I'll never forget the morning I sat in an orthopedist's office listening to her describe my own son's shoulder, in the exact clinical language I use with other people's kids every week.
It was eleven days before a fall tournament.
Carter is 12. He pitches, plays a little outfield, and is the kind of kid who'd rather throw against a wall than do almost anything else.
"Early-stage Little League Shoulder. Five weeks, no throwing. We'll image again after that."
I'm a sports medicine PT. I know exactly what that diagnosis means, what causes it, and how it's treated. And I still hadn't seen it coming in my own house.
I accepted the shutdown the second she said it. When a doctor tells a parent to stop throwing, that parent listens, full stop, regardless of whether the parent happens to also be a clinician. What I refused to accept was that "rest and hope" was the entire plan going forward.