,” she says quietly. I’m still in disbelief. “Stay positive.” I hear it at least 50 times.
But why? I know. I can feel it in my gut. I’m sick and my body knows it, knows what just happened. Are my dreams over? Is 25 too old for a return? Stop it. Stop being a baby. This has happened to so many people. You can do this. I’m going to be the comeback kid! If anyone can get through this with a positive outlook, it’s me! I know I can do this! It’s a new experience, a new journey! I’m going to learn so much!
And then the girls walk into the change room for halftime, and following them in is the biggest rush of sadness. They can see it on my face and I can see it on theirs: fear, sadness, tears. Because again, the doubts and loss of hope all come rushing back to me. And at this moment, only 10 minutes after the dreaded “pop”, comes my first encounter with the emotional wave I will surf on this ACL journey.
There are many perks of being a professional athlete, but a new one I didn’t previously know about was how quickly they can get you in for scans and fast track the results. The next day the MRI takes forever because I can’t stop crying, and so I can’t keep still.
Finally I’m at the team doc’s office to go over the results. He looks at me and says, “It’s your ACL.” And to everyone’s surprise there are no more tears, just an acceptance. Because now I knew, there was no more waiting, guessing, hoping. I finally knew, with 100% certainty, what the next year would entail.
Thirty eight minutes. The captaincy, a goal, and a torn ACL. All in 38 minutes. I’m scared and I’m nervous. But in those few, rare moments of acceptance, I know I’m ready. I’m ready to fight, scratch, claw my way back. Because I love the game. Because I want to be the best.
Melbourne Victory captain Kayla Morrison will write a regular column for KEEPUP charting the emotion and endurance for a footballer in coming back from a long-term injury.
