Issuing another disclaimer that I’m not trying make it seem like I have it worse than anyone else—we’re all dealing with our own challenges in our own lives in our own ways every single day. I just wanted to write a little bit about empathy.

I’ve already written at length about what it felt like being on an interconnected journey with Dom last year—going through the process of fully breaking down and trying to build myself back up. While that story ended on a happy note for both of us at the time, it didn’t take long before it felt like things spiraled again. Just days after Dom’s freak knee injury in August, I tested positive for covid for the second time. I was much sicker this time, but it was over more quickly. Besides some unrelenting fatigue and headaches, I more or less picked back up where I left off. I went on an amazing first trip to Liverpool and Goodison. Besides getting really winded from walking up stairs, it felt like a totally normal vacation.  

But over the next few weeks and months it became clear something once again wasn’t right. My lungs just don’t work right, is how I framed it to people. I was getting short of breath even while taking short walks; exercise was becoming increasingly difficult. My doctor tried me on a variety of inhalers, none of which made any difference. I was coming home from gym classes totally wiped out, culminating in a few terrifying episodes where after exercising my lungs filled with fluid, I had flu-like symptoms, and I had chest pain so severe I genuinely thought I was having a heart attack. I paused my gym membership, started skipping all my hockey and volleyball games. A pattern to my day emerged: dragging myself out of bed after unrefreshing sleep, barely scraping through a work day, collapsing on the couch, trying to summon the will to make dinner before going to bed progressively earlier and earlier.

I saw a long covid specialist in January, who diagnosed me with chronic fatigue syndrome—something becoming more and more common in long covid patients. Additional testing showed I likely have POTS as well. Chronic, lifelong conditions, no cure.

My initial reaction: Hardcore denial. Unfortunately, most of my “normal” life was centered on activity and movement. What were my hobbies before? Going to the gym; playing rec league hockey, volleyball, softball; riding my bike around town; and, once the pandemic arrived, walking, walking, and even more walking. I’d spend as much of my non-working hours as possible standing, moving, keeping busy with anything.

Now? I’m working modified hours, having to adjust my meeting schedule and plan my work around when I’m likely to have energy and block off times I’m most likely to crash. Exercise is a few simple hip bridges, or practicing standing up and sitting down from a chair with my physical therapist. I get out of breath when I make my bed. I clocked a 150 heart rate carrying a bag of groceries up the stairs to my second floor home. Activities that used to take me minutes or hours are now spread out over days, carefully plotted to maximize energy and limit crashes.

+++

So what does all this have to do with Dom? It’s why I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust when people start ragging on him for being injured. As if he somehow wants this, prefers it to actually playing, or is doing it on purpose, or doesn’t care about the club. I’m just here to shout back as loudly as I can about what it feels like as a regular person when your body lets you down, when you all of a sudden can’t do the things you used to be able to through no fault of your own, when you want desperately to return to how things used to be and your body makes it impossible. 

“Serves him right for all that modeling! Now he can just do that instead, he doesn’t care about what happens on the pitch!”

Take it from someone who no longer has access to most of their favorite hobbies: Hobbies are an extremely important part of a fulfilling life! They also don’t have any bearing on your ability to do your job?! If anything, they make it easier by offering you a healthy work-life balance?! I am haunted by this clip of a shattered Dom after the Palace game last year, as he specifically calls out the people who have doubted his commitment (and Keano’s incredulous shake of his head and whisper that it was “never” the case).

“Bin him off, he’s useless, we should have sold him by now!”

Take it from someone who now has to devote 95% of their time and energy to being able to work: People are more than the job they do! The man also literally scored the goal that kept us up last year?! It’s not his fault our incompetent club didn’t have anything remotely resembling a backup plan in case he got hurt! Again, his initial injury has always been framed as a freak accident, he had come back to the club in fantastic shape to start this season, he was routinely playing through injuries he was so desperate to get back. 

“He’s getting paid all that money to do nothing, must be nice!”

Ok, take it from someone who got paid to ostensibly “do nothing” for a few months last year: It’s a great gig if you can get it! I’m kidding, mostly. An essential (and privileged) part of my recovery at the time last year was still collecting a paycheck while I had time to dedicate to going to doctor appointments, resting, rebuilding healthy habits, and focusing on my mental and emotional well-being during an extremely distressing time. And guess what? Even if I got paid 100K a week, it would have absolutely no ability to change my situation, to go back to doing what I love, doing what I want, moving freely, living without care. 

+++

Take it from me: This shit is hard. It’s not easy to suddenly feel like you’ve lost your entire identity. How would I have described myself in the past? I’m strong, I’m active, I’m healthy, I’m not picky, I’m easy to please, I love being outside, I’m independent. It’s scary when so much of what you thought about yourself, what you liked about yourself, what you value most about yourself is just gone. (Plug: Go to therapy!)

I don’t know what it’s like to be rich, or famous, or an inspiration, or to feel like the hopes of an entire fanbase rest on your shoulders. But I am a human being. So are you. So is Dom. Take it from me: Being a human is about more than what your body can and can’t do at any given moment in time.