Ruin
There was a time, not so long ago, that we innocently viewed “getting your bell rung” as an indelible part of many sports. Simply a part of the game, as innocuous as a jammed finger or a rolled ankle. Maybe even more so, as you can see the swelling of a jammed finger, you can see the limp from a rolled ankle. The injured brain suffers in silence. The swelling, the cognitive limp, unseen, ignored, trivialized and often deemed a weakness by those that didn’t know or care to know.
That time is past, we now know, we now see what we were unable to see before. We can no longer claim ignorance to the words Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy and the cascade of issues those that suffer from CTE must endure, often without knowing they are enduring. Possibly unaware that they are not entirely the being they were prior to “getting dinged” playing some game.
Athletes are often told to play hard and “leave it all on the field”, a platitude meant to motivate and inspire one to transcend themselves, to extend their reach beyond their grasp. I take no issue with this, and believe that sometimes sport has the ability to move us toward a better version of ourselves. I am only concerned with the prospect of leaving something that can’t be regained on the field, and being left to deal with a shell of our former selves. A shell under the command of a commander that is limping into the sunset, stumbling in the dark.
Although we know, there are still those that don’t understand, or simply refuse to acknowledge the gravity of this issue. No, we’re not making too big a deal of this, and I really don’t care if you feel the safety measures being put into place are “ruining the game”. It’s not a matter of “toughness”, you can’t “toughen” your brain by concussing it. Dumber yes, tougher, no.
Given all that we know, choosing to err on the side of ruining a game rather than err on the side of protecting another human from the possibility of ruining their life for your entertainment is irresponsible, idiotic, and a lot of other words that my mother taught me but aren’t publishable in a family friendly newspaper.
I played in that time before we knew. I “got dinged”, I “got my bell rung”, I even managed to get knocked out a time or two. But nothing “looked” injured, so I counted the coaches fingers, managed to guess the day of the week with relative accuracy, and tottered back onto the field. Now, I’ve spent about 20 years as an athletic trainer, someone’s whose job it is to recognize when someone has been “dinged” and keep them from tottering back into harms way, to keep them from leaving it all on the field.
It’s my job to know, and knowing can be frightening, but if we know we can try and make things better. We can better prevent the occurrences and better treat those afflicted. I’m hopeful that I didn’t leave too much on the field, but concern creeps in from the fringes sometimes. I’ve never shared this with anyone, but for those that have never had a traumatic brain injury (TBI), it may be helpful to “hear” the thoughts and concerns that linger in the minds of those of us that have.
He lay there troubled from within by something contrary to the idyllic life he lives in the light. In the light, darkness dims and recedes, driven to sulk in seclusion. Sulk, simmer, and gather strength that may one day be too powerful and overwhelming for the light to drive away. What if the light fails? What if darkness fills the space entirely, tethered to nothing, in possession of all. He can see the madness for the madness it is, but worries that some night, day will fail to appear, and the madness will be all that is known, and eventually all that he is known for. Darkness covering the entirety of life, blurring, then obliterating the light. A progressive series of dark, heavy blankets placed silently upon him, bringing no warmth, no comfort, only suppression of the senses. Mind, body, and being, all that he’s spent a life to build, brought down by darkness.
A work of fiction? One can hope. Ruin a game? Don’t care.