As I woke up on the dirty ground, not knowing how I got there, my head was pounding, my vision was blurry, and I felt dizzy. My coach ran over to pick me up and walked me out of the 18 yard box to the bench where my other teammates were. She sat next to me and asked me various questions like, “What’s your name?” “Do you remember what happened?” I thought she was crazy because I knew my name but I did not know what happened. I thought long and hard about what happened, but I could not quite grasp how I got in this state. My mom ran over to the sidelines and the cycle began again with the same questions my coach had asked me such as,  “What position do you play?” “What happened?” I thought asking me these questions was useless because I knew the answer to what they asked me; however, the more I tried to remember what happened, the more I realized I had no clue. After checking up on me, I heard my mom talking to my coach to see if it was a good idea to take me to the hospital or not. Although I could not hear accurately, the few words I did get from the conversation between my coach and mom was, “hospital,” “leave,” and “concussion.” I thought “Concussion! No. Not me!” I am invincible. I am a big strong athlete, and big strong athletes never get hurt. After a second, I started to panic because I realized how vulnerable I felt, and I hated it. My mom and dad came to rescue me from the sidelines to walk me to my dad’s car. I walked to his car with a towel over my head because the sun was so bright and blinding. I hopped into what seemed like my dad’s monster truck and rode home from Houma. This ride felt like an eternity. The only thing I could think about was, “What just happened?” “Am I going to be okay?” “Is my brain broken?”

When we finally got home, I immediately ran to the bathroom to take a shower with the lights off. My mom helped me get dressed and tucked me into bed. I laid down and started crying because I began to see what looked like little bugs crawling on my door. They were all in my head, and I was so confused that I started crying harder.

The next day, I attempted to go to school because I was in denial that I had a concussion. I drove myself to school, but I do not remember how I got there, which was not a good sign. As I was walking down the hallway of the second building, I was so dizzy that I felt like I was going to fall through the clear, glass window. At this point, I finally admitted to myself that I had a concussion, and I needed to go home. I left school, and my parents took me to Tulane Medical Center. As I was waiting in the waiting room with a sweatshirt over my head,  a nurse called me to a room in the back with the lights off. A tall, skinny doctor walked in and confirmed from all of my side effects that I had a concussion. I did not go to school for the rest of the week and visited the doctor every day.     

Over the next three weeks, I struggled to get back into my normal schedule of school and soccer. I was not able to comprehend intricate things such as math and physics; therefore, I was given three weeks to complete my assignments. Three weeks post concussion, I was able to get back on the field and play normally; however, I will always play soccer with a fear of getting another concussion.