Something’s different.

I’ve been hit before, but this time is different. Instead of the expected pain at the general area of impact, I have a confusing, deep ache in my head. Not like the headaches I normally get, but a throbbing, dizzy one that is impossible to ignore.

I walk off the field in a daze, helmet in my hand, accompanied by my coach and the athletic trainer. I get to the sideline and the trainer explains that I may have a concussion and that I have to undergo the concussion protocol. Alright, I answer without thinking, because thinking hurts too much.

I find that sentences and words are hard to form. I can’t really place my finger on it, but everything is just off. I stumble through the various balance, memory and body tests, and sure enough, I’m concussed.

At this point, I am done caring about the game and my team. I keep my head down because I am frustrated and because it hurts less than keeping my head up. So I sit on the bench, isolated from the game and from reality, because reality makes my head hurt.

The trainer tells me that if my head still hurts in the morning, I need to stay home from school. I go to sleep, and wake up to find that familiar pain in my head, so I don’t go to school. The true battle to overcome a concussion lies not in the actual hit or immediate aftermath, but in the time hours and days later.

This isn’t the average stay-home-sick experience I have gotten used to throughout high school. I’m not supposed to look at any screens or bright objects, read anything, and try not to think about anything. When I get out of bed, I notice that screens, writing, and brightness aggravate my head pain. So, I lie down, and proceed to spend the most boring day of my life. No TV, no computer, no smartphone, no book, no nothing. Even my thoughts hurt.

The next day finally comes, and I decide that I am well enough to go back to school, but not participate in class at all. This is mostly because I don’t have the willpower to stay home and do absolutely nothing.

I go to school but don’t pay attention to the teacher because it’s still hard to focus. So, I accumulate many assignments of make-up work while I don’t participate in class.

As time passes, I begin to feel better and I start the process of returning to the field. I have to be symptom-free before I take the impact test, which measures my reaction time and memory and compares it to my results from when I did not have a concussion. I pass it, then go to the doctor to get officially cleared, and now, I am ready to play again.

For me, concussions are just a huge hassle. The recovery period and the makeup work that I have to do frustrate me about as much as actually getting concussed does. The next time I step on the field, I will try to protect my head better, and hope that I don’t get another concussion.