Concussion

Senior night is not exactly going the way every athlete dreams; we are down by two goals with only about 20 minutes to go in the game.  I am playing center midfield, my usual position.  We are playing hard; South Dearborn was good, and we had produced a less than par season.

Our keeper punts the ball, the sphere moving farther and farther from his bright orange jersey and closer to me, ascending very high until it reaches its peak.

I keep my eyes on the white and yellow Wilson, tracking it as I move swiftly over the grass.  Falling, falling, I try to attack the object with my forehead.

There is a flash; it’s a spray of colors, a spectrum of neons and black.

I am lying on the ground, wondering what had just happened.  I get up, and begin to walk, the ball now being passed around the perimeter of our goal.

I look around and see the navy jerseys of South Dearborn, then watch as our jerseys flash the bright yellow of a highlighter.

But we aren’t wearing yellow jerseys, I think to myself.

Uh-oh.

I call for a sub and am taken off the field.  After our uniforms return to their original white, and after our assistant coach checks my eyes, I tell Coach Dennis that I’m good to go back into the game.

I was wrong.  After about five more minutes of play, the focus of my vision dissipated in a way I can only poorly attempt to describe.  It was as if I was seeing, but I wasn’t really seeing a single object at a time, only could grasp the whole picture without isolating any one thing or focus on an area.

I came back out of the game, informed my coach that I would not reenter, and took the bench, leaning forward with my elbows on my knee and my palms on my forehead.

After the game, all my friends gathered around for Senior Night pictures with their family.  I walked over to my parents, also.

“We need to go to the hospital,” I said. “Now.”