I didn’t plan on becoming ambidextrous. To be honest, I really did not want to learn how to write with my left hand just as well as I could write with my right hand. But it is definitely something I will never regret learning.

It was an average evening on an average weekend almost five years ago. The circumstances, however, were not so average. I was only 11 at the time and had been training hard for my next tennis tournament. According to my coach, my wrists were like twigs in dire need of strengthening. She suggested I use two-pound weights to make them more robust.

After only a day of these exercises, I knew something was wrong. A sharp pain shot through my wrist every time I hit the tennis ball. Great. This was just what I needed.

Frustrated, I asked my parents to take me to the best arm and wrist doctor they could find. Hours of impatiently waiting and an MRI later, all this “amazing” doctor had to say was that they would not operate on my wrist until I was 17. That was six years away!

I kept my cool until soon the worst of the worst happened: I could not write for more than 20 minutes at a time—a throbbing pain in my wrist forced me to stop. And that’s not all. I could no longer play the piano. I could no longer type on the computer. I could no longer run (I know it’s strange, but the movement of my wrist when I ran made my wrist hurt more than anything). I could no longer swim. And, of course, I could no longer play tennis. My life had basically shut down. And I was supposed to wait patiently like this for six more years? Yeah, right. But that was what the doctor said.

So, I started to write with my left hand. I had to. How else was I supposed to take tests and do my homework? My letters were large, square, and for some reason very slanted. I reacquainted myself with children’s coloring books in hopes that this would help improve my handwriting. And it did. Soon enough my handwriting became more legible, and it was almost as good as my right hand.

But what was I to do about the rest of my life? It seemed as though I would be stuck in this miserable situation forever. I would watch my father and older brother continue to play tennis and a frown would always appear on my face. My friends would have the time of their lives in the pool while I had to sit on the edge watching them. But it was during this period that I had time to reflect upon my newly developed ability.

I soon found out that Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Einstein, Fleming and Harry Truman among others were also ambidextrous. Multiple studies had also been conducted about the different functions of the right-brain and left-brain. From the results of these studies and my improving performance in mathematics and science, I realized that the extensive use of my left hand further developed the left side of my brain associated with logical and analytical thinking skills. Or maybe it was just the extra bit of studying I was able to do since I was unable to continue many of my extra-curricular activities.

Nevertheless, the more I think about it, the more I feel that this entire experience was somehow for the better. Although I had to give up my dreams of one day playing on the Saratoga High tennis team, I was satisfied with the new me, having acquired a skill that will always be with me.

After two years of useless waiting for my wrist to magically heal, I convinced my parents to take me to a different doctor who would conduct a surgery on my wrist. It turned out that the cartilage on my wrist was slowly tearing apart, and my bones were rubbing against one another. Much to my surprise, cartilage cannot be healed by simply waiting for six years. So why did the first doctor tell me to let my body heal itself after the MRI clearly showed ripped cartilage? Who knows.

I had a cast on my arm for a couple of months and was bedridden for a few weeks after the surgery. I was the envy of all my classmates for getting to miss STAR testing that year. But for the rest of eighth grade and during summer I was forced to spend two hours of my weekend at a physical therapy session, and six hours the rest of the week doing wrist exercises to strengthen my wrist and recuperate from the surgery.

My wrist is now back to where it was five years ago that morning before I tried strengthening my wrist, but many of the activities that I participated in then, I have since discontinued. I always wanted to play tennis competitively, but with three years break at the peak time of my life, I knew this would be impossible. Although I still know how to swim, I stopped going to swimming lessons every week. Instead, I adapted to my circumstances and started pursuing new interests.

Even today, as I continue to use both my left hand and right hand, I look back at how much my life changed because of one simple wrist injury. Although I will not deny that I miss playing tennis, I cannot say that I dislike all the activities that I am part of today either. When life gave me lemons, I made lemonade—and it tasted good.