Referee Brett Huxtable put the whistle to his lips. With one big exhale he blew it, I sunk to the floor. The 19th December 2014 – people remember birthday’s and anniversaries – to me that date will always live me. I didn’t just feel the 3-2 defeat away at Bristol Rovers , I sunk down and felt like my body had finally defeated me too.
It was a cold, wintry Friday night, 5,367 had braved the elements inside the Memorial Ground, thousands more watching around the world on BT Sport. As that full-time whistle went, I had never felt so alone. I knew deep down I was in trouble, big trouble. I couldn’t carry on how I was.
I hobbled back into the changing room, I packed away the painkillers that I had eaten like Skittles before kick-off and at half-time. I slumped in my seat, took of my shirt and placed it on the floor in front of me. ‘O’Donnell 18’ in white font stared back at me, it would be the last time I would take a match shirt off for close on three years.
The night of the Bristol Rovers defeat and the night thereafter, it was the team Christmas-Do in Bristol. Ask any player, it is one of the main highlights of a football season a Christmas-Do. As we sat in a sweaty west-country nightclub, lads bouncing round, drinks flowing like the nearby River Severn, all I could think of is how I was going to tell Gary Mills on the Monday that I couldn’t carry on anymore. “Gaffer, I can’t train or play anymore, I have got what feels like a bruise under my toe!” Imagine telling a European Cup winner who had played under the great Brian Clough that I couldn’t carry on cause of a bruised toe, I thought vodka and cranberry was going to make me feel sick that night, not the thought of speaking to Gary three days later.
I trudged into the International Stadium on the Monday morning. Physio Suzanne Davis knew about the problem of the severe discomfort, she didn’t know what was causing it though. I stopped by her room en-route to Gary Mills office, “Gaffer upstairs Suzie?” She nodded back, “Yes, he knows you are struggling, head up and see him.” I knocked on his door, my knuckles barely glancing the door as the embarrassment I felt come over me as I politely waited for him to invite me in.
First thing he is asking, “How was the weekend? Everyone behaving?” I couldn’t exactly tell him how Danny Wright was two-footing Christmas trees in the hotel foyer or how on the second night Danny was at it again, setting fire extinguishers off as Matty Pattison opened the hotel door of number 376. “Yeah all good thanks Gaffer, everyone had a good time.”
The Gaffer was brilliant with me, he always was. “Don’t worry son, we’ll get you to see someone at The Nuffield in Jesmond and we’ll see what is causing you the problem. Anything you need, you know where I am.” I left feeling like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
A few weeks later I was to spend two afternoons at The Nuffield on Osbourne Road. I was to have an MRI scan on the Tuesday and then back to see the foot and ankle specialist on the a couple of days later. Thursday, January 8th 2015 come, I got the lift up to the second floor of the private hospital. I sat and waited before Doctor Dave Townsend called me in. “So Mr O’Donnell, after having looked at your MRI scan from Tuesday, I can see you have severe Sesamoiditis in your left sesamoid bone.” Not in a rude way, it sounded like he had plucked a Roman Emperors name out of his overly clever brain and told me this was the condition causing me to barely be able to put my foot down on Tyneside surfaces.
“We will try a ultra-sound guided cortisone injection next week, 7-10 days after you should be able to return to full training.” Perfect, only two weeks and I will be back with the lads playing again. An ultra-sound guided cortisone injection didn’t sound overly appealing, neither very comfortable. If it got me back out playing games of football with no pain then happy days, I was going to do whatever it took.
A couple of gym filled weeks passed. The ever growing discomfort under my big toe only a few more days away from rectification. I arrived back at the hospital and proceeded to a dark room with more staff than a scene out of Holby City. One Doctor was to do the ultra-sound, another to get the cortsione injection out and ready, Doctor Townsend to administer the injection. Then a few trainees to overlook proceedings. The cortisone injection come out the packet. I thought the length from Gateshead to Torquay was long, I am telling you this injection wasn’t much shorter than that.
In it went, I don’t like needles anyway but this way by far the most painful one that had pierced my skin. A strange sensation as all the doctors liaised, and the needle wriggled about before Doctor Townsend’s thumb pressed down and the cortisone surrounded my sesamoid. Painful, but not long after I would be back doing what I love most, well I thought I would be.
Five days passed, then six, then seven. Day 10 came, it was time to go for a run behind the stadium on the grass pitches. “Get in! I am back, pain free thank **** for that!” My right foot went down, my left foot followed. A bit sore but alright, surely it was my foot just getting used to running again. A few more paces and it would all be alright, no pain at all. I looked down at my Casio watch, 5 minutes I had been running the pain was starting to get worse. “Got to be in your head this J, Doctor Townsend said it would be fine after 10 days, keep going the pain will wear off.” Second by second getting worse I hobbled through to 12 minutes like Suzanne had asked. I got home that afternoon, the pain was unreal, it was no different that night I slumped to the floor a month previous in Bristol.
I arrived at the stadium again the next morning. “Suzie, I’m not sure that injection has worked. I could barely walk last night.” She looked a bit baffled, “No problem, try another run today and if it is still painful we will get back in touch with Doctor Townsend.” Another run followed, I stopped after 5 minutes the pain was to much. I felt deflated, what had I done to deserve this.
A week later I was crossing the Tyne Bridge, heading back to see Doctor Townsend. “Sorry it didn’t work Mr O’Donnell, I have got some good news and some not so good news for you. Good news first, there is something else we can try, for the next 3 months I need you to stretch your calf muscles everyday for an hour. The tightness in your calf muscles could be causing the sesamoid bone to come under severe stress and this could be causing the inflammation.
“Now the not so good news, if that wasn’t to work then the last resort would be to surgically remove the sesamoid bone.” What does he mean the last resort, just take the bone out and I will be alright, that is the issue, remove it and then surely no issues. “I have only ever performed a sesamoidectamy once in my 32-year career, that was on an elderly lady who was 70. I know the thought of it isn’t nice but there is only a 50% chance you would be able to ever play again if we went down the route of a surgical procedure. I have done some research with the uniqueness of this injury. Two American Football players have had it, one returned to play again, the other sadly had to retire.”
I walked out the hospital, I opened my car door. Engine off, I sat for 20 minutes crying my eyes out, aged just 22 I had been told I might never return to playing football again. A ‘50% chance’ it wasn’t really the greatest odds. The first footballer known of in the world to have the condition, certain accolades you want as a footballer, this was definitely not one of them.
3 months passed, everyday on a calf-stretching device intent on lengthening my gastrocnemius. 60 minutes everyday. Tedious, boring, going out to watch the lads train not knowing if I was able to join in with them ever again. At first I was alright watching the lads train, it would go on to become something I really struggled with.
Did it work? No, absolutely no difference what so ever. I felt like I had wasted 5,400 minutes of my life stood on some stupid board that was meant to help. Last resort, back to The Nuffield to sort out a date and operation time to try and save my career.
While this was all going on I thought I was developing discomfort in my right-foot. At first I genuinely believed it was all in my head, it had to be. I couldn’t have this awful condition in both feet, could I? Well I was sorting out one foot, I may well have seen if this freak condition was developing in my other foot. Another MRI scan, followed by going back to see Dr Townsend. “Unfortunately Mr O’Donnell you have the onsets of sesamoiditis in your right foot also. If we are going to remove one Sesamoid then we may as well do a bi-lateral sesamoidectamy and remove both. This will mean you are going to need to be in a wheelchair after the operation for around 10-12 weeks.” I’m glad I went with my gut instinct and got another scan on my right foot to check. So that was it, an operation was going to be needed to try and save my career, a footballing dream that began aged just 6. I dreamt everyday of my childhood years to be a professional footballer, I thought my career might last longer than 5 years from the ages of 17-22. It was up to Dr Dave Townsend to try and save it. Football is my life, you could argue my life was in the hands of someone I barely knew.
Gateshead FC informed me unexpectedly that they wouldn’t be able to fund my operation, I have only ever played at the top-end of the Non-League game, that ruled out the Professional Footballers’ Association (PFA) being able to step in and cover the cost with never having played in the football league. The ‘Football Family’ stepped in, a fund raising page was setup by two young Gateshead supporters and £7000 was needed to cover the cost. I had a 50% chance of returning, it wasn’t like this operation was definitely going to sort it out for me and people’s hard earned money was going to definitely get me back playing. The fund got off to an incredible start. Hundred’s of pounds raised in the first few hours and days. Incredible gestures from people from different clubs around the country. Giving money to a lad they had no affiliation to, all to give him a chance of maybe playing again. Everyday I think about the people who contributed to that fund, I wish I could thank them all face-to-face for what they done and the money the contributed. If you are reading this and I have never got the chance to say thank you for donating, to me football is my life and you helped save my life. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
We were at just under £5000, when naturally the funding page stalled a little. I was spending a few days in Belmullet, a little Irish town on the west-coast of County Mayo visiting my nan. Ireland isn’t great for signal, my nan’s WiFi slower than the 1 litre Ford Fiesta she had parked out the front. House phone rings, “JJ it is for you, it is your dad.” I walked out to nan’s non-cordless phone. With a lump in his throat, dad uttered the words: “JJ we have done it. Danny Graham has put in just short of £3000 in to your funding page. We have done it, you can get your operation!” A tear rolled down my face, in less than two weeks people had donated, many to a lad they didn’t know. Danny Graham, I didn’t know him at all. All I knew was that he was Sunderland’s striker, “Why would he donate that amount of money to me?” Every donation I was grateful, extremely grateful. For what Danny done for me and all the other people I will be forever thankful.
Operation paid for. Operation date set, I was back to The Nuffield. June 1st 2015.
The scariest day of my life, I walked in knowing I was leaving with two less bones and on two wheels of a non-stylish wheelchair. Down to theatre I went, canular inserted into my left hand, at least the needle wasn’t as big as the cortisone one. Off to sleep, it felt like I was asleep 2 minutes, 5 hours later I was back on the ward. Feet wrapped up like a child’s first Christmas present, as groggy as Danny Wright must have felt waking up the night after two-footing that Marriott’s Christmas tree. Dr Townsend stood at the foot of my bed as I come round, “Well Mr O’Donnell, the operation went very successfully. When the anaesthetic wears off you will be fine to head home.” Fast forward a few hours, after sampling the delights of Nuffield’s Michelin star food the physio come round to try and get me up and in a wheelchair. I couldn’t feel my feet, it was like when you get pins and needles in them, I had that constantly. “You’re going to have to stay in, the anaesthetic hasn’t worn off.” I thought my Low Fell residence was going to be enjoyable that night, instead it was a private room for one with nurses coming in every couple of hours to see if I was getting any feeling back.
I headed back down south to be with my family a couple of days later. It wasn’t possible to live on my own so my little brother came up and stayed with me while I faced the operation and then he escorted me rather uncomfortably back down the M1. A long process was to follow, you will meet some good people in life and football. I come across one through playing with his son James. Brian Marwood offered me the chance to use Manchester City’s facilities and medical staff in my long rehabilitation. Brian is Managing Director of Global Football at The Etihad. All free of charge, he knew the odds weren’t overly great in me returning so he offered me the best facilities and medical advice going. He never had to do that, you won’t meet many better people than Brian Marwood.
The next few months consisted of getting out of a wheelchair and learning to walk again. The sesamoid bones that I now felt like I was an expert on, helped you balance, I would have to learn to live life without them and walking again with out them. I knew it was going to be a difficult road to return. There was never a timescale put on the return, the Manchester City physio who I worked with Scot McCallister had never rehabilitated the injury, nor come across it. I was an experiment, what worked, what didn’t, nobody knew. Nail bed abscesses resulting in the permanent removal of my two big toe nails another obstacle I was due to face. I was to visit Manchester and Scot once a month for an update on how I was getting on, heading back to Bedfordshire with an edited gym programme depending on my progress.
Walking led to being able to sit on an exercise bike, an exercise bike leading on to be able to start some gentle weights. It wasn’t all plain sailing, I felt some days I had Scot on speed dial. “Scot, I have just tried this and I have felt something underneath my toe. What is it? Why is it hurting?” Day after day, week after week he would answer every phone call. “Don’t worry JJ, it is perfectly normal to feel discomfort or a strange sensation. Keep going with it you are doing brilliant.” Mentally you are trying to fight back as much as physically, an injury can affect your head as much as it affects the part of the anatomy that has actually seen the trauma.
Operation performed in the June, and after 3 months in Bedfordshire I returned to the North East to be closer to my then girlfriend. My rehabilitation continued, doing something everyday. The idea, try and get my legs as strong as they could physically be. That way your muscles would take more of the load as you plant your foot, not everything is being absorbed through your feet. Day after day, week after week I would be in the gym. As the Gateshead public comfortably sat in front of Downton Abbey on a cold wintry Sunday evening, I would be in the gym. I would be the only one in there, the staff must have been thinking, “Whose this idiot? Can’t he just go home and we can get off early?”
Days I felt like quitting. I was doing all this work in the gym 6 days a week, it could all be for nothing. Days I felt lonely, people who play football can sometimes be portrayed as having the best life in the world – no problems at all – the perfect life. As footballers you try and portray that, saying you are struggling is a sign of weakness, you can’t be seen to be weak in a changing room of 20 other larger than life characters. Days I struggled, I would ask myself if it was all worth it. “Why not just accept defeat? Get a proper job, spend my Sunday night with my Geordie parents Laurence and Ang, watching TV and getting an Indian takeaway.” That life would have been a much easier life. My motivation on them not so good days, my family. You have got to have a motivation for things. Mine, to carry my nephew out onto a football pitch with me the day I come back. I am not overly one for visualisation, everyday without fail I pictured carrying my nephew Lewis out with me. Whatever part of the country, whatever one of the 24 National League grounds it was going to be at, them lonely hours in the gym were all for that moment. That was my motivation, that and for my family to see me play again. Without that I would have quit, given up, accepted defeat.
Gateshead Football Club offered me a job the following January after my operation. My rehabilitation would now be performed alongside being the clubs ‘Kit-Man’. Neil Aspin giving me the opportunity to get back involved with a football changing room once again, something I had missed greatly. Sorting the kit out and going up to watch training, I found it hard watching the lads train. Even harder I was to find the match-days, I was grateful for the club to give me the opportunity but seeing the lads going out at 2:55pm for kick off, some Saturday afternoons at that time you would find me in the toilets, not releasing my bladder but fighting back tears, “What if I could never do go out on that pitch again?”
The rehab continued the rehab got harder. My legs were getting stronger, Scot hadn’t got away from my speed-dial list. I was working towards starting to jog again for the first time. Manchester City had an anti-gravity treadmill, basically a treadmill that raises you slightly from the revolving surface and the impact through your legs and feet is much less. I was scared going in to The Nuffield for my operation, I was just as scared that day I would step on the treadmill. I got on alright, a bit of discomfort. For the first time of running in nearly a year, it was always going to be strange. Along the M62 and back up the A1, I was pleased with my afternoon’s work, a big step in the right direction.
The next few weeks jogging was continued, everyday trying a little bit longer on the treadmill, gym sessions in the afternoon after fulfilling my kit-man role in the morning. While the lads would be kicking a ball around and having fun, I would be running the circumference of the training ground, increasing a minute or two each day. Progress going well another date was pencilled in. Try and get football boots on! I had been doing all my running in my trainers. Manchester City had arranged for me to see their Podiatrist, I would need to wear insoles for the rest of my life in every pair of shoes I wore. Boots ordered, the bright yellow Nike Magistas arrived. Try and get them on, and eventually change the running trainers for football boots and see how I got on.
Success, boots on and the Gateshead training ground grass feeling the ever buzzing stride of my Nike footwear. My mum and dad had come up to visit for a few days, I decided to wait and try and run in my football boots when dad would be there. He had been alongside me every step of the way in my career, to me this was arguably the biggest step I was to take putting boots back on and hoping my feet responded in a good way. Dad there, we took a ball and some cones up on our own to he training pitches. Dad watching on I strode with the ball at my feet, I felt like Red Rum, racing up the Aintree hill as I strode around the yellow markers I lay out 10 yards apart. Boots on, pain free.
I wanted to join back in with the lads the minute it felt alright, with the moulded studs underneath me. I knew I had to see how I got on individually for a few weeks myself. Ian Watson the fitness coach helping me in the gym every afternoon, himself and the lads encouraging me every morning to keep my progress going. I felt closer than I ever had. The following fortnight I was to join in with a training session for the first time in 29 months. I lay my head on the pillow the night before, my mind drifted back to that day at Bristol Rovers. I’d come a long way, a lot of people had kept me going to get here.
Neil Aspin was brilliant with me, “Do as much as you can, if you need to step-out at any point then no problem at all.” Passing drill followed by an 11 v 11 training match, I was going to play 15 minutes of the training-match that would be plenty. I got through it, emotion rained down on me. I raced back to the changing room, lads all asking how I was. I picked up my phone. I rang my Mum and Dad straight away, “15 minutes, I managed to join in with a match in training for 15 minutes. It didn’t hurt, I got through 15 minutes and my foot was fine.” Yes I did mention the words “15 minutes” that many times. To some it wasn’t much to me it was everything! Football boots on, kicking a ball around with no pain was a better feeling than winning the lottery to me. I still wasn’t there but as I drove the the 4.2 miles back to my Eighton Banks home smiling like a Cheshire cat, I was closer than I had ever been. I finally thought to myself, “You can do this J!”
Aspin had sorted out a behind-closed-doors game for a Tuesday, 15 days after my first training session back. Get on well in the next couple of weeks in training and the aim, play 70 minutes in that game against Newcastle at their Premier League training ground. Training went well, I was buzzing around everyday, doing a little bit more each session. One week of adjusted training sessions for me, the second week joining in properly just like I had almost 3 years before. Everyday getting back into changing room 8 at the International Stadium and texting my family saying I had been able to complete the session again. Driving home shortly after, I was wishing the hours away so I could get back out and do it all again the next morning.
28th March 2017. Ironically I passed by The Nuffield in Jesmond on my way to Newcastle United’s training ground in Benton. The day I had been waiting for since the slick wet Bristolian grass met my bum as I sat dejected all them months ago in my last game. All them lonely gym sessions, all them dark nights. All them trips down to Manchester. It had all built up to the 1pm kick-off against Newcastle United’s U23’s. Just another game for them and for the lads who I was playing alongisde that Spring afternoon, to me it was like the World Cup Final.
Warm-up done. I stood waiting for the referee to blow his whistle to begin the game, I looked down at my feet, “Please don’t fail me, please don’t hurt.” Whistle blown, I was tearing round the pitch, the Newcastle lads must have been thinking: “Whose this busy idiot? What is he doing chasing down the left back when he is playing left midfield?” I wasn’t bothered, I was running everywhere and enjoying every step I took. My feet were holding up. I got through to half-time I was playing well.
70 minutes the game stopped, it was time to come off. I looked down, 830 days I had waited for that match-day feeling again. I had got through 70 minutes and my feet hadn’t failed me. I walked past Aspin, “Welcome back JJ!”I sat down on the bench. Holding back emotion, I had done it. Non-competitive return completed, it was time to see about my competitive return.
It was to come, just over two weeks later. Neil Aspin informed me I would be starting against Sutton United away on 14th April. I informed my family, a few days before when the Gaffer told me. We stayed over the night before, it is always a good idea to get a good night’s sleep the night before any game. I couldn’t sleep, I was as nervous as I had ever been before a game of football. I didn’t get to sleep till the early hours, I was up at the crack of dawn. I had been asleep for a few hours, I felt like I had the best nights sleep I had ever had.
I got to the stadium, I hung my own kit on my peg. Squad number, 27. That number the date my little nephew Lewis was born on. Training jumper and t-shirt on I went out to warm-up. Mum, Dad, my two brothers and my uncle the first in the ground at Gander Green Lane. If they could have camped over the night before they would have, they weren’t missing it for the world. You go out 5-10 minutes before the warm-up starts to do your own bits. I seen Lewis, I lifted him over the white barrier surrounding the 4G playing surface. We kicked a ball to each other for a couple of minutes, nobody in the world would I have wanted to be passing the ball to in that moment. All them times I felt like quitting, all them times my body felt like it was failing me and I wanted to give up. All them moments had been worth it as I completed the warm-up and lined up in the tunnel. Lewis in my arms, I strode out on that hot April day with my little mate in my arms. Exactly how I dreamt of it everyday! I done it, I faced adversity, more obstacles than The Grand National. Had more down days that you could ever imagine. That day with my family watching on and Lewis alongside me I done it. 50%/50% chance of playing again. It was 100%/0%, I was back! Just short of three-years later, I was back doing the only thing I have ever known how to.
Am I the player I was before the injury? I’m much more appreciative of every training session and every game now. I don’t mind saying that I have suffered mentally for a few years. Up until the 2019/2020 season, I would play every game with the fear of getting injured and worrying more about that than actually trying to play football. It isn’t all plain sailing, I still have to stick to my gym routines to keep my legs strong and it is something now that I thoroughly enjoy. I get days where my legs and feet don’t feel great, as Scot used to say to me, “Don’t worry JJ, keep going with it.” Maybe I am not the player I used to be, I am happy that I can still play football and to me that is the most important thing now. I learnt that if you want to achieve something and have the drive and determination to do it then the odds can be what you want them to be. Hard work, endless lows but a motivation everyday to achieve what I set out to do. That with the incredible support I had the whole way through my injured few years is what got me back. To all the people who helped me along the way, to everyone who donated to a lad they had no affiliation too, to everyone who kept me going. I didn’t do it by myself, I never would have got there by myself. No matter the odds in life, against you or not, if you can believe you can do it and never give up, you have got every chance.
3 years on from getting back to playing, I reaached 100 Gateshead appearences in March 2020, something I am very proud of. I look back on that journey very fondly, something I am very proud of. It wasn’t easy getting there, but I done it.
JJ O'Donnell 