Chapter 2: Injury Prone

Andre is retelling all of his past surgeries, injuries, and procedures throughout his life and career.

Honestly, my career ending in an injury would be the most fitting way to go out. Injuries, surgeries, and lingering pains had plagued my life. Always the risk taker. Early on, everything was do and worry about consequences later. Hell even if I did weigh out the consequences, if it was a risk worth taking chances were I was going for it. You may think well obviously your dare devil antics landed you in the recovery room more times than not, but you'd be wrong. Majority of all my injuries were freak accidents and things that weren't easily accounted for.

The first surgery I ever endured was when I was five years old. Two days prior I was a happy little lad on my way to Disneyland with my mom, dad, and sister for the first time ever. I'd trouble you with the details of the trip some other time, but I'll say it was probably my most fondest visit to the 'ol "Happiest Place on Earth." Which is why the next part is really...interesting. Saturday night, I was so sick I threw up in the parking lot and my parents decided we were going to head back and spend the rest of the weekend with my grandparents in Fairfield. Now, if you're not familiar with California, that's about a 6-7 hour drive. Not that it really matters, but I figured details. Oh did I mention this was all for my 6th birthday that would come later during the week. Anyways, I would feel sick all morning and rather than listening to the sick boy saying he didn't want to go, my grandparents took me to Seton Medical Center in Daly City. Sure enough, it was the right call. My appendix was on the verge of bursting on arrival, it more than likely did during surgery. Not that I was awake during any of that, but I flatlined so I heard but came back. It was the catalyst to my live life to the fullest mentality with a dash of daredevil. But as I said, a fluke. Not many people, have to take their appendix out. Not many are on the brink of death over it, either. Maybe death was getting back at me for cheating it with everything else my life had thrown at me.

As a kid, I wasn't immune to scrapes and bruises. I wasn't this untouchable force. I wasn't given perfect balance. I've fallen off bikes and skateboards and have ate s**t from trying to stop too sudden on rollerblades. I'd been hit with baseballs in almost every body part. I was never shaken. Over time, I enjoyed the pain and being able to tough it out. I don't know about you, but it made me feel macho. I might not have been unbreakable but I sure felt like it. Everyone needs a wake up call. I rather not harp again on the knee injuries, but my fluke accidents don't just apply to my knees.

High school was a fun time. People may agree to disagree, which is pretty shocking to me. I mean, I wasn't a popular kid and I'd been picked on before about appearance and interests. I can relate to those kids that don't like high school because of those reasons. At the same time, I was well-liked by people I did care to associate with. I kept out of trouble, continued to get good grades, and played my favorite sport in the world: Baseball. If you asked me back then what was I going to become, it would have been a baseball player. Even if I only made the minors, just to play would have brought me joy. High school Baseball was a mix of seriousness and pleasure. Most of the kids that played on the team were friends of mine that played for various little league teams our neighborhood had to offer. We all got along well, and knew what we could do. It's a shame we didn't try as hard as we could have. This was the pleasure part because we knew that none of us were going to be replaced and we were free to do what we pleased in practices and games. However, a serious point hit for me my Freshman year. I had been starting over the guy a year older than me because he liked to goof off and skip practice. One uneventful day of practice, the coach goes berserk for someone missing an easy grounder through the legs and orders everyone to line up on the fence. We were to sprint the length of a soccer field and back. Typically, this is an easy thing to in season as you're usually in shape. What made it difficult and tragedy stricken for me was the "pot holes" our field had. The junior varsity field was known for having patches of grass and uneven bumps. I took a wrong step, then I took a tumble. I struggled to get up on my own but I toughed it out and ran a sprint on my own because I sat out of one prior due to falling. I was angry for having to run, I was more angry when I was injured with a left sprained ankle. I was pissed when the next game that came, the coach had looked at me because the kid in my place was messing up again. He remarked, "You know, you'd be starting if you weren't hurt." I despised him. Indirectly it was his fault I was hurt in the first place. But I vowed it would be the last time an injury would slow me down and thus began my "playing through the pain" phase.

I wouldn't have another serious injury that slowed me down until my Senior year of high school. We were conditioning before the season and although we couldn't "practice", one of the coaches was there letting us toss around the ball to get ready. Get ready for what, I have no clue because this was about 3-4 months before the season would start. Previous to the conditioning, I had over-extended my shoulder in P.E. class and it hadn't been bugging me so I thought nothing of it. I was only a few throws in when I realized it hurt to bring my arm above my shoulder. Not only did it hurt, but I was severely limited. A freak accident had happened again before my Senior year. Anybody that knows anything, knows that you need your throwing arm in baseball and it looked as though I lost mine. I couldn't understand what the doctor was telling me when I went in for an evaluation. All I got from it was that the muscles that were supposed to be helping my shoulder move was wrapped around the shoulder so tight that it was hindering it from moving. With a little physical therapy and exercise, I brought movement and strength back to the arm but I feel it never returned to full form. While playing, I could feel it aching or weighing me down. I couldn't pitch how I wanted and I hardly pitched at all. I felt it was my year to shine bright but I was brought down. Although I played a great season, it didn't feel that way and the shoulder wasn't the only injury I'd be plagued with. 

Remember how I said, I've been hit just about everywhere with a baseball. Well, you become kind of fearless when things like that happen. I wasn't a stranger to getting hit by a pitch just to get someone on base. I would rather suffer the hit than have coach being red hot about moving out the way. Believe me when I say, this one I didn't see coming. I was leading off for the first time that year. I'd been great at getting on base and making things happen. I worked the count to a 3-2. The other team's pitcher had been pretty accurate despite the balls he threw up to that point, so I had no fear of being hit. Big mistake! The pitch of fate would be a high inside fastball that I saw was going to be ball four, or so I thought. As it got closer, I could remember thinking it's not going to hit me and then WHAM! At the last second, I turned my helmet and felt the impact right against my cheek. I stood stunned for a second with my ears ringing and the helmet sliding off my head, hitting the dirt. My main coach, Mr. Smith, came out of the dugout to check to see if I was alright. I could see fine, hear fine, the umpire jerked me around for a second and they let me take the base no harm done. Except, as soon as I reached first base, I was taken out of the game. More pissed than the sprained ankle, I wondered why coach took me out not knowing he already called for my parents to come pick me up. I watched the game from the bench depressed with teammates asking if I was okay because they could see what happened to me and I couldn't. My dad arrived and I walked out of the dugout to leave and I just saw everyone's eyes locked on me in horror like I was some kind of freak show. I mean, technically I was. When I got to the emergency room, I saw first hand the horror everyone else already witnessed. Staring into a mirror in the high corner of the room, it looked like a golf ball was being smuggled underneath my left eye. Two weeks later it was nothing but a shining reminder that I got hit right before prom. In the moment, it was shocking. For the next few games I was constantly reminded by inquiring umpires if I was the kid that got hit. I never missed a game after the incident and if I can take any positives from it all that was my highest sung praise. At our banquet, Mr. Smith told all parents and players alike that he wishes he had more players like myself who never missed a practice or game (within reason, I had missed a couple due to injuries or waking up late and missing the bus). Bruised eyes and egos but still the heart of a lion beat on.

As for the rest of life, it's been pretty much the same. Picking up the concessional bumps, bruises, and sideline injuries. With one exception coming from a pick up dodgeball game that went awry when I threw my arm out of the socket causing a temporary dislocation. Wouldn't you know it, I popped that sucker back in and tried playing still. I couldn't, but I gave it my best shot. And as far as wrestling goes, I'd like you to ask me of a time where I don't remember having any bumps, bruises, or injuries that plagued me as I made my walk down the ramp every night and into the ring. At least now, they're battle scars. You never realize how true those "Don't Try This At Home" ads are until you're actually in the s**t. But, I love the pain as bout as much as I love wrestling.