Orig Post concussionfoundation.org | Re-Post Duerson Foundation 12/02/2015
When you struggle with an injury for nearly two years as I have, it’s not easy to forget what caused all of your pain, even if it is a concussion. My journey began November of 2013, my senior year on Yale’s women’s hockey team.
We were losing 4-1 with less than five minutes left in the third period. The puck had been in our defensive zone. When my team gained possession, I followed our defensive zone break out and swiftly cut across the neutral zone ice, preparing to receive a pass from one of our defensemen.
The pass went off without a hitch, but its perfect execution didn’t receive such a successful follow through.
I was laying face down on the ice before the puck even touched my stick.
I had been blindsided, a hit from behind.
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I was violently thrown to the ice. The force created an enormous shock to my system, and my immediate reaction was one of complete and utter fury. My body felt like it had been attacked. I had never been so physically and mentally unprepared for such a forceful jolt to my body.
It shook me to my core.
I immediately heard what sounded like those extraordinarily violent, ear-piercing violin chords in horror films at the climax of a life-altering scene.
It was fitting for what was to come.
I was able to get up on my own and, after a few moments of catching my breath on the bench, I was back out on the ice playing. Surely a standard old routine penalty like that wouldn’t merit two years of suffering, wouldn’t abruptly and unjustly bring my hockey career to an end, wouldn’t lead me fighting tooth and nail to graduate on time, wouldn’t cause me to take a leave of absence from my first big job, wouldn’t create pain I didn’t know existed, and certainly wouldn’t send me traveling all over the continent to meet with confused and disagreeing doctors.
Surely it wouldn’t lead me down a dark road of depression, anxiety, self-doubt and general existentialism.