Posted: July 27, 2020

August 2019:

In the past two years, everything I once knew about my life changed. I was left in an ominous, dark place. My vibrant world shattered, and I’ve been trying to put the pieces together since. The cause of these life-altering circumstances? Concussions.

Before experiencing one of my own, the word “concussion” carried little weight. I had no awareness of the magnitude and severity a concussion could potentially have. At the time, I only knew of people experiencing minor concussions which seemed to have little to no impact on their actual life.

I hate to admit this, but I viewed players that didn’t practice or compete in their sport due to a concussion-related injury as somewhat undedicated — or even mentally weak. Growing up in athletics, I was taught to push through physical pain unless the injury was serious. Unlike other serious injuries, concussions are not visible, so understandably I viewed them as less significant. I thought having a concussion just meant that you would experience some headaches, a little light sensitivity, and that you were “supposed” to rest/not practice for a couple of days.

Boy, was I wrong.

It took having three concussions for me to finally understand the severity and detrimental effects concussions can have.

I received my first concussion during volleyball practice my freshman year at the University of North Carolina. We were doing a drill called “pit.” In the pit drill, one player is on the court at a time, going all out after each ball, which is hit at every imaginable speed and angle. Normally, the player digs a hard-driven hit or flails to pick up low shots. During the play where I got concussed, my coach tossed a ball fairly high down the line. I could have easily run there to play the ball on my feet without having to dive. However, in the most un-volleyball like manner, I took two steps to the corner, turned my body to the ball, and launched myself in its direction. I was parallel to the ground, at least three feet in the air, resembling the form of a perfect pool day “belly flop.”

Gravity took it from there and my face broke the fall. My teeth hit first (which I would later need orthodontic work to fix), then my nose, and lastly my forehead. I blacked out. The next thing I remember was waking up feeling liquid streaming down my face. I was confused and in pain. For some reason, I was determined to prove I wasn’t crying, so I announced to the circle of teammates surrounding me, “I promise I’m not crying,” to which someone quickly responded, “it’s blood, not tears.”

By this point, the athletic trainers were by my side to bring me off the court. I was completely out of it. Every time the trainers attempted to stand me up, my body would go limp and I would start to pass out.

The pain didn’t start to kick in until I was placed in the wheelchair that brought me out of the gym. My normal senses began to deteriorate, and indescribable suffering came in their place.

To this day, the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced was the 30 minutes that followed my head smashing into the gym floor of Carmichael Arena.

The intense ringing that filled my ears led me to believe my eardrums were going to rupture. Everything in the room seemed to be spinning at an inconceivable rate and being pushed in the wheelchair only exasperated this. While I was whisked away, I felt as if I was on one of those fast-spinning, gravity-defying carnival rides that you would find at the state fair — the kind of ride that makes you sick to your stomach. By this time, I was nauseous and aggressively dry heaving. My throat felt like it was closing up, and I was gasping for air. The pounding in my head was extreme; it felt like something was trying to break out from inside my skull. My eyes ached, and my vision was clouded with piercing white light. It almost felt cinematic, like a dying character being told “don’t go into the light.”

I remember experiencing all of this simultaneously, while also streaming in and out of consciousness. I even asked my trainer if I was dying. Looking back on this day, I know I overreacted, but during that 30-minute time span, death truly felt like my reality.

After those 30 minutes, my symptoms subsided; still present, but less extreme. I was brought to a doctor’s office on campus and diagnosed with my first concussion. I was clueless to concussion protocol and recovery treatment. My biggest concern was when I would be able to play again, because we were in the middle of a record-breaking season. I had to go through a series of steps and tests before I was cleared to play. My concussion symptoms — that is, after the first day — were more annoying than they were painful. They would improve each day, and after two and half weeks, I was back playing on the court. Upon returning, I thought to myself, “I’m glad it was just a concussion, and not a bad sprain or break … otherwise I’d have to be out for way longer.”

Reflecting on that now, the naiveté of this statement sickens me, and I only wish I could go back in time to share what I know now with my ignorant freshman self.

The summer going into the 2017 volleyball season, I had never felt more on top of my game. I trained all summer and was in the best shape of my life. I played some of my highest level of volleyball, all while accomplishing one of my dreams of playing for the USA Collegiate National Team. After that I headed back to work camps at UNC and prepare for what looked like a promising season. Concussions were the last thing on my mind, partly because I knew I would never make the dumb decision of launching myself airborne towards a ball again.

During the last open gym of summer, our team was scrimmaging, and I called for a fast set to the pin. I saw a wide-open seam in the block and swung. At the last second, the middle pressed her hand into the seam. The ball instantly bounced off the block, into my face, and ricocheted back over the net. My neck snapped backwards in response to the initial hit, and I landed dazed. I felt a slight headache and dizziness, but I didn’t think much of it because I was not experiencing any of the severe symptoms that accompanied my first concussion. I continued to play the rest of practice.

After open gym, I let our trainer know that I got hit pretty hard and had a bit of headache, but nothing too concerning. She gave me some ibuprofen and told me to monitor how I was feeling in the following days. After Thursday’s practice, I went home and felt fine for the rest of the night. The next day I was a little groggy and slept a lot more than usual, but for the most part I still felt normal. I did not experience severe symptoms until Saturday morning — a day and a half after the initial impact. I woke up Saturday morning dizzy with an intense headache and nausea, accompanied with light and noise sensitivity. I called our trainer and she drove over. The symptoms progressively got worse and I began to projectile vomit.

The trainer rushed me to the ER to get a CT-scan of my head because of the sudden increase of symptoms, which is often an indication of a more serious problem, like a brain bleed. Thankfully, the scan came back clear, but the doctor confirmed I was yet again concussed. What I did not know at the time was that this concussion would change the course of my life.

I was released from the hospital and prescribed anti-nausea and headache medication. I laid in a dark room for two days, and when I wasn’t asleep, I was throwing up. Around day four, my symptoms started to progressively decline. I was under the assumption that just like my first concussion, I would go through the protocol and be back in no more than two weeks. Our 16-day preseason training was a week away, and I was determined to play in the season opener at the end of the month in Wisconsin.

After a week of resting, I started feeling more normal, but I noticed that certain things or activities would trigger certain symptoms, causing them to range from barely noticeable to unbearable pain.

I began feeling more and more frustrated because I was not getting better or progressing the way I did the first time around. The symptoms became more bearable but they never went away. I convinced myself I was feeling better by creating an excuse for each of my symptoms. I told myself the headaches were just normal headaches that everyone got, the exhaustion was from not getting enough sleep, and the oversleeping was because I was exhausted — an oxymoron, I know. I fibbed my way through concussion protocol, telling the trainers what they wanted to hear so I would be cleared to play. I was cleared two practices before we competed, and fully practiced in one of them before playing the following day. During warm-ups, I began to get a bad headache. I took a couple of ibuprofen and brushed it off like it was no big deal. During the game, I got hit in the head twice while blocking. I was only a little bit concerned because neither hit was significantly hard. I slept through the night and felt OK during the morning. We took a bus to the airport and flew back to Chapel Hill. That Monday, I knew deep down that I was in fact, not OK.

I attempted to practice, but less than halfway through, I completely broke down. I was sobbing uncontrollably, and my trainer took me to a quiet, dim-lit room. I bawled until there were no more tears left to cry. My trainer comforted me and helped calm me down. She assured me things would be alright. School started, and things started to go downhill — fast.

I realized on the first day of class I was unable to read more than a sentence or two. My eyes weren’t tracking properly. When I attempted to read anything longer than a sentence, all I saw were jumbled letters. My eyes didn’t know where to look. I went to see our team physician, and she told me I wouldn’t be traveling to Puerto Rico with the team the upcoming weekend so I could focus on recovery. I had been looking forward to that trip since the release of our schedule during the spring.

On Thursday, the day before the team left for Puerto Rico, I started feeling unlike anything I had ever experienced. I was scared.

My body started shaking uncontrollably and I began to vomit. Thankfully, my roommate and friend were home, so they quickly brought me to the emergency room. I was too weak to walk, convulsing, and continuously throwing up. The doctors ran different tests, which seemed to take hours, before figuring out my sodium levels had dropped to 119. Normal sodium levels are between 135-145. Sodium levels below the 120 range commonly cause seizures, comas, and even death. Research shows concussions and brain injuries can impair the pituitary gland which regulates sodium levels. The doctors were uncertain if this was caused by my concussion or another underlying factor. However, it’s important to know how wide the spectrum of issues from a concussion can be.

The doctors hooked me up to a saline IV and I was monitored throughout the night. My coach and some teammates stayed with me at the hospital until around 1 a.m., even though they had to wake up at 4:30 a.m. to catch their flight to Puerto Rico. Their presence was a necessary comfort I desperately needed during the scariest night of my life. I will always be incredibly thankful for my Carolina family and the selflessness that was shown to me that night.

After being released from the hospital, I focused on taking my recovery process one day at a time. I knew it was going to be anything but easy. It was like riding a roller coaster that I could not get off; there would be days where it would seem like I was getting better, but then I would wake up the next morning feeling worse than ever before. Healing from my concussion was anything but linear.

Arguably, I spent more time in various doctors’ offices than I did in my own apartment.

I remember making a joke to my coach at one point, saying I was a Division I doctor-goer, because while my teammates were doing 20-plus hours of training a week, I was at one of my never-ending appointments. During this year I cried more days than I didn’t, and prior to my concussions, I think I cried maybe two times total since starting college. I medically under-loaded my class schedule, and thankfully for the classes I was still enrolled in, the professors were accommodating and more than understanding.

What’s more, the concussion caused my pre-existing ADHD to heighten, so the classes I was still in seemed unnecessarily laborious. I was put in vision therapy for the entirety of the fall semester to retrain my eyes to track. I had to start wearing special glasses that spaced letters out and helped me to see better. My academic advisor would read me the assigned readings from class when I still couldn’t read for myself.

On top of vision problems, my heart rate was affected as well. Concussions commonly affect the autonomic nervous system, which regulates all sorts of bodily functions like heart rate. While laying down, my heart rate would be in the 50s, and upon sitting up it would jump to the 90s. When I would stand, it would go into the 120s, and walking put it in the 140s. A light jog would cause my heart rate to reach the 170s. The rapid variance in my heart rate would cause me to get light-headed every time I would stand. I had to wear a heart monitor for weeks. With this cardiovascular problem, I was unable do even the simplest of workouts.

One night, a few months after suffering my concussion, I caught a 24-hour bug that was traveling around the team. This sickness caused nausea and vomiting. I woke up feeling sick, so I walked to the bathroom feeling more light-headed than normal. When I was walking back to my room, I passed out — making a loud thud from hitting the back of my head on the tile floor of my apartment. I woke up to my concerned roommate frantically talking on the phone with my trainer, asking what to do. I was groggy and confused. I went to the hospital for my second CT scan of the year to make sure my skull was intact. Thankfully it was, but unfortunately, I was set back in the recovery process and three weeks of progress in vision therapy were erased.

When sustaining my concussion, I also got whiplash. Whiplash mirrors many of the same symptoms caused by a concussion. I had X-rays taken of my neck to gage the severity of the whiplash. To this day, I will never forget the phone call I received from my doctor saying, “don’t freak out, but there is a possibility you could potentially be acutely paralyzed. You would need spinal surgery to fix your neck. Further imaging needs to be taken in order to confirm this. The next possible appointment for a neck MRI is tomorrow at 2 p.m.”

Obviously, I freaked out, imagining the worst possible scenarios and crying on and off non-stop until my appointment the next day. I had to wait three days for the results of the MRI. As you could imagine, the time in between the appointment and when I received the results moved unbearably slow. I was praying non-stop and hoping for a miracle. The MRI results showed my C3 and C4 vertebrae were congenitally fused, meaning I would not become paralyzed and I would not need spinal surgery. However, my C1 vertebrae, also known as the “atlas,” was off by 9 mm. If the atlas is displaced by as little as 3 mm, you begin to notice various symptoms. So, I saw a chiropractor multiple times a week throughout the entirety of the year to fix the alignment of my spine. The curvature of my neck was significantly changed from the impact. It has never returned to what it once was, and I still see a chiropractor frequently.

Throughout the year, I had constant and debilitating headaches. I remember the worst of these was a migraine that I rushed to the doctor’s office for. I was put on an IV and laid in agony until the medicine numbed the pain. Most days felt like a battle, and constantly fighting against life left me worn out and exhausted. I began to see my personality change right before my eyes, and I felt helpless in salvaging the person I knew myself to be. I was unrecognizable to myself and felt like a shell of the person I once was. The mental aspect of having a concussion was by far the most challenging part. I was struggling with depression and anxiety of which I have never dealt with up until that point.

The simplicity of everyday things became dreadful.

Seeing friends while walking around campus became an emotionally taxing façade. Everything I once knew about myself was stripped away. I lost my joyful personality, my identity as a student, an athlete, and as a teammate. I felt like I was letting down the people in my life because I was not the same Julia and it was obvious. The people I was closest with stuck by my side and helped me get through this arduous time. Words cannot express my gratitude for the support system I was blessed with.

Though this chapter in my life was inconceivably hard, I would not go back and change what happened to me.

I learned how to have fortitude, resiliency, and complete trust in God when facing my life’s toughest battle. Before my concussion, I used to base my faith off my worldly circumstances. But now, I realize that no matter my situation, God is still good and a relationship with Jesus is more valuable and powerful than any of life’s circumstances. My faith grew tenfold and I grew more as a person in one year than the previous 18 years of life combined.

I have a new sense of perspective that allows me to look at life through a totally different lens. I believe that no life experience is ever wasted, and if my story is able to prevent or help someone going through a similar situation, then it’s all worth it. Awareness on concussions as well as how to perceive and deal with them is necessary. In my opinion, there isn’t nearly enough awareness on the severity of concussions, due to a lack of understanding and the ambiguity that accompanies this invisible injury. Steps, like the work CLF is doing, must be taken in order to generate further awareness, and I am hoping to contribute by sharing my story.

Upon being cleared and returning to the indoor court, nothing felt the same, and I knew the sport would never feel like it once did. Even though I was cleared to play, I was still struggling with the residual effects of post-concussion syndrome. Every time I stepped on the court, I was riddled with anxiety and plagued with fear. I never did get through a full practice of indoor volleyball again. I knew something needed to change, but I refused to give up athletics.

Around this time, I had begun playing beach volleyball with the UNC club team. Beach volleyball felt entirely different than indoors to me, and far safer. To this day, I have never felt the threat of getting another concussion while playing beach. The ball is a bit bigger and softer, and the game is played a lot differently — this is not to say that getting a concussion in beach couldn’t happen, but the chances of getting one are far slimmer. Plus, I always had a dream of playing beach volleyball professionally after college, even though I’ve never actually played the sport.

This was my opportunity to change my path and pursue a dream I wouldn’t have had enough courage to, had the concussion not made the familiar now unfamiliar. So, I emailed some beach volleyball programs, telling them my story and my interest in the sport. I visited some California schools before deciding on the University of Hawai’i.

My first year at Hawai’i was challenging, but in a far different way than the previous two years of dealing with concussions. I was pushed as an athlete in ways that I’ve never experienced before. I felt like a fish out of water playing beach volleyball. I honestly hated the sport in the beginning, mainly because of the difficult and uncomfortable transition process. Beach volleyball is a game of imperfections and I strive for perfection in my sport, so it was beyond frustrating to say the least. I made a promise with myself to stick with it, regardless of how I felt.

Once competition started, I began to fall in love with beach volleyball and the tiresome hours of unenjoyable work paid off. Just like the healing process of my concussions, my progression in the sport of beach volleyball resembled that of a roller coaster. Some days I would feel giddy with excitement, loving every moment of learning and growing, while other days left me questioning the belief I had in myself and the decision I made in changing my life course to pursue this sport. What got me through the challenging times was holding onto the days where everything felt right — like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The good days started to multiply, and the bad days began to diminish. I am now able to look back at the trials of these past two years with clarity, making sense of their importance in shaping my life’s path and purpose.

There is a quote I came across during the time of my concussion and one that I still hold near to my heart:

“Sometimes when you’re in a dark place you think you’ve been buried, but you’ve actually been planted.”

My concussion was a chapter in the story of my life, and because of it, I’ve been planted. Rooted in faith, I continue to grow towards my dreams.

July 2020:

If you were to tell me I’d be where I’m at today in the midst of recovering from my concussions, I would have called you a liar. I remember feeling like I would never see the light at the end of the tunnel and the life that I once knew would never be able to reconstruct. The lifeline that I clung to and relied on during those tough times was my faith. And faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains. I firmly believe faith is the reason the seemingly insurmountable mountains in my life were overturned. It’s now been 3 years since my last major concussion. Today, I’ve never felt better physically or mentally, including prior to the head traumas — which is crazy to think! I am happier, healthier, and feel more like myself than ever before. Don’t get me wrong, I still have bad days, but most days I wake up excited for what lies ahead. I recently graduated with a BA in Communications from the University of Hawaii at Manoa with a 3.55 GPA (which was shocking because I’ve always struggled academically). I will be starting a graduate program in the Marshall School of Business at the University of Southern California in the fall. I will be competing for the Trojan’s on the beach volleyball team while using the remainder of my NCAA eligibility. I’ve fallen in love with beach volleyball and plan on pursuing this passion for as far as it will take me. I never in a million years could have orchestrated or picked a better path than I am on now. It’s obvious God’s sovereign hand has been shaping every step and detail of the way. I now think about life wildly different from my previous conceptions before my concussions and that is one of the biggest blessings that came from this hardship. I will always take the lessons I’ve learned during these past few years with me wherever I may go next.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, which provides personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. If you are seeking guidance on how to choose the right doctor, find educational resources, or have any other specific questions, we want to hear from you. Submit your request to the CLF HelpLine and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Posted: June 17, 2020

My family members filed into the house, one after another, greeting each other with hugs and smiles. The house was loud, filled with laughter and conversation between cousins catching up, grandparents checking in and siblings making fun of each other. My family gathered around the Thanksgiving table to celebrate the privilege of being in one place together and enjoy each other’s company.

But I couldn’t.

The sounds of their laughter pierced my ears. The thud of their footsteps vibrated my skull. The clanking of forks and knives resembled nails on a chalkboard. The only thing that I could do to escape this, my family, the thing that means the most to me in life, was to curl up in bed in a dark room, holding my head in my hands. These were the moments where my mind went places where I wish they never went. For the first time in my life the idea of killing myself seemed liked a better alternative to living life in constant suffering. I cried. Uncontrollably. Thinking about all that felt so far away from me now. My friends, my soccer career, my education, my family. I was told that feeling more emotional and sad was part of Post-Concussion Syndrome, but nothing could have prepared me for what I was actually going to experience.

I’m the kind of person who is always in a genuinely great mood. I couldn’t turn off a smile if I tried. I’m always making jokes. It’s a part of me that I really love, something that truly defines me. But in this moment, it felt like every smile, every laugh and every joke was the biggest lie. For months, I tried to put on this façade that I was still the same Noah I had always been – believe me, I tried – but after my vision went black on that field, my life was turned upside down.

The actual play happened so quickly. Having watched the video replay hundreds of times since the injury, it’s hard to figure out what I actually remember and what I think I remember. My teammates who were closest to the play describe my head being whipped back like someone hitting a bobblehead. After the initial contact occurred, they recall blood gushing out the top of my head, seeping into the Parsons turf. An Elon player ran full speed into me and the only way his speed was reduced was his knee slamming into my skull.

Being significantly undersized and lacking God-given athleticism and speed for a D1 goalkeeper has led me to develop an aggressive playing style, always wearing my heart on my sleeve and making decisions without fear. When that bouncing ball came in, I didn’t have to think twice about coming out for a play that even many goalies at the highest level would avoid. That bouncing ball was the last thing I saw before I woke up to the blurry faces of my trainer and teammate standing over me and saying my name.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I drastically slurred as I felt a surging need to vomit. “I’m fine, let me up.”

Clearly, we weren’t on the same page and I was forced to stay on the floor and told to relax for a second. Eventually, my trainer and coach helped me over to the bench where I had an examination and told the trainer to stitch me up for the second half of the game.

A few minutes later, I passed out again for about 15 seconds, woke up, touched my trainer’s arm and said, “Get me to a hospital. Now.”

These last six months since my concussion have been an extremely volatile and dark time for me emotionally. I always thought that people who went through hard times emotionally were soft or ungrateful. How could a person with such a great life have anything to complain about?

As my symptoms progressed, I felt like I lived in a state of hangover. I was constantly nauseous, dizzy and had a headache. I couldn’t hang out with my teammates in our living room because the combination of their voices and the TV was too much to handle. I wasn’t able to watch my team play the remaining 12 games of the season because the lights on the field and the music in the locker room felt like I was being tortured. I wasn’t able to attend class because when I thought about more than one thing at once my brain simply hurt. But the physical symptoms had a source. I knew my head hurt because I was kicked and had 18 staples. It was the anxiety and the depression that I couldn’t understand. It was the fact that I would wake up every morning with a pit in my stomach and an overwhelming sense of doom that I just could not understand. The worst part about it all was the fact this was not a visible injury. It wasn’t like a broken arm that I could see. That could be proven with x-rays, that the doctor can put into a cast and tell me how long it will take to heal.

There is no rehab. There is no clear diagnosis. There is no timeline. The only thing that I could do was sit in dark rooms and cry about everything that was taken away from me, from my sport to my identity. The only time that I felt some relief from the constant suffering was when I drank.

At least for a couple hours, my headache disappeared, and I forgot that I was in constant pain. After a night of drinking and my hangover state returned the following morning, I returned back to my regular thought process: If I jump over my fifth-story fire escape, will all my pain and suffering go away?

I never got that close to the fire escape, but even having those fleeting thoughts is scary enough. But when I experienced these dark thoughts and moments of suffering, I later realized the good in what it brought out in me. Prior to this injury, soccer was my main priority in life. What happened to me on that field and in the six months that followed was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but also the best. Having so much time away from the game changed my point of view. Feeling constantly anxious and depressed altered my perspective. I realized that life isn’t always about what is directly in front of me. I stopped thinking like soccer was my end-all, be-all, my sole purpose, and my only source of happiness, and I started treating it like a passion that filled me but did not define me.

There is no shame in admitting that sometimes things get so hard you can’t handle it on your own. If anyone reading this is going through a rough period in their life, sport related or not, I encourage you to seek help from your loved ones, because some things in life are too difficult to take on by yourself. Without my close friends, my teammates, my family and my coaching staff supporting me, I don’t think that I would be here today. That doesn’t make you soft or ungrateful, but it makes you human.

If I could take it back, I wouldn’t have gone out for that ball, but I will always be grateful for what the time since that injury has taught me and how it has changed me.

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call. If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, consider using the Lifeline Crisis Chat.

Posted: June 9, 2020

Episode 1: Hello!

Episode 2: Mindset

Episode 3: Noise & Light Sensitivity

Episode 4: Staying Social

Episode 5: Coping with Loss

Episode 6: Sleep Issues

Episode 7: Exercise

Episode 8: Vision

Posted: April 6, 2020

At a time when social distancing and periods of isolation have become a widespread obstacle in the daily life of so many, Gracie Hussey of Memphis, TN is an expert on how to cope.

Gracie sustained her first concussion when she was just 8 years old and went on to suffer several additional concussions throughout her competitive youth soccer career. As she transitioned from middle school to high school, Gracie attempted to hide and fight through worsening Post-Concussion Syndrome symptoms. She suffered from headaches, sensitivity to light, sensitivity to smell, memory issues, and vision difficulties that interfered with her schoolwork and daily life. Eventually, Gracie’s symptoms became so severe she was forced to homeschool for a semester in 10th grade.

Now a college student at the University of Alabama, Gracie was told not to return to campus after spring break to help stop the spread of Coronavirus. For CLF’s webinar, Managing PCS in the Time of Coronavirus, Gracie shared her perspective on living through new social distancing measures and how the experience is similar to periods of inactivity and isolation she dealt with when her PCS symptoms were at their worst. One of the best strategies, Gracie says, is keeping a routine and taking breaks:

“Staying active and trying to keep my routine as normal as possible, even though I’m not allowed to go anywhere besides walking around my neighborhood and working out, has honestly been my savior because I haven’t gotten into the cycle of just lying in a dark room because my head hurts.”

Like so many forced to stay home from school or work, Gracie was concerned the PCS symptoms she’d worked to keep in check would make a comeback. The knowledge that she has conquered her symptoms through discipline, routine, and exercise countless times in the past helps Gracie remain hopeful.

Gracie has been an advocate for concussion safety with the Concussion Legacy Foundation since 2015. Below, Gracie shares her story for the Concussion Legacy Foundation’s Safer Soccer campaign.

Posted: June 13, 2019

As time went on, my headaches became rather unbearable and I could no longer tolerate gymnastics. So, 10 days after the initial incident, we went to the emergency room where it was confirmed that I did indeed have a concussion and could be at risk of developing Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS). At that point we knew something more serious was going on than we thought and took all precautions.

With my headaches persisting and new sensitivities to light, sound, temperature and motion, I spent the next couple of months sleeping a lot, staying up in my room, and isolating myself from the outside world. I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, or what to do. We started to search for more doctors who could give us advice or guidance on treatments, as well as more information about concussions and PCS. Much of the time we got conflicting information and opposing advice. I started to realize not many people knew exactly what was going on in my brain, or what was causing my continued head and neck pain.

I had to miss starting high school for the first month, which is when you form most of your new friendships. I had a short period of time after seeing an acupuncturist when I felt better and returned to school, but the headaches soon returned. A few months after that, we were referred to a pain clinic as my headaches continued and I was medically deteriorating. We were hoping for a miracle.

The pain rehab program ended up doing much more harm than good because they did not understand PCS. The theory behind this program is to push through your pain, but it pushed me so far above my threshold that it ended up leaving me in a very bad place for a very long time. I had trouble just walking around school and got winded going up and down stairs. I spent most of the time at school in the nurses or guidance offices.

Deciding to Leave School

I was pushed not to leave school early, would only be allowed short breaks, and was strongly encouraged to take a computer technology class even when screen time was so difficult for me. As an athlete, I was used to being in the gym for many hours several days a week and learning to push through fears and pain on a regular basis. I could not understand why this recovery was so hard for me.

On the advice of the pain rehab program, I even went on a cross country flight to Hawaii as a “therapeutic” getaway. Neither I nor my family felt comfortable with the idea, but we tried anyway. With all the stimulation, decreased oxygen levels on the plane, crowds, loud noises, and lengthy plane ride it proved to be so far over my activity threshold that it sent me into a downward spiral that took me over a year to get out of. It was traumatic and not enjoyable at all. While there, my pain got so unbearable, that for the first time I felt truly hopeless and like I could no longer live this way.

I spent the next several months in and out of school, with my pain still worsening. I tried several different medications, many of which had scary side effects that were even worse than my symptoms. We investigated a multitude of treatments and everything under the sun to try and get some relief, even post-traumatic stress therapies. Car rides made me sick, but staying home was isolating. There were times when I would scream out loud for help due to the pain and other times I would go into my basement and scream into a pillow. I would refuse to go near a TV or sounds, even music or people talking. I would refuse to leave the house. The pain and distress escalated to the point where I was becoming someone I didn’t even recognize.

I could not accept what was happening to me. I felt like no one could help me, none of the treatments were working, and every doctor would say to “give it time,” but I felt like I could barely make it through each day. It was an everyday battle fighting negative thoughts and trying to stay positive. I was angry and irritable at times, and for a while, I could not see a future for myself.

The more I went to school, the worse my headaches got. After a while it got to the point where I was present at school, but not participating. That’s when we decided I should stop going, and I ended up leaving my freshman year and completing the work at home in small doses over the summer. I missed out on the entire high school experience. My friends from home and the gym started to forget about me and my coach didn’t understand how my recovery could possibly be taking so long.

A Burst of Hope

One night, I believe I got a gift from God. My mom and I were researching when we stumbled across the Concussion Legacy Foundation website, where we found stories of kids just like me. Before then, I had no idea that a concussion could last so long or be so severe. I was insistent that it couldn’t “just” be a concussion, and something more serious had to be going on.

The website had so much valuable information and we learned so much about what was happening to me, and that it was normal. It gave me a burst of hope. That’s also when we found Dr. Cantu. Thanks to Dr. Cantu, I was diagnosed with “dysautonomia,” a common PCS symptom that went unnoticed by several doctors. It helped to explain a lot of mysterious symptoms.

Dysautonomia is a term that describes what happens when your autonomic nervous system becomes dysregulated. This affected my heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature control and explained why I was having so much trouble with any physical activity. It also gave me flushing and burning of my face and hot and cold spells.

I had to be put on a Beta Blocker to control my blood pressure and use ice packs on my head, cheeks and even sometimes my feet to keep me cool! Since your brain controls all of your body functions, really anything can be affected by a concussion. I have also had issues with my endocrine system which controls hormones. My cortisol levels increased due to stress, which can contribute to weight gain and make other symptoms worse.

The truth about PCS is that there aren’t enough doctors, clinicians, coaches or parents that fully understand it. After discovering the Concussion Legacy Foundation website, Dr. Cantu, and the Headache Clinic at Boston Children’s Hospital, we could finally start the recovery process appropriately.

Tallying My Symptoms and Treatments

During this process I have celebrated 2 birthdays, missed most of freshman year and all of sophomore year. I have seen over 45 different doctors/ medical personnel, including four acupuncturists, six PT’s, five neurologists, one neurosurgeon, one hypnotist, five psychologists, one psychiatrist, four orthopedists, two cardiologists, one endocrinologist, one craniosacral therapist, four massage therapists, three pediatricians, three chiropractors, and two vision therapists. This does not include medical personnel from a few hospital stays! I have received nearly 200 various painful injections (not including acupuncture which does not hurt!) to my forehead, head, temples, neck, shoulders, and the bridge of my nose.

Note: CLF does not endorse all the therapies described above. Consult your doctor for a personalized treatment plan.

My Recovery and Message to Others

And finally, the good news. About a year after my injury, my headaches started to get less severe. It appeared the treatments were helping. That was my turning point. And then, a few months later, what really pushed me over the edge in my recovery was when I began seeing a Manual Physical Therapist. He was able to feel things that do not appear on any MRI. He was able to gently correct a misalignment of my skull and neck joints that no one else had discovered. I am now a year and a half post injury and feeling better every day. I still have a long road ahead to achieve full recovery and return to school and sports, but I can finally see the finish line and I want others to know that it can happen for them too!

 

The reason I am sharing my story, and all of my hardships with PCS, is not to scare, but rather to spread awareness of how serious it can be. Before I had PCS myself, I knew nothing about concussions and didn’t know PCS was even a “thing” and now it has consumed my life for nearly two years. PCS affects all aspects of your life and your entire family. Few people fully understand this injury, because it’s invisible. At school kids would say things like “concussions can’t last that long,” or “I had a concussion and it only lasted a couple days,” or “you’re so lucky you get to miss school.” I had some of my friends and acquaintances wonder if I was faking or exaggerating. Classmates would stare at me. Little did they know what my life was really like.

 

 

My best advice for anyone going through this is to keep trying until you find something that works for you, never give up hope, and always trust and follow your instincts. You may need to stretch out of your comfort zone but don’t push yourself too hard. Seeking out others who know what you are experiencing is important. Whatever your faith is, don’t stop believing, even if you have moments of doubt. I received over 100 cards, letters and gifts from family, friends and a nation-wide prayer group which was a big comfort. PCS can be overcome and now my focus is on helping as many other people as possible.

Posted: March 27, 2019

I started playing hockey at the age of five, doing local clinics, playing with local travel teams, and doing 3 on 3’s with my cousin. I fell in love with hockey because it takes not only great technique but a great mind to succeed. Hockey is a thinking sport where you must be thinking ahead to the next play before you can execute the current play. Through my own experiences and by learning from my teammates, hockey has made me a more dignified person, a better problem solver, and more understanding.

On a Sunday night in July 2018, though, my hockey career took a pause. One mammoth blow to the head on one play turned my life upside down. That’s why this past year has been the hardest of my life. And that’s why by telling my story, I hope I can provide some hope to other kids going through the same thing. Here’s how it happened.

There was captain’s practice at my High School. There was a coach present, but college kids were running it. At the end of practice, the college kids instructed that we do a non-contact 3-on-3 drill. In the last minute of practice, the college kids blew the whistle and I went in. There were upcoming freshmen on the team and I wanted to show them I was one of the nice kids and to help them learn and develop. I received the puck and dangled through two defenders and looked to pass to a freshman on the post. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a teammate charging at me halfway across the ice. I thought he was just going for the puck, and then BOOM. I was hit by what felt like a truck and suffered a double-concussion. The first came from the whiplash, then the second from my head hitting the ice. I saw stars and was very dizzy and my mind has felt cloudy ever since. I had no idea what was happening and stumbled back up and felt like I was going to throw up off the ice.

I was out for a couple of weeks after that day. I missed five practices and a camp, and started to feel pressure to practice again. I wasn’t completely symptom-free but felt close enough to normal to play again. But practicing brought on a headache and I stopped after that.

I tried to go about my normal life. I was hanging out with friends, going to school, exercising, and driving. I was trying to be a normal teenager. But my symptoms made that impossible. It got to a point where I was throwing up in school because I was trying to do math problems and then throwing up again at home because I was trying to catch up on the work I couldn’t do in school.

Eight months later, I am still symptomatic and have major neck problems. My memory has suffered since the incident. Before the injury, I was doing great in school, had a big group of friends, and was a tier-1 AAA hockey player with high hopes for playing college hockey. Since the injury, I have not been able to comprehend or learn new concepts at school, hang out with friends, or even have Thanksgiving dinner without my head pounding. My head feels like Niagara Falls is rushing through it.

I had to take a break from school, my friends, and hockey to recover. During that time, I’ve picked up some strategies to help deal with my headaches and nausea. I put a blindfold on when my symptoms flare up to help subdue them for parts of the day. Screens make my symptoms worse, so I limit my phone time and stopped watching TV. Busy areas only make things worse, so I avoid them now. And as much as I want to be an athlete again, I had to stop trying to exercise to give my brain a break.

Is it working? A little. I’ve seen progress and hope my sacrifices will end up curing my concussion for good.

While I’ve dealt with my concussion, my dad has been battling Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer, lost his job, and is bed bound in chemotherapy. Hell is an understatement for what I’m going through. While this concussion has drastically changed my life, I know that all I can do is have hope. I know I will get better and have hope that I’ll be healthy and happy one day, hope that I’ll be very physically fit again, and hope of attending a good school and playing college hockey. I have hope that my dad will have energy again and be cured of his cancer. And I hope my story can show kids who are battling a concussion how things might seem tough, but if you take the time to recover it will all get better eventually.

Posted: July 25, 2018

Despite wanting to return to training, Schoutens battled nausea, headaches, light sensitivity, and emotional instability that made training impossible. But after taking the time to recover fully, Schoutens returned to the ice for the 2016-2017 season healthy and determined to reach the 2018 Winter Olympics in Korea. Schoutens’ remarkable drive to realize her Olympic dreams helped her overcome a late start to the 2016-2017 season and carried her all the way to Pyeongchang, where she earned a bronze medal in the Team Pursuit event.

Now, Schoutens is sharing her experience and joining the Concussion Legacy Foundation to help athletes who are struggling to cope with their concussions. Read on for an Olympic perspective on the hardest part of recovering from PCS, seeing an elite teammate struggle with a concussion, and what athletes at every level can do to navigate these challenges.

You suffered a pretty serious concussion back in 2015. How much did you know about concussions before then?

Not enough. I didn’t realize that it was a potential problem in my sport. I must have been around people that had concussions, especially in short track where there are more falls, but it just wasn’t on my radar. I always thought of contact sports first. Luckily it was on my coach’s radar.

I fell in a really uneventful way. I slipped in the turn and slammed into the pads, just like you’re taught to do as a kid: with your back first in a seated position. That was all completely textbook. At first, I had no symptoms at all – I finished the workout, did another workout, and went to work.

The next morning, I woke up early and I threw up. I tried to fall asleep, but I kept throwing up. I texted my coach and told him “I must have food poisoning or I’m just sick. I can’t come train.” He was worried because I had fallen the day before so he sent someone over to take me to the hospital. I was diagnosed with a concussion there. It never occurred to me that the nausea could have been from a concussion.

Schoutens (left) celebrating with her Team Pursuit teammates Mia Mangenello, Brittany Bowe, and Heather Bergsma in Pyeongchang after winning bronze.

No concussion experience and recovery are exactly alike. What was the most difficult part for you and what made the biggest difference in your recovery?

The early phase was easier, even though I was really sick – nausea, headaches, locked in a dark room kind of thing. There was a lot of empathy and understanding as to why I couldn’t come to practice and I couldn’t train.

Then there came this whole phase where I kept getting knocked back down in the recovery process when I thought I was ready to go. It became really frustrating – feeling like the recovery was dragging on forever. I didn’t know how to resume training without taking more risks. On top of that frustration, I had some cognitive symptoms like sadness and emotional instability. I didn’t know what more I should be doing to get better and I thought that was way harder.

So, I think a couple months later when I still was not over the concussion was a lot harder than the acute phase.

What were some things you didn’t know about concussions before you had one?

I didn’t really realize that mental or emotional symptoms can be a part of it. For me, after 4 or 5 months, it got really tough mentally to keep being patient and stay sane.

I also had never experienced the difference between [orthopedic] injuries and concussions. Not long after I got injured a teammate broke his arm and he couldn’t skate either. But the difference was, soon after his injury, he was able to go watch practice and hang out and cheer people on. I was so jealous of that because I couldn’t even do that. I couldn’t have that social interaction and support my teammates because I was stuck at home. I always felt like with some other injuries that are more visible or more physical you can focus on something else for a little while – like make a lot of progress in school or go on a vacation or go home. With a concussion, you can’t do anything at all and that was what was so tough about it.

What do you wish someone had told you while you were recovering from your concussion?

Focusing on recovery is very important. At first, they told me not to train for a week and I was like—ok, that’s pretty bad. I had no idea how much worse it was about to get. There was a point about 4 months in where we finally decided to give up on my season and that was just a load off my shoulders. I could just do nothing at all and focus on my recovery and not worry about skating for a bit.

I talked to a sports psychologist a lot throughout. One time he put me in touch with another athlete of his who had had a concussion. We just met up and had a coffee and she told me about her experience with her concussion. That was very helpful to me. Having that connection with her and being able to text her saying, ‘Oh I’m still not better. How are you?’ That was really nice.

I also did a good job of tracking my symptoms. I have a whole collection of sheets where I tracked my symptoms so we were able to see some kind of trend and progress and that was helpful.

Finally, setting small goals for things other than skating really helped me. Like ‘Oh today I’m going to floss my teeth’ and that would be my goal for the day. If I did it, I could check it off the list and say I had at least accomplished something.

Schoutens’ first skate after months of tracking her concussion symptoms in a notebook.

 

Your teammate Brittany Bowe also suffered a concussion in 2016. Did you ever get a chance to talk about the experience with her?

We’re around each other all the time so we definitely shared some experiences. I had just recovered and made my initial comeback when it happened to her. We had a very similar timeline – concussion in the early season, trying to come back, and having recurring symptoms. It was very similar to my experience. It’s pretty special that we were eventually on a team together and got that bronze medal after we both had very similar struggles leading up to the Olympics.

How do you think speed skating in general views concussions?

I think they are taken seriously now. What happened to me and Brittany gave people a reminder that concussions don’t only happen in short track and that concussions can be very, very serious.

Do you think Olympic athletes are properly informed about the risks of head trauma?

I think they are taken seriously now. What happened to me and Brittany gave people a reminder that concussions don’t only happen in short track and that concussions can be very, very serious.

Do you think Olympic athletes are properly informed about the risks of head trauma?

I think at my level, yes. We have so many resources being on the national team. I had a trainer that was available to drive me to the hospital the same day I started showing signs of a concussion and saw a doctor that was affiliated with US Speed Skating and could give direct feedback to my coaches.

But if you’re trying to get to the national level and you’re maybe five years old and you’re just at your local team with your local coach, maybe people don’t fully understand that a concussion is an injury that’s very serious. Not everyone has the same support we do, so I think that, for those kids that are trying to get to the national level, awareness is probably not as great.

So, what I would say to those kids is, even if you don’t feel outside pressure, you have to get over that pressure that you feel within yourself.  I feel like that’s a very big hurdle to overcome to finally give yourself time to recover and put that before any other goal you have.

How important do you think it is for elite athletes to set a good example when it comes to dealing with concussions?

I think that’s really important. If I was a 15-year-old with a concussion and I was getting ready for Junior Nationals or another big competition, I might want to ignore the symptoms of a concussion and be quiet about it and act like it never happened. But if I see someone at a higher level going through the same thing and stressing how important it is to focus on recovery then I maybe would feel more supported and be able to make the right decision.

How do you hope to use your role as a CLF Team Up Against Concussions Ambassador to impact your sport?

I think both my positions – as a Team Up Against Concussions Ambassador and member of the US Speedskating Athletes’ Advisory Council – give me an approachable, role model position where anyone could feel like I’m there to look out for them and help them.

I hope that I can use my reach within sports to let people know that I had a concussion and that it ended well after I took it seriously. I hope that everyone feels like they can reach out to me if they have any questions or they can use what happened to me as guidance for making their own decisions and feel like they aren’t alone in their concussion struggles.

What’s next for you?

I’m going to continue to speed skate in Salt Lake City. I was in medical school before I took a break to get ready for the Olympics so I’m also resuming medical school. I’m really looking forward to doing some research with the orthopedics department in Utah.

Posted: May 25, 2018

My story

​​On December 15, 2015, I hit my head on the granite counter top while picking up my homework off the kitchen floor. There was an immediate onset of headaches. After a couple of days visiting the school nurse, it was determined I may have a concussion and should see my doctor. What started out as a likely concussion escalated over time to much more. Eventually, I would end up seeing some of the best doctors the world has to offer at both The Floating Hospital for Children at Tufts Medical Center and Boston Children’s Hospital.

My health significantly deteriorated between December 2015 and March 2016 with no real known explanation other than the concussion. School, work, and activities were stripped away, school days were reduced, and homework was no longer an option, yet my health continued to worsen. Following a visit to my Ophthalmologist at the end of March 2016, he found significant swelling of the optic nerve and fluid-filled optic discs, further launching a myriad of testing. It wasn’t until early April 2016 when my growing medical team found a blood clot at the base of my sagittal sinus vein. To quote one of my physicians, “it was the perfect storm”:  a concussion, high intracranial pressure and a blood clot.” Said another way, “it’s complicated”, a term that I have become all too familiar with. I was hospitalized in April 2016 to address the blot clot and pain management. I did not attend school from April – June, missing out on my last year of elementary school and all the fun activities that went along with it.  During this time, I remained in significant pain. In addition, I lost my balance forcing me to walk with a cane, spent many hours enduring tests and sitting in doctor offices, attended physical therapy several times a week, participated in alternative treatment options, was tutored to get caught up on missed academics and somehow managed to get through each day, using the mailbox of cards and acts of kindness from friends and strangers as my beacon of hope. Not to mention, I did try to enjoy a daily dose of the Ellen DeGeneres show, along with my sisters, to make me laugh. It usually worked.  “Hope” was, and is, a word we use daily. I received fantastic news at the end of August 2016 when the blood clot had dissipated, my balance returned and I was able to return to school as a proud middle-schooler in September 2016.

Although the blood clot cleared, there are lingering medical issues that remain, with the most prevalent long-term side effect of a constant headache and chronic fatigue resulting from high intracranial hypertension and post concussive syndrome. Neither can be seen to the eye, but are part of the hidden illness that have never gone away.

After meeting with many doctors at The Floating Hospital for Children at Tufts Medical Center and The Brain Injury Center at Boston Children’s Hospital, I was encouraged to get involved with something that would help replace what I have lost in terms of my participation in activities I once loved, e.g. contact sports and related activities, and to help with the associated psychological impact. After one of my many physicians had learned of my 2016 philanthropy efforts of donating my birthday money in the form of gift cards to the Hematology Clinic at Tufts, I was encouraged to move forward with the Mighty Meredith Project. Therefore, after months of discussing the purpose and potential charitable offerings, together with my parents, we decided on the following mission for the Mighty Meredith Project:

• Bring education and awareness to having a Traumatic Brain Injury as an adolescent, with specific attention on their hidden impact – both physical and psychological.

• An avenue to give back to the medical community involved in my care, both past and present and support TBI research.

• Promote kindness, especially to those who may have a “hidden injury or illness.”

Presently, my recovery is slow and sometimes stymied by complications from the TBI. While I am able to attend school and participate in activities such as Student Council and re-defining my new “normal” through the world of dance, philanthropy and the advent of the Mighty Meredith Project; some things will always remain off limits and my life has been forever altered with one hit of the head.   The hope for the Mighty Meredith Project is to bring a bit of hope, joy and education to as many people as we can and to let traumatic brain injury suffers there is a network of us willing to help at any time.

Interview with Mighty Meredith

If there’s one thing you’d want everyone with TBI to know, what would it be?

You’re not alone.

You had to adjust to a “new normal.” What are some of the adjustments you have had to make?

I used to play lots of sports but I can no longer play any sports for the rest of my life. I can’t ski, I can’t sled. I can only dance. And that was a big one because I used to play soccer, basketball, lacrosse, everything. And now it’s just dance.

Concussions are an “Invisible injury.” Was that one of the most difficult things about it? 

Yeah. It was one of the most difficult things because I would go to school and do my homework but people only saw me at school, they didn’t see me go home, go to bed, cry because of the pain. I would go to school and seem fine. Also, living with a headache constantly was hard. People would usually think, ‘a concussion! Big whoop.’ Not really- it is a lot more than that. I have lost a couple friends from this, because they thought I was lying or exaggerating for attention.

What was most important to you when you started the Mighty Meredith project?

I love being kind. I love seeing people smile when I do something nice for them. That was a big part of it. Another part of it was raising awareness for traumatic brain injuries.

What is your main goal with the Mighty Meredith Project?

I think I want everyone to understand what it is like. I don’t want them to have to go through it but I want everyone to understand what it is like to live with a hidden illness. I want everyone to be kind to one another because you never know what is going on behind the scenes.

Are there any short-term goals for Mighty Meredith project? What do you have planned this summer?

We did a bake sale last year. We are doing another one this year. What I, personally, really want to do… when I was sick… I would watch Ellen every day, and I have always wanted to be on the Ellen Show.

How does it feel, knowing that you are other people’s strength as Mighty Meredith?

It is nerve wracking, but it is also feels really good. When I was sick, I didn’t really have anyone I could look up to who’d been through this.  I was just kinda figuring it out by myself. If I did have someone, I think it would be a lot easier. Now that people can see me and see that they are not alone and that they have someone that knows what they are going through. It’s good.

Was there one specific talk that made you step back and realize, whoa this is something?

I have done a couple. Some with local Daisy-Brownie troops, one with the student council at the high school. But there was one, at a local gym in town, after the fundraiser was over, I stood up and spoke and everyone started to cry. And I realized then, that this is big and this is what I want to do. It’s cool.

What was it like to meet Chris Nowinski and the CLF staff?

I have wanted to meet Chris Nowinski ever since I heard about the CLF and what he was doing to help others with TBI’s and raising awareness of concussions. I thought our scheduled meeting would just be involving Chris, my mother and I. I then turned the corner and it was like I was a celebrity walking the red carpet. The entire staff of the CLF was right in front of me. My heart was pounding with joy and my mouth hurt from smiling so much. The fact that the entire team took time out of their busy day to meet with me made me feel overwhelmed with love. That was the best day ever! Thank you to all the CLF staff for meeting with me, and to Chris for making me, a girl who once struggled with finding her new normal, feel like I was a part of something big.

Posted: May 11, 2018

“You are what you’ve overcome,” reads the military dog tag that hangs from my neck. Today and every day, it is a symbolic and physical reminder of how far I’ve come in the three years since choosing to apply to Dartmouth College instead of West Point.

With one concussion under my belt from my final high school baseball days, I walked onto the Dartmouth varsity soccer team as a goalie. Two weeks into practice, I was knocked on the temple by a stray shot I didn’t see coming. Exactly one year later, I took a ball to the nose during a scrimmage. All three times, I felt fine – just “shook it off” and continued with practice. It wasn’t until the following morning that tremendous pressure would fill my head, signaling something was wrong.

As athletes, we are conditioned to think we are invincible. We have to perform at 110% every time we hit the field, and are pushed back into playing before injuries (to the brain or otherwise) are fully healed. I fell victim to that competitive nature, returning to play when I was “good enough,” not good. There was no doctor mandating I stop contact sports. I was the only person who knew how my head was doing, and was the only person who could decide my future.

I started to feel more insecure than ever. I was going through the motions, listening to the same prognosis from doctor after doctor, and sitting on the sideline every day at practice. I was unhappy and unfulfilled, but unable to admit it to myself. I thought being an athlete was everything. As a ballerina, soccer, and baseball player from the age of four, “athlete” was the only identity I’d ever stuck with. But after nine months of school, waking up every day feeling the same – or worse – than the day before, I started to come to grips with the decision I knew I had to make.

Little did I know that trading my cleats in for character shoes in the spring of my sophomore year would finally bring me home. Theater was the last activity to be cut from my schedule when I committed to college soccer, but the first one I returned to after quitting. I took my first college theater class that spring, and fell so in love with it that I found myself interning this past fall at Northern Stage, a regional theater in Vermont run by one of Dartmouth’s professors, Carol Dunne. It was during this internship that I learned about marketing, development, and education in the theater sphere, and got my first professional acting contract. Dunne pushed me to pursue writing in my free time, knowing that I was still struggling with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS). Though I truly couldn’t think of anything scarier, I agreed to dive into a one woman show on my own experience with head trauma… “my diary – staged,” as the play begins.

For over a year, by that point, I had practiced shutting the bad out, afraid that sinking into the negatives of PCS would make my recovery even longer. Writing this play, ironically titled “It’s Fine, I’m Fine,” became a way for me to finally put into words everything I couldn’t before.

But it’s not just a play about a headache.

“It’s Fine, I’m Fine” is about the invisible. Anyone who has dealt with TBI and PCS knows that our symptoms aren’t our only trouble, and we certainly know that they’re never conveniently-timed. “It’s Fine, I’m Fine” is about transitions and self-discovery. About losing direction and letting go. About relationships and sexuality. About mental health and the therapist my parents don’t know exists. It’s an ode to the twists, turns, and deep dives in adolescence that we mask with “I’m fine.”

Maman’s Cooking

When Maman – that’s French for Mom – cooks,

you best stay out her way.

By the time I wake on Saturday mornings,

the smells slipping through the

space under the door

are a delightfully confusing mix of

roasting garlic and

Vermont maple syrup.

She’s up at the crack of 9am to begin that evening’s meal

just as dad finishes breakfast.

By the time I reveal myself,

she is two countertops-deep in

the dish of the day.

Clanging pots and pans,

she doesn’t care –

if she’s up,

so, too,

should the world

be.

From the sunporch

comes the banging of drums and African dialects.

Music from

Senegal,

Ghana,

la Cote D’Ivoire –

in this, Maman does not discriminate.

And so we have Saturday morning:

sound waves and scents

wafting and weaving

together in

sweetly-savored harmony.

But now

when memories like these pull me back home,

I can do nothing but sit and stare –

knowing that full meals of this

will end in misery.

Like dessert on a too-full stomach,

Maman’s cooking is too rich,

too heavy.

Bogging down my foggy mind.

No,

rabbit food will have to do.

Sometimes I fail, and I indulge.

Feeling, in those 20 minutes

before my new plateau derails,

that everything is back to normal.

And I am just home

on a Saturday morning…

 

My friends, my family, my community – they all know me as the confident, put-together girl who bounces from one extracurricular to the next with apparent ease. This show is my way of taking the mask off, even if just for an hour. This show is me admitting that sometimes I’m scared out of my mind, that sometimes I’m weak, that sometimes I cancel plans to go home and cry on my dorm room floor. The state of my head is my first thought in the morning, and most often the determinant of my bed time. I feel trapped by the things I have to do, or the food I have to eat, or the events I have to miss just to keep the muscle tension from getting worse than it is to start. In the show, I reference the exact number of days I’ve been dealing with the symptoms of my third concussion. When I was writing, that number was in the 300s. A week ago, that number doubled.

But I am a happier person than I was at 300, and miles above where I was at 0. I found my way back to theater, and know wholeheartedly that it is what I want to pursue for the rest of my life. There is no better feeling than telling stories night after night that matter, that change lives. If my show makes just one more person think twice before making assumptions, I’ll be happy. I know this is what I am called to do – finding the silver linings, inspiring compassion, and making the invisible visible.