Standing on the Line By Madeline C. Lanshe
G
etting a cast on, I used to think, was something that, if it was going to happen to you, happened when you were a kid. Much like braces. Some of my siblings had broken bones when we were younger, and I’d skated by watching all six of them choose colors for their braces. I thought that at the mature old age of 27, I’d escaped both those experiences. I know now, as I type this story with my left hand, the right sitting uselessly in my lap, confined in a splint as I wait to be casted, that that isn’t the case. It is not how I imagined spending my second week as an employee at Advanced RV, nor my debut trip in one of our custom vans. On my first day, Mike, my new employer and the president of ARV, suggested I go on a weekend trip with Elise, an employee around my age who had experience taking out a couple of vans. 17
I’d beamed at the idea of traveling and sleeping in a dream vehicle, as well as getting to know one of my new coworkers. That I’d be asking her to tie the laces of my hiking boots or help me put eye drops in my dog’s eye never crossed my mind as we hastily and excitedly made our plans to visit Allegheny National Forest and Kinzua Bridge in PA. When playing defense in volleyball, especially against higher level male hitters, a line from the Nicholas Cage film, Ghost Rider, runs like a mantra through my head: “You can’t live in fear.” When my blocker puts up a cross- block, and there’s nothing stopping the opposing hitter from ripping the ball down the line at full force where I’m standing, it’s my job to get the ball up, not step out of the way or worry about getting drilled in the face. That’s not how you become a stud defender, and
it certainly wouldn’t make my greatest volleyball role model and inspiration, the number one libero in the world and a member of France’s national team, Jenia Grebennikov, proud. You can’t live in fear. So, during one of my four weekly leagues, I planted myself on the line, tried to read the approaching attacker, put my hands in a neutral, waiting position, and watched as the ball was spiked at me. It happened fast. My brain computed that the ball was flying at my chest and I lifted my hands, hoping to get it up high enough for my teammates to return it. Pain whizzed through my right wrist as the ball made contact. I didn’t know in that moment that I’d fractured my radius, but I did know that the tears, which came minutes later as I watched my teammates play as a team of three, weren’t from the physical pain, but from knowing that I would not be
