There were two passes on offer.

Do I send the ball wide? Or do I drive forward into the circle?

My natural instinct is always to send the play wide; do the simple things well.

On this occasion though, I chose to attack and go forward with one of my opposing teammates tackling me.

My feet tangled with her stick and I fell forward before finding myself on the ground.

A movement that’s happened countless times but something felt different. A foreign sensation.

I was literally just lying there, holding my knee, cradling back and forth just whimpering “my knee, my knee”.

Maybe it was the adrenaline kicking in, but within several minutes I had the strength to try and get back on my feet. I couldn’t withstand any pressure on my leg though so I was accompanied from the field by our medical staff.

As in standard practice, our team physiotherapist immediately took me away from the field for analysis.

At this point, concern flooded my mind but I maintained hope that it wouldn’t be what I feared. I hadn’t heard a pop or a bang, no excruciating pain.

As I lay on the physio table and my teammates continued playing, it quickly occurred to me that he was doing a series of tests.

I read his body language and knew something was wrong.

Tell me what you’re checking for? He responded “It’s probably nothing, these are just the tests we always do.”

He didn’t look me in the eye.

Consistent with my personality, I demanded an answer.

That’s when I knew it – “I’ve done my ACL haven’t I?”

He finally confirmed my doubts and nodded. He said he had done the ACL test and was concerned about structural damage.

I couldn’t help myself; I completely broke down crying. I was inconsolable trying to contact one or two close friends via mobile who could provide relief from the nightmare I was experiencing.

My teammates slowly emerged from playing, with the unspoken diagnosis spreading quickly amongst the group. One by one they started coming over, trying to instill lost hope.

Just wait until the scan results, human error can happen in these situations.

There are moments in life where you simply know an outcome and can do nothing to change it.

This was one of those times.

As expected, 24 hours later the MRI scan confirmed a full rupture of the anterior cruciate ligament in my left knee.

It’s been two months now, and I’m finally starting to process the ordeal.

I’ve never struggled so much before in my life, never felt so low. Initially, I couldn’t help but feel victimised, overwhelmed with sadness and frustration.

I continually asked myself why? How did this happen after I invested six weeks of pure pain and dedication to a pre-season. To have set a new personal best beep test of 13.8 the day prior, committing everything to put myself in a position to potentially compete in my first Commonwealth Games.

The entire year of international competition taken in a matter of seconds.

There is a cruel side to playing sport that rarely gets spoken about, and this is it.

The struggles that accompany the glory of being an elite athlete.

I started the rehabilitation process almost immediately, vividly recalling the memory of my 15cm, grade 2+ hamstring tear which ended my Junior World Cup campaign three weeks before departure two years ago. A reminder of the diligence necessary during rehab.

Regardless, it’s a long, arduous and draining process.

Right now, I still feel terrible but I’ve been getting the job done.

Because for all that has happened, as an athlete, you wake up and whether you feel like you want to do it or not, you know that it’s going to be hard.

I’m aware that the next ten months are probably going to be the most difficult of my sporting career. Knowing that is so confronting but consoling. The thought of overcoming this provides motivation.

These past few weeks have improved slightly as I’ve been able to get back into the gym, onto the grinder and into the pool, and in turn it’s reminded me who I am as an athlete.

Mentally, it’s where I am going to be tested the hardest. I’m starting back from ground zero but I’m determined to use this recovery process as a way to return as a better player than I previously was.

What’s comforting though is knowing I’m going to do it. I have an addictive personality and I’m prepared to work for what I want.

The visualisation of my teammates helping to pull up my ridiculously tight green and gold bodysuit before I step onto the field for my first game back is what is really helping me to wake up everyday and get out of bed and into the training facility.

And until that image becomes reality, I’ll keep working quietly on the sidelines.