David R. Mellor - One Base at a Time: How I Survived PTSD and Found My Field of Dreams

ONE BASE AT A TIME

hen I left the hospital, I knew my knee was damaged and crushed, but I did not realize that my dream of making it to the majors had also been destroyed. I had a lot of bitterness inside toward the woman who hit me and even toward myself. I held that hatred inside a long time.

Knowing what I know now, however, the day that I was hit was one of the luckiest days of my life. If that had never happened, I would never have met my wife, Denise, and never would have had my two girls. Maybe I would have played college baseball, maybe even made the majors, but I wouldnt have what I have now. But, as I looked down at my leg in the cast, I wasnt thinking that then. I was only thinking of what I had lost.

I was in the cast for close to two months, and there wasnt much more I could do but lie in bed and watch television. I went to see my team play ball, but I didnt really feel like I was part of it anymore. I was in a great deal of pain, so, apart from occasional physical therapy to maintain some strength in my leg, I mostly stayed home.

Baseball was out, but I was still confident that, once the cast came off, I would pitch in college. The University of Toledo started a little later than many other schools, their coach was still interested in me, and some friends of mine were going there, so, at the end of the summer, I enrolled.

It was great to finally feel like I was moving forward again with my life. I remember that, when my cast finally came off, I couldnt even bend my knee. The whole leg had atrophied so much that it was barely bigger around than my arm. And the smell! All my friends had signed my cast and I had thought it might be kind of neat to keep it but, as soon as they took it off, about two months of sweat stunk up the room. I couldnt throw it away fast enough.

My leg was weak, so I had to wear an immobilizer and walk on crutches, but at least I could move again. I even figured out how to drive. I couldnt bend or lift my leg to get in on the drivers side door, but I could pull myself out that way. Fortunately, my car, the Green Meanie, had a single bench seat in front. To get in, I had to slide onto the passengers seat and pull myself over to the drivers side, then use my left foot on the gas and brake. I tied a jump rope to the passengers door so, once I was in, I could pull it closed.

After spending most of the summer feeling sorry for myself, it was exciting to finally go away to college. Naturally, I was nervous too, not only about being on my own, but because I was still having nightmares. I worried that, if I had them at school and woke up my roommate, he might think I was weird or something. Wearing the brace already made me feel different enough.

I ended up rooming with one of my friends from Piqua. I took the bottom bunk. We shared the dorm with a bunch of members of the football team, just opposite the baseball field. Every day, I looked out at the field and saw myself pitching the following spring.

Those first few weeks were a lot of fun. Even though I was still on crutches I tried to do everything everyone else was doing. I ended up with blisters the size of silver dollars on my palms and my armpits were rubbed raw.

My roommate was an incredible guy. Although I was still having nightmares, I never talked to him about them, so, every night before I went to sleep, I was scared that hed hear me. Back home, I had stopped having friends over for sleepovers because I was afraid they might hear me. Now I was anxious about going to sleep, so Id watch TV until I nodded off, hoping that, if I did yell out, the sound would drown out my screams or I could blame it on the TV. My roommate never said a word about any of it. I had a hard time getting around on crutches and he helped carry my books and get me through doorways. He couldnt have been more considerate.

I was having flashbacks, although I didnt yet have a name for what I was experiencing. I just thought I was messed up. All I knew was that certain things caused a negative reaction I could not controltires squealing, an engine revving, the smell of McDonalds French fries. Any of these caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. Id start sweating profusely, my heart pounded, and my chest tightened. It almost hurt to breathe deeply. Sometimes I got headaches. After these attacks, Id look around wondering if anybody had noticed and was staring at me.

Although I now view the flashbacks as a sign of strength and proof that Im a survivor, I didnt look at them that way then. I felt like jumping out of my skin and, if I had one around other people, I tried to make it seem like I was making some kind of joke. Almost every waking hour, I worried about that and found myself avoiding places that might trigger a flashback. It didnt leave me with much to do.

At the same time, I was starting physical therapy. I had to start slow, with basic range-of-motion movements, leg extensions, and hamstring curls to work on my flexibility. I gradually transitioned to using machines and lifting light weights. I realized this was going to take a long time, but I was determined to do whatever the therapists said to get better. My goal was to make the majors.

About five or six weeks into my first semester, I was sitting in our room with my immobilizer off, letting it air out, my leg on the desk, just looking out the window, when I heard my roommate coming down the hall. I stood up on my crutches as he came in, but I didnt put the immobilizer back on. He had a towel in his hands. He saw me standing there and as he entered the room he said, Take a bow. The Kings in town. Horsing around, he snapped the towel at my groin. I laughed and reacted without thinking, trying to block the towel with my hands while turning to avoid being hit. It was the simplest little thing. For a split second I forgot all about my knee. As I turned, I lost my balance and my crutches went out from under me. For the first time since my accident, I put my full weight on my bad leg without wearing the brace. My knee wasnt strong enough to support me. It buckled inward and sent a sharp pain through leg. I knew right away something was wrong. My buddy knew it too and began apologizing, but I didnt want to make him feel bad. I tried to laugh it off, to act like it was no big deal, but I knew that it was. A short time later, I called my Mom and she made an appointment for me to see my doctor in Dayton the next day.

I lay on the table while the doctor manipulated my leg, first the left one, for comparison, and then the right. It bent in far more than it should have, and the pain was incredible. The medial collateral ligament, which had been damaged in the accident, had torn. I would need more surgery and several more months in a cast. It did not seem possible. Just like that, I was back where I had started. The very next day we had to go back up to Toledo to withdraw from school. We went back to the dorm and packed everything we had unpacked just a few weeks before, and I had to leave all the friends I had just started to make. As I drove off with my mother, I remember looking at the baseball field, out to the pitchers mound, wondering when I would be coming back. I tried to look at it as a setback, but it was hard not to feel disappointed. I also felt horrible for my roommate, because he was such a good guy and had helped me in so many ways. I hoped to return for the spring semester, but that depended on my leg.

There was no talk of arthroscopic surgery this time, even though we found a surgeon who was a little more sports-orientedhe was the surgeon for several university football teams. We hoped that, because he was involved in sports medicine, the outcome might be a little better.