A Former Hockey Player’s Vow to Help Youth Athletes

“Be smart about anything related to your head. And as soon as something doesn’t feel right, you have to let someone know.”

That’s the message Lewis Simon has for his younger self. Now 23 years old, it’s something Lewis didn’t realize the importance of until a few years back, when a doctor told him he could no longer play the sport he loved because of concussions.

As a kid in Chicago, Lewis had one goal: become a professional hockey player and play in the NHL. He was a passionate, fearless, and aggressive player who had all the tools to make his dream a reality. If anyone was set up to succeed, it was Lewis. He started playing hockey at five years old and never looked back. He realized his potential at a young age when making sacrifices none of his peers had to make, such as missing out on school events.

“I knew since high school this is all I want to do,” said Lewis. “I’m going to play Division I, I’m going to the NHL, I’m going to do whatever it takes to pursue the dream.”

The pace really started to pick up after Lewis dropped lacrosse as a freshman in high school to focus solely on hockey. Then came a move to Pittsburgh as a junior to join a high-level travel AAA team to fast track his development and prepare him for a future playing career. But a severe traumatic brain injury (TBI) and lingering symptoms threw a wrench in those plans.

And though Lewis certainly suspects he experienced a few concussions growing up, they all went undiagnosed and largely untreated. There were days he’d be dizzy and sapped of energy, feeling like his head was in the clouds.

“Looking back, I was a very aggressive player and definitely had been concussed in the past,” said Lewis. “I just never knew because I didn’t have the proper education, or the trainers would simply clear me. There was no guidance.”

It was a vicious cycle. Lewis would take a big hit, get checked out, rest in bed for a week in the dark, fudge through medical forms saying he was better, and then be cleared to play again. Finally, after his third diagnosed concussion at the age of 21, a doctor handed him the news that ended his career.

Without hockey, Lewis felt lost. He needed to recover from his injuries but was still at an age where he wanted to be active, be social, and have fun with his friends. He spent six months in Rochester, NY without a degree, a job, and any college credits. His daily life consisted of going to the rink to watch his teammates, return home to play Xbox, then sleep.

“Those were the dark times for sure,” said Lewis. “I was able to act normal and like I was OK, even though I was miserable inside. If I were to do it over, I would’ve pulled the plug after the first month and gone home and recovered, but I thought being out there, I was doing the right things and I wasn’t.”

Lewis tried different doctors, including multiple vestibular therapists, until he found care that helped him feel better. He thought he could push through and continue playing one day. Ultimately, Lewis decided to put an emphasis on his future and retired from hockey.

Surprisingly, Lewis felt at peace with his decision. Being the driven person he is, Lewis immediately set out to reach his new goal of getting into the one school he always wanted to attend: Northwestern University. This time, no bad news. He was accepted.

Now enrolled at Northwestern, Lewis has kept his passion for hockey alive as a youth coach. And in addition to juggling classes and coaching, he has made time for another pursuit: his own youth apparel company called STY House. Lewis started STY, or Strengthen the Youth, in 2021 as a way to address the effects of concussion in youth athletes. An aficionado of all things apparel, Lewis originally imagined the brand as STYLE House, for men. But he wanted to use his platform for a mission he was passionate about, which led him to STY House. He has since partnered with CLF and donates a portion of his sales to our organization.

At his worst, Lewis said he was fighting his concussion symptoms the majority of the week. These days, Lewis’s symptoms come and go; he has both good and bad weeks. He is able to manage mostly by knowing what triggers his symptoms and doing his best to avoid those triggers. Some of these include bright lights, large crowds, and driving at night. He prioritizes getting an adequate amount of sleep, exercising, and eating right. Though he is still busy with school, coaching, and his business, he stays aware of his limits to keep his symptoms in check.

 

Earlier this year, Lewis shared his own #ConcussionHope video with CLF to inspire positivity and perseverance in others. He wants parents, coaches, and trainers to get properly educated to support and protect their kids. And though he can no longer play the sport he loves; he is grateful he can stay connected to hockey by coaching and guiding the next generation of young athletes.

To learn more about Lewis Simon and STY House, you can visit styhouse.com.

Making it Through the Perfect Storm

Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide and may be triggering to some readers.

I am honored CLF asked me to share a little about myself and provide some of my sports background along with mental health, addiction, suicidality, and recovery. My biggest hope is that my story can help someone else in their journey.

I was born and raised in Portland, Oregon. I was the youngest of eight kids and grew up in a very athletic family. My older brothers excelled in just about every sport. My brothers played football and my siblings were involved in bull riding, horseback riding, track & field, and everything in-between. I was constantly learning from and competing with them.

In seventh grade, I started playing tackle football. My success in football took me to the University of Oregon, where I played linebacker from 1982 to 1986.

Football took me to great heights. I had the game-winning fourth down stop against UCLA. My senior year after we beat rival Oregon State 49-28, coach Rich Brooks presented me with the game ball.

 

I loved putting the uniform and helmet on. It was quiet inside the helmet. No one could see me in there. I was Clark Kent before I put the uniform on and Superman when I came out.

Over the course of my decade-plus in football, I was involved in countless collisions and hundreds of what were then known as “bell-ringers.” I was an undersized linebacker and I compensated for my lack of size by weaponizing my head. There were many instances where my teammates had to help me line up in the right place after I had made a big hit.

Back then, those hits were simply part of the game. But now I know those hits add up and I believe have affected my mental health. My head trauma is part of what I like to call the “perfect storm” of issues I face.

Addiction is another part of the storm. I became lost when there was no more uniform to wear and no helmet to hide in. The 30-plus years of my life after the University of Oregon are colored by alcoholism, poor decision-making, and denial. I was fired from a sales role for drinking on the job but still wasn’t ready to admit I had a problem.

I worked survival jobs for years to keep myself and my addiction alive. I spiraled for years before my life moved in a positive direction.

The last part of my perfect storm was the trauma I endured in my life. I lost both parents before I was 23 years old. I’ve been abused. I uncovered these traumas through eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) therapy. Working backwards through trauma allowed me to move forward and get closer to sobriety.

By 2020, life was great. I was sober. I was working as a drug and alcohol counselor. But then the COVID-19 pandemic hit and turned everything upside down. Within six weeks of the pandemic, I had lost multiple friends to suicide and overdose. The pandemic halted all my personal and professional momentum.

I became deeply depressed. I relapsed. At my lowest point, I decided I didn’t want to live with the mental and physical pain I was experiencing. I had no idea how to find my way out. There was only one way. I attempted suicide on May 15, 2020. Luckily, a friend happened to call me to check in shortly after the attempt. She sent an ambulance to my apartment and saved my life.

Fortunately for me, I made it past that lowest point. It wasn’t overnight, and no one thing got me out of that dark hole – rather a combination of a lot of different factors that I’ll gladly share here in the hope it helps others.

I embraced a higher power. I chose God, but your higher power can be anything that grounds you and is greater than yourself.

I continued EMDR and other therapies. Dealing with past traumas, guilt, and shame allowed me to move forward. The past is a place of reference, not a place of residence for me.

I try to go to an AA meeting every day. It was in a meeting where I finally said aloud what I had been grappling with for years: “I don’t know what’s wrong with my brain.” The culture of meetings is good for me. Even if I don’t want to go, I always leave meetings feeling like I took the medicine I needed. I always say meetings are the cheapest form of therapy you could ever have.

I got more comfortable opening up, and specifically got comfortable opening up to other men. My dad had died when I was young and my brothers had already moved out of the house and lived with their families. From early on, I took on the role of protector for my mom and sisters. My years in football only strengthened my expectation that men should be tough and not come to each other with their problems. Eventually, I learned to embrace the guys in AA meetings and in football circles who had been where I had been and would support me.

Lastly, I fully embraced the power of connection. I’ve developed a “No Matter What” club full of people who know any of the members will pick up the phone, no matter what. It took me a very long time to get to the point where I could support others but being here feels great. I keep my side of the street clean and can be of service to others.

That’s how I manage my mental health and my addiction but remember – I am in the perfect storm. I know CTE may be part of my reality. I suffer from short-term memory loss. Looking back, I can see my decision-making has been poor. I can be impulsive. I know so many of my football brothers face the same question I do about whether we are living with CTE. It’s a difficult place to be but there are things we can do to help ourselves.

First and foremost, we have to take care of our bodies. For me, that means no drinking and no drugs. It means getting good sleep and eating well.

I also find success being consistent with my lifestyle and keeping things simple. I often ask myself, “What’s good for Dan?” The answer might mean I have to disappoint others, but I know what I need to do to protect my physical and mental health.

Connection is also a key part of living in the face of CTE. Sure, so many of us wonder if we are living with the disease. But to flip that around, so many of us can connect and bond over the fact that we share the same worry. We are not alone, and we can’t do this alone. Believe me, I have tried more than once to do it my way and failed miserably.

My final way to manage my perfect storm is by stepping outside my comfort zone and doing things that fill my heart. I’ve got a big novel experience, albeit in a familiar place, coming up soon. On Saturday, October 1, I will be honored by the University of Oregon in the Ducks’ home game against Stanford. I was extremely flattered by the honor but also knew the experience will also bring up several intense emotions. I’ll think of ex-teammates I’ve lost. I’ll have to go to an airport – an extremely triggering environment for many addicts. A younger me may have run from the moment, but some friends urged me to go. To help things, I’ll be going with a member of the No Matter What Club.

Connection has turned my life around. I’m happy to do what I can to connect with anyone else out there struggling. If you want to connect with me, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m always available at [email protected].

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 National Suicide Prevention 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.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Gretchen Evans on Hope After Military TBI

Image from ESPN Press Room

CLF: What was it like to join the Army in 1979?

GW: It was a couple of years after the end of the Vietnam War. My NCOs were Vietnam veterans. They’d just started integrating females into basic training companies. Our drill sergeants were all males. They got thrown in the deep end of the pool, but they did a stellar job. Their leadership and training were pivotal to my success in the military. Then I went into intelligence. I remember of 150 people that were in my class in Airborne School, there were three females and there were no female black hats in my company. So again, there was a learning curve for everybody. Things have evolved over my 27-year career, from uniforms being separate, to now the same. Now women can serve in every MLS that they can qualify for, and I think that’s awesome. I’m delighted to see that anyone who wants to serve their country can if they hit all the marks.

And then we talk about brain injury. I saw stars a couple of times. We laughed it off and took Motrin to relieve the pain. This last injury, had I not been hurt in other ways, I wouldn’t have seen a doctor and I would have died on the battlefield. I had a swelling brain they caught in time. The medical care saved my life.

CLF: How did your TBI impact how you handled things as a leader?

GW: I needed to write things down. I sat in meetings taking copious notes because my recall was dissipated. I picked and chose what I wanted to remember. I felt like there was a limit of information that my brain could hold, recall, and process. I relied on other people. Also, I was not sleeping well. I attribute this to combat, stress, leadership, all those things – but I really think these things were caused by the multiple head injuries that I had.

CLF: I think that’s commonplace. We want to persevere, and we don’t want to realize we have an injury that’s going to stop us from doing what we want to do. That’s a bumper sticker for TBI and PTSD.

GW: That’s why I love what you do. I went through 90 percent of my career unaware. I don’t want other servicemembers to do that. There are things you can do to mitigate your symptoms and maintain quality of life. That’s what brought Team Unbroken to the surface and that’s why Project Enlist is important. We don’t want these injuries to define who you are or what you can accomplish.

CLF: How would you classify your TBI?

GW: Mine was considered severe. I blew up my eardrums as well as having severe brain swelling. It damaged important nerves in my brain. My biggest symptom is a little bit of cognitive delay. Something as simple as you look at something like a folder, you know what it is, but for like two seconds, you can’t recall what it’s called. 90 percent of the time I’m high functioning, but 10 percent of the time, [not as much].

CLF: You’ve done a great job of mitigating that.

GW: But it can be humbling. That’s another thing I want to touch on. I think people know they have a new injury before they want to admit it. There are signs and symptoms. Bad news is not like wine, it doesn’t get better with age. So, if you think you have a brain injury, you should get checked. It’s a simple process.

CLF: Good point. When you had your serious TBI, you were with a group of soldiers assaulting an objective. It was unique at the time but not going to be as unique moving forward. We’re going to find more women subjected to the dangers you experienced.

GW: It’s only getting bigger because like I said, now women are going to be leading infantry companies in units engaged with the enemy. The amount of brain injuries is going to increase because even in training, people get hurt all the time.

CLF: You can see why TBI is a signature wound of the last 20 years of warfare.

GW: Absolutely. I don’t know if I have any military friends who don’t have some sort of brain injury from being in service. You’re running around, jumping around, dropping out of airplanes, throwing yourself on the ground. You’re constantly putting yourself at risk for head injuries. It’s like playing football every day. Think about how much we wear a soft cap when we’re in a place where you should have a helmet on. A lot of head injuries happen that way.

CLF: I love the picture behind you because it’s skydiving. 

GW: I got to jump with the Golden Knights. In the beginning it was a struggle, getting severely wounded like that. Part of you wants to survive and the other part wants to thrive. You want to start thriving before you’re well enough, so you have a lot of failures. I will say this: the people around me really helped me overcome these injuries. Now I think I’m living the best life I possibly could. I don’t even think about my brain injury until I can’t think about what a folder is or something. I decided that I wasn’t going to let my injury define me. I want to help as many people in my position as I can. I want to advocate for those who can’t advocate for themselves. I’m doing the same thing I did before, I’m just switching uniforms.

CLF: It’s important to take care of yourself so you can help take care of your family and friends and be that person you’re meant to be.

GW: Educate yourself. Part of my healing was learning about my injury. I read things, went to classes, engaged with organizations, Wounded Warriors and all these other people out there that are setting up services. You can learn about your injury and listen to other people who had the same injury as you and how they navigated it. That’s why I think this veteran network we have is powerful.

CLF: You pledged to donate your brain to Project Enlist. Why?

GW: I want to be part of the solution. Even if donating my brain after I’m not using it anymore can help one person, it’s worth it to me. If a doctor can open this thing and look at it and think, ‘oh, this makes sense to me now.’ It could go back to the type of helmets we were wearing. If I donate my brain and they figure out how to help people who already have head injuries or are even born with head injuries, to me, that’s a win-win for everybody.

I’d just like to say to all the female Veterans out there, I would encourage them to donate their brains. We want our granddaughters down the line to get the best care, the best equipment, to prevent them from possibly having a life-altering injury. Let’s all take that pledge and donate our brains to help others.

Join Command Sgt. Maj. Evans and donate your brain to Project Enlist here.

You can read more about Sgt. Maj. Evans by reading her book available here.

Living with Probable CTE: The Curtis Smith Story

I’ll begin my story with a bold statement: I’ve sustained so much sports-related head trauma over my lifetime that the amount of damage my brain has endured has to be among the upper tier of all former athletes who have suffered concussions. Is this me sensationalizing, is this me trying to convince you of how tough I was, or is it me attempting to embellish my story? The answer to those is a loud and resounding, none of the above! It makes me nauseous to think about it, let alone put it in writing. I have mixed emotions stemming from frustration, regret, and fear of the dreaded question: do I have CTE? I blame nobody but myself and the overall lack of education during the era in which I played contact sports. Rather than pointing fingers or placing blame, I’m sharing my story not only to highlight the risks of repeated head impacts but also to ensure people know they’re not alone and there are resources available.

 

My journey started and ended like many others who began playing contact sports in the mid 80’s up until retirement as an adult. I knew there were inherent risks in playing contact sports. I knew the chances of being injured were greatly increased the more I played, and the longer I played them. I’ve sustained broken bones, stitches, sprains, and all kinds of ailments related to sports. I do not regret for a second the path I took to get where I am. What I do wish, however, is that the information available today on concussions (the signs/symptoms, reporting, etc.) and potential long term health effects were available to me when I was growing up. Again, I want to be clear: it’s nobody’s fault as to why things played out the way they did. But I want to implore everyone to get a holistic view on concussions through education and research, speaking with experts in this field and to other former athletes who have suffered sports-related brain injuries. Below, I’ll lay out a few scary truths and long-term effects, all of which have stemmed from my personal history of suffering multiple concussions and repetitive head impacts.

I was a Division I lacrosse player for The Ohio State University. I was also a three-time All-Conference and an All-American my senior year, after which I was drafted into the National Lacrosse League and played one year with the Colorado Mammoth. Sadly, I had to retire at 25 because of countless concussions. Leading up to the final “break the camel’s back” (or put another way “almost obliterate Curt’s brain stem”) hit I suffered, which led to five months of Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS), came a colossal list of concussions that began at a very young age.

I was always athletic from as far back as I can remember. I was on hockey skates when I was two years old, picked for numerous rep teams in multiple sports, always picked first in PE class, etc. However, I gravitated mostly towards contact sports. During my era, I’d hear things like,” shake it off, sit out a shift then get back out there!” or, “oh you just got your bell rung, toughen up!” and of course, “you don’t want to let your team down do you?!” These were ideologies I lived and breathed for the multiple teams I was on. Yet later I came to find out all the while I was doing irreparable damage to my brain and changing my personality along with it.

I grew up playing lacrosse, hockey, and rugby, all three of which were relentless when it came to blows to the head. I was introduced to box lacrosse (indoor version) by my second-grade teacher, who suggested it to my parents. She noticed I was faster than most kids and loved to roughhouse with friends during recess. My parents signed me up and I fell in love with the sport immediately. This was back in 1987 when we were allowed to cross-check, slash and body check each other. It wasn’t just legal, it was encouraged! I can vividly remember laying kids out and being praised for it. I also remember multiple times, being on the team bus coming back from tournaments with what felt like migraine headaches. The team trainer would be rotating ice cold cloths on my head to try and alleviate the pain.

When I reflect on those years, I realize it wasn’t until around 12 years old the cascade effects of concussions began to manifest. 1992 was when the intense, social anxiety began to creep in, and my obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) began to reveal itself. The anxiety would rear its head at different times, such as in school when I met new people, and even just attempting to buy a pack of gum from 7-Eleven, to name a few triggers. I was a quiet kid; others called me shy, and I started getting a reputation as an a**hole. This was a major misconception at the time as the behavior I exhibited back then stemmed from the anxiety and overwhelming fear of being in the spotlight (outside of sports). I had certain people I trusted and a close-knit clique, but otherwise, it was difficult to get to know me or get more than a sentence out of my mouth.

And so began a long road of wash, rinse, repeat: I’d receive yet another brain injury, dump some gasoline onto the social anxiety fire and then await the next hit. What’s the definition of insanity again? Oh right, doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result. As crazy as it sounds, the only thing about this vicious cycle that changed once I got to college was narrowing it down to one sport instead of three.

My time at The Ohio State University was remarkable. I was fortunate enough to play with incredible teammates and under a great coaching staff, while matching up against some of the best players in the NCAA. It would be an understatement to say I was in my element. But as great as it was to play college lacrosse at the highest level, I also suffered seven concussions during my time there. After my third concussion at OSU, another long-term side effect decided to join my symptom “party,” one I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Trouble with sleep is common after concussion. Sleeping more than usual, or struggling to fall asleep and battling insomnia can happen for a short period of time or can develop into a prolonged issue for those with post-concussion syndrome. But another type of condition that I’m convinced was brought on by my history of head injuries is “Old Hag” syndrome. The actual medical term is sleep paralysis (a type of parasomnia which has been reported following brain injury) and it’s a condition where one is put into a “state,” when either falling asleep or waking up, where they are lucid and aware of their surroundings but paralyzed. The kicker here, and the worst part of sleep paralysis, is the person can hallucinate. My first episode and all others since, have had hallucinations associated with them… and they are terrifying!

When I say hallucinate, I don’t mean friendly cartoons or rainbows in the room. Its alternative name of “Old Hag” syndrome was coined for a reason. It’s associated with occult-like entities such as demons, witches, and paranormal black masses. The medical community attributes this condition to people who claim they have been abducted by aliens, just to offer perspective as to how real it feels when experiencing it. I could speak on this for hours as I still suffer from it to this day, but I encourage all to do their own research on this condition if interested.

As noted above, concussions have led to many adverse long-term effects throughout my life. Over the years, I’ve developed ways to cope with and even overcome them. Just as concussion and PCS symptoms can vary from person to person, so too can their treatment methods. What’s worked for me isn’t a cure-all for others. The key is to find the path that works for you, which is why I think it’s invaluable for all of us to share our stories and struggles, as well as certain methods of dealing with them. For me, it’s been a combination of speaking with healthcare professionals, medication, exercise, meditation, and nutrition, just to name the most impactful. The Concussion Legacy Foundation has been instrumental in my path with finding resources, hearing other personal stories, educating me on specific studies and possible treatments, and ultimately knowing at the end of the day there are MANY people out there who struggle daily with similar issues. If you have never seen the documentary Head Games, it’s incredible and a must watch. It was also the catalyst for me to start reflecting on my concussion history and to start researching the long-term effects of sustaining repeated blows to the head.

My decision to pledge to donate my brain to the Concussion Legacy Foundation was an easy one and was based on a few factors. Former football players dominate the discussion when it comes to CTE, and for good reason. There isn’t a higher profile sport, or organization than the NFL in the United States. Highlighting former NFL players who struggle is well documented and highly publicized. Part of the reason I wanted to donate my brain to the Foundation was to show lesser profile sports such as lacrosse can still yield the same results. The second reason was to contribute to ongoing research and the goal of finding a cure.

I’m as certain as I can be I have CTE (seeing how the only way to confirm is post-mortem). I look at my history of concussions, nonconcussive impacts, and the countless times seeing stars after all those hard hits (which I now know is a concussion). Combine those with my present-day issues of forgetfulness, poor impulse control and moments of intense irritability and you’ll understand why I self-diagnosed. It’s a sobering thought and I really hope I’m wrong but I’m not one to live with regrets or worry about things that I have no control over. In regard to my concussion history and probable CTE, all I can do now is share my story and educate others on the risks of playing contact sports, reasons to never hide concussions from your coaches, and to NEVER attempt to “tough through” a concussion and continue playing.

Trust me when I tell you from experience, it won’t end well.

Hope with PCS: Kylie Lowell’s Recovery Journey

My name is Kylie Lowell and I am a Peer Support Volunteer for the Concussion Legacy Foundation (CLF). Before my concussions I played three sports and was active with my school and community. However, after getting hurt I had to give up the most important thing to me: sports. Basketball was always the sport I gave my body to. I loved the excitement and quickness of the game. While I was in eighth grade I got the opportunity to play on the varsity team. Unfortunately before getting the chance to, I got a concussion – while diving for the ball, a girl from the other team slammed her elbow into the side of my head. From that force, I fell backward and hit the back of my head on the gym floor. I do not remember much of the incident as I had blacked out for a few seconds. I was taken out of the game and did not return to play. I missed out on playing on varsity but I had no idea what was going to become of my future after that night.

The hardest part for me was the loss of sports and my friends. When I knew my sports career was over, I felt like a big piece of me had died. Sports were absolutely everything to me and I could never picture myself without them. Everyone would tell me I was born to be an athlete. Sports were my outlet and I dedicated everything to them because it was what brought me the most joy. To have to sit back and watch everyone else get to play while I couldn’t was and is one of the hardest pills to swallow. About two years into having Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS), I was diagnosed with dysautonomia which is a disruption to the part of my nervous system that controls breathing, heartbeat and digestion. I went from being able to run up and down the basketball court as many times as I wanted, to barely being able to walk across my yard without feeling like passing out. Going for simple walks, walking up the stairs, or carrying anything over 10 pounds made my heart rate go up to 190 bpm and above. It made my head throb and I felt as though I could collapse. This was and still is extremely difficult for me to come to terms with. I have always been an active person but now have to start over doing very little at a time because of the dysautonomia.

School was also one of my biggest challenges. I had no support from my school and I felt like I was not wanted there anymore. My friends were not compassionate and teachers stopped asking about me. I lost almost all of my friends simply because they thought I was faking and I was not a convenient friend due to my absence in school. When doctors would ask me to describe how I was feeling, I became speechless. I could not find the words to describe what I was going through when the symptoms were not visible. My way of processing information and being able to communicate it became so different. It is hard for me to reach the information I have and communicate that verbally, which is very frustrating.

The emotional toll of PCS was something I never would have expected. No one had warned me of the effects it could have on my mental health. I cannot stand the noise of people’s utensils and plates hitting together; it’s like nails on a chalkboard. There were endless days and nights of making my room completely dark and putting a pillow over my head to try and drown out the sounds. All I could do was sob and scream into my pillow begging for the pain to go away. The pain was unbearable. It was endless. I felt like I was quite literally going crazy. It was so frustrating to have to feel like a completely different person and not understand why. One of the hardest parts was the people around me could not see the pain I was in, so it was hard for them to believe me. After I had lost my friends and took a medical leave I hit absolute rock bottom. I was at home everyday with no contact from my “friends” and I refused to leave the house. At this time I was still not being seen by the correct doctors and had no accommodations to protect me in school. I became isolated and it caused a huge disruption in my family. It was like I had left the world for a few years. I had never felt so alone and like I had no reason left to be around, a feeling I would never wish on anyone.

However, the year after I had hit rock bottom my spirits were lifted for the first time in three years. While desperate for answers we came across the Concussion Legacy Foundation, and the Inspiring Stories section. I started to scan and read these stories of other teenagers with PCS who were experiencing everything I had been trying to put into words. The instant flood of relief and weight off my shoulders was indescribable. I could not believe it. I cried to let it out, knowing that everything I had felt was real and for the first time I knew I wasn’t alone. Two years before I had found CLF, I did not see a future for myself and the isolation took over me. Now, I felt a burst of hope and knew recovery was possible. After taking a medical leave my sophomore year, I had begun to think about other schooling options as I did not feel welcomed back to my sending school. I started to attend an alternative high school called Mount Tom Academy. I began at Mount Tom Academy as a sophomore but was able to complete three years of academic classes in two years. I had worked harder than I ever thought possible and completed classes during the summer without teacher instruction. I began to believe that graduation was in my grasp and I wouldn’t be held back by my injury. After starting to get the right treatments I noticed my symptoms were starting to improve. I had learned how to manage my symptoms better and that was a huge help for myself.

I had been seen by many doctors and medical professionals and none of them could give me answers. It was not until I saw Dr. Neal McGrath that I finally felt like I was not crazy in how I was feeling. He was kind to me and did not question my symptoms. He was the first doctor who started to give me the appropriate accommodations for school. After a few months of seeing him, we had found the Concussion Legacy Foundation and Dr. Robert Cantu. As I started to see Dr. Cantu, my health improved and I was able to become successful in school.

As I have been involved with CLF throughout my recovery, I have experienced great opportunities in a short amount of time. About a year after I had been mentored by someone at CLF I was asked to be in a video for their gala. I told everyone who was watching about me and my relationship with my mentor. I felt so empowered during the process because I knew it would at least help someone out there and that brought me comfort. After having a life-saving experience with CLF I became a mentor to other teenagers. I wanted to give back and hopefully help others like I was helped. I have been a mentor for about two years now and recently I was featured on Boston 25 News. The interviewer had seen my video and wanted to interview me about my concussions and mental health. I was again so thankful to CLF and Fox 25 for giving me the platform to hopefully help others know they are never alone.

 

My advice to others who may be struggling is to reach out. I know it can be scary but reach out to CLF, me, or anyone else on here because we all understand you. When I was connected with my mentor through CLF it helped me so much to be able to talk to someone who understood every single feeling I had when so many others did not. I would also tell you to stick with your gut and know that what you’re feeling is absolutely real even if people tell you it is not. It can be so discouraging when no one will believe you but I believe you. Always stick to your gut and know it WILL get better. I think it is important for people suffering from PCS to know that it is OK to let yourself have these feelings. I have held in a lot of the emotion surrounding my PCS because I did not know what I was feeling was understandable. Although I have lost a lot throughout my recovery, I have also gained a lot of insight that will help others and serve me well in my future. I now get to help others going through PCS and spread awareness and I am extremely grateful for that.

 

A Pro Snowboarder’s New Purpose After Concussions

Over the last 15 years pursing snowboarding as a career, I’ve experienced many repeated concussions, many of which were second impacts before healing from a previous hit. During the 2019-2020 season I sustained yet another concussion at the Mammoth World Cup. My concussion added to the mental health issues I developed from repeated head injuries over the years and ended up ruining my 2020-2021 competition season and making it impossible for me to compete.

After I hit my head in Mammoth I was seen by a physician. I lied and told him that I felt fine, even after developing a throbbing headache, almost fainting and vomiting as he asked me to do 10 pushups and run for a minute on the treadmill to see if I got dizzy. The only way he knew I felt OK was by asking me, and I lied and told him I was, as I had for many concussions before. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss out on practice and the World Cup starting the next day. When I went to practice, I realized that I was putting myself at far greater risk, being that I had been experiencing vertigo, balance issues, headaches and couldn’t see straight. I decided to tell my coach I wanted to pull out of the event, and he got upset with me as if I was faking an injury to avoid having to compete in adverse weather. I was taken back by this; I knew if I hit my head again, I could be seriously injured and could possibly do permanent damage to my brain. That day, I left and got on a flight home to Colorado. If only there was a way to back up how I was feeling objectively, with science…

Luckily before the season had started, I received a baseline brain scan from a company that makes a portable EEG device. EEG is a non-invasive brain imaging technique that records the electrical activity of the brain. It has been used widely for several disorders including epilepsy, seizure, sleep, stroke, and to assess brain damage from brain injury. EEG has also been shown to be highly sensitive to post-concussion syndrome (PCS). In recent years more academics and companies have been exploring the use of this technique in the clinic as an objective tool to monitor recovery from concussion and PCS.

Sixteen days went by as I used a light and sound frequency device among other interventions to help me recover, and then I had my two week follow up EEG assessment. I was curious to see what the assessment showed as I was feeling like I had recovered from the acute symptoms, at least from this concussion. In my case, the assessment supported what I was feeling, and I was more confident knowing that the results indicated that I had recovered. This is when I knew that more objective information needs to be integrated into concussion protocols in sports. I feel very confident that if the physician in Mammoth would have also conducted objective measurements after my concussion, I wouldn’t have been able to lie and go back out risking a second impact.

As I mentioned previously, I’ve had 15 years of repeated concussions, sometimes as many as six in one year. Some of them were bad: losing consciousness, vomiting, forgetting where I was, experiencing extreme behavioral changes, etc. Some of them not so bad: mild headaches, anxiety, dizziness, not feeling like myself, saying and thinking weird things.

I started to notice that many of the things I was experiencing are symptoms of PCS. My post-concussion mental health symptoms were not going away, and they were negatively affecting me, my family, and my friends. I knew I was not alone and there were other athletes and families dealing with the same issues. I have friends whose lives and families have been seriously affected by concussion derived mental health issues. Sadly, several of them have died by suicide, are stuck in a 24/7 mental health facility, or are spending their lives using alcohol, and drugs as a way to escape their issues.

I have been traveling around the world since I was 12 snowboarding and have been very fortunate to be able to live this way. So, when I found a way to pay it forward and show my gratitude by spending time contributing to an important cause, I had to take that opportunity.

When COVID-19 hit I had a lot of time on my hands, so in March of 2020, I started a 501(c)(3) nonprofit and formed a partnership with the company that makes a portable EEG brain scanning device. My newborn nonprofit Happy Healthy Brain Foundation (H2B) was started with the aim to help prevent athletes from returning to their sport before it is safe for them to do so.

It took a long time to figure out how the Foundation could help with the concussion and mental health crisis. I realized that I had a history of returning to snow before my brain had healed from concussions and that I couldn’t even remember how many I have had. I spent of lot of time educating myself by reading articles and scientific papers and looking at technology company websites that made products used for treatment management and assessments. I learned that even when we are feeling better, our brain isn’t always fully healed, which further stresses the importance of not returning to play too early.

WAVi Medical, the technology company that manufactures the brain scanning device I used, conducted a 4 year study that was published in the 2020 Journal of Pediatric Rehabilitation Medicine. The study showed that 38% of the athletes returned to play before their brain had returned to their healthy baseline. I reached out to them to partner with the Foundation. H2B’s contribution to the mental health crisis is to ensure safe, objective return-to-play protocols for athletes following a concussion or head injury. This would help prevent chronic concussion symptoms that can negatively impact athletic careers, mental health, and family life.

Our primary goal is to perform baseline brain scans on all high school age athletes that participate in concussion prone sports, so kids do not return to play before their brain has fully healed. After we have accomplished this goal, we would like to give the rest of the community the opportunity to have baseline brain scans. I know it is a pretty big challenge, but that is why I started H2B. The H2B team wants to help educate and create awareness so the parents and kids in the community understand the seriousness of concussions. You can break your arm, get a cast, and see that it has healed, but you can’t track the recovery of your brain without measuring it.

Our Foundation’s mission is to raise funds to create and support ecosystems of brain care that modernize the standard of concussion management for athletes. We are starting this initiative in Eagle County, Colorado and will hopefully expand to other areas to help make the concussions protocols in sports objective. Our Foundation’s vision is to ignite a cultural shift that adopts a new objective standard of brain care through the latest technology advancements.

I think it is important that we come together as a community to recognize that returning to play before your brain has healed plays a role in contributing to the mental health crisis.

Why I Stopped Playing Football at Age 17

My name is Matthew Solomon. I have loved football for as long as I can remember. No other sport has captured my heart and soul the same way.

Football is a very intricate sport, one that I think many people don’t fully appreciate. Small nuances can make the difference between a hard-fought win or loss. Every game is an exciting adventure to watch, and with only a few games each season, every week counts. Whether you are a player or a fan, when your team is winning, there is no greater feeling of pride.

And the people behind the sport? Football players are a different breed. They may be strong or fast, or both, but always tough, even fearless. Yet in football, no individual alone can carry a team. The whole is always greater than the parts and being part of a team is like a second family. You work together, celebrate together, and share disappointment together. That camaraderie is very powerful, and sometimes even the underdog can achieve incredible victories.

Over the years I played flag football then progressed into tackle. Outwitting, outmuscling, or outrunning an opponent is thrilling. Scoring a touchdown is the greatest feeling in the world.

My brain injuries didn’t start until my freshman year of high school when I blocked a punt with my head. I don’t even really remember it. It was near the end of the game and my adrenaline was running so high, I didn’t start to feel the concussion symptoms until that evening.

After dinner, I saw my school doctor and was placed in a dark room to recover. The doctor alerted my parents, coaches, and teachers, and the return-to-play protocol was slow and thorough. I was told to stay off my phone and my computer. My head hurt and I had a heightened sensitivity to light. I was lethargic and slept a lot, and I wasn’t very hungry. After about 36 hours at the health center, I was sent home for the weekend to rest and was instructed not to read or watch TV. I missed the last football game of the season against our biggest rival. I was sad to miss such a fun tradition at my school.

The next week I went back to class to listen. My teachers were told not to expect that I participate, do homework, or take any tests. The following week catching up on schoolwork was a bit stressful, but I got to go back to the trainer under our return-to-play policy. I was tested for headaches while increasing my workout activity each day before I was allowed to go back to football practice.

The following season, upon falling to the ground after a tackle, I had an awful feeling that I had injured my brain again. I recovered quickly from that hit, but later the same season, I was stiff-armed by a much larger player in a practice and once again suffered a diagnosed concussion.

I knew in my heart that this could impact my long-term health. The concussions seemed to come easily. The risks were becoming great. I was missing school, friends, and time just being a teenager. I see NFL players, some of the best in the world, suffer concussions right before my eyes. I read about CTE and the things that it causes some people do, how they suffer, and maybe hurt others. I see the struggle my grandparents go through with my grandfather’s dementia. Brain health is so fragile, yet so critical to leading a healthy and happy life.

I was angry and sad. After letting it sink in for a bit, and talking to my coach, we decided I would finish the season as a student assistant coach. Aside from helping the coaches at practice and games, I watched film and logged team stats. I was on the sidelines with the squad through all the ups and downs. I love this game whether in pads or not.

I stay active and have fun in many other ways. Health and fitness are very important to me. I enjoy weightlifting and I run track in the spring. At school, my friend and I started a “rec games” club where we’ve played kickball, capture the flag and other non-contact sports.

I took an online scouting class during the Covid-19 lockdown, track football stats in my free time, participate in a number of football chat rooms, and have fantasy drafts with my friends. I hope to study sports management and work in the professional sports industry someday. I love this game. I always have and I always will.

Every student-athlete has different goals and experiences. I find competing very exciting, and I love the camaraderie of a team. The important thing is to be true to yourself. For me, that means prioritizing my brain health for my future.

If you think you have sustained a concussion, tell a coach, see a doctor, and take the necessary time to heal. If you think you see someone else suffer a concussion, speak up.

Controlling Your Mental Health is Key

My whole life, all I wanted to do was to work with kids and help change their lives for the better. I played college football so I could get my degree and work in education to help kids. I wasn’t the best student, but I knew football could put me in a position where I could control my circumstances after college.

I played hard to earn and keep my scholarship. During my career I suffered multiple concussions that I wasn’t aware of. I was negligently put back into games, which only made things worse. I was playing through concussions that I didn’t remember or understand. At one point, my dad had to leave the stands and step in to tell trainers to keep me out of the game.

I’ve been through it all after my football career ended. I have experienced the lingering effects of multiple concussions. I’ve developed epilepsy, which induces grand mal seizures. These seizures are unpredictable, scary, and immensely painful. My shoulder would dislocate so often during these seizures that I had doctors drill a titanium screw in my shoulder to keep it in place. I’ve also had laser ablation surgery to get my seizures under control. Doctors have told me I’ll never be epilepsy-free, but my seizures are less severe and less frequent than they used to be.

I’m ecstatic with where I am now in my life and the control I’ve gained over my mental health, but it wasn’t always this way.

Football was supposed to be my gateway to the life and career I wanted. I always had the energy and passion to work with kids and help others. But suddenly, I didn’t want to be around anybody. All that passion was gone.

I had no sense of control. I couldn’t control my seizures, my memory, my anger, my depression, or any aspect of my mental health. As a result, I couldn’t accomplish any of the goals that used to be important to me. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t be the father I dreamed of being. I had lost control – and there is no scarier feeling.

Think about driving a car. If suddenly you lost control of where the car is going or how fast it’s going, something tragic would happen to you or to others. But if someone sees you driving a car towards them, they would be very scared. That’s exactly how I felt. I couldn’t control who I was, and the outside world couldn’t understand my reality.

My spiral out of control led me to the brink of homelessness. I had lost the people who could support and take care of me. I decided to take control of my life, my narrative, and the man I wanted to be.

The first thing I could control was getting medical care. I met doctors who believed they could help me. The surgery helped get my seizures in check, but there wasn’t a surgery to help my declining memory or my lack of emotional stability. To help navigate my new world, I learned the power of communicating what I was going through.

I couldn’t control my symptoms, but I could control how much people knew about them. It’s very hard to admit you have an invisible injury and open yourself up to the judgment that might come from that. But I learned that explaining my brain injury history allowed people to accept me in a different way. By explaining how I might have the occasional seizure or outburst or how I might struggle to remember things, people could meet me where I was.

Once I could communicate my situation, I found gracious employers who accepted me and the problems I face. My current employer, Rivian Electric Adventure Vehicles, allowed me to work. They respected my reality, valued me for who I am, and developed protocols for how to respond if I had a seizure so I could become a productive individual in society.

 

Having financial control of my life again is amazing. I don’t have to rely on others to provide for myself or for my daughters. I am reminding myself of what I am capable of. I can work. I can buy things. I can go on runs and work out again.

Rivian’s company slogan is “keep life adventurous forever.” Returning to normal life after what I’ve been through has been an adventure. I’ve had to brave the unknown and adjust to a new reality. But I am so grateful for the opportunity to do so. I hear other people complain about going to work every day and I will never be one of those people. I am humbled to get up and go to work every day and to be in control of how I feel at work every day.

I’ve lost a lot and know the journey ahead won’t be easy, but at least I’m in control again. I want the next generation of football players to be in better control of their mental health than I was.

Don’t get me wrong – I love football. I still watch the game. I played defensive back and I understand how difficult it is to keep your head out of tackles, so I get upset when I see players get ejected or penalized for targeting. We should try to limit the amount of head-to-head contact as much as possible, but I worry we are focusing too much on penalizing the big hits. We also need to focus on making sure players with concussions are comfortable speaking up about their symptoms. We need training staffs to give thorough concussion evaluations to players after big hits. And perhaps most importantly, we need to be looking after athletes’ mental health after they suffer concussions. Kids playing football, chasing their dreams, shouldn’t have their lives and their futures destroyed from playing the game. Our brain is the most important tool we have, and we shouldn’t sacrifice that for football.

That starts with us as players. People on the outside can’t tell if you’re struggling unless you let them know. I want players to be able to say, “I’m scared. I’m hurt. I’m in pain. I’m out of control.” We look like these big, strong people who are invincible. But we need to get away from being silent about what we’re feeling.

But we also need allies. So many people are in invisible battles with brain injury, mental health, and mental illness. If you see someone struggling and you don’t understand why, consider the root cause of their problems. They might not be in control of their situation.

I give CLF a pat on the back on behalf of people like me. Knowledge and understanding are essential. CLF and other organizations in the space are key to education the public and supporting the brain injury community to move forward. Thank you for the platform and allowing me to be an advocate for others.

October 2022 Update to Adrian’s Story

I was motivated to write another update on my story because the idea of control continues to be a constant in my life.

First, the death of former Denver Broncos receiver Demaryius Thomas in December and his CTE diagnosis this summer was very alarming to me. Demaryius Thomas died of a seizure. I have had hundreds of seizures due to my epilepsy. People in the epilepsy community live with a fear of sudden unexpected death. Demaryius’ death and diagnosis were reminders of the realities of what I’m up against and the lack of control I have.

Second, I’ve lost my job and my marriage in the past year. These losses have been painful and made me reflect on certain things.

I lost my job because I was having seizures at work. As I wrote in my last story, I underwent a surgery that helps to limit the severity and frequency of my seizures. That has been extremely helpful for my day-to-day life, but my job had me working around lithium batteries. Lithium exposure can trigger seizures, so my job became unsafe for me. There’s another example of control – my disabilities limit the amount of work I’m able to do and therefore hurt my ability to support myself and my family.

I came into a relationship sick and lost. While I was figuring out my health situation, my health put stress on those around me and made it difficult to being a man living in a no-excuses society. Ultimately, I don’t want others to be miserable trying to be there for me.

I know there are plenty of other people with brain injuries who have been separated from their families. My message to them is to continue doing the best with what you have.

Our brains control everything. And injuries to our brains can therefore change everything, too. It’s extremely hard for people like me who live with brain injuries. We are constantly fighting to be the people we once were. We are fighting against society to tell them we have these disabilities. We fight through physical and emotional pain we can’t control.

We can apologize for the pain our brain injuries have caused others. But we can’t apologize for getting up and trying our best to survive in a world that’s not equipped for our disabilities.

How Concussions in Motocross Changed My Life

Jeffry’s love for bikes came early, getting his first motorcycle at just 5 years old. Oh, did he love the freedom of putting on a helmet and going fast. He was always drawn to jumping his motorcycle; his family coined the phrase “Jumpin’ Jeffry” at a young age. Jeffry was always a daredevil in some aspect – from climbing trees or rock climbing to jumping his BMX bike.

Jeffry’s first substantial crash happened when he was six. He was riding in the desert with his family and had his 50 at full speed, somewhere around 25 mph or more. He tucked his head and twisted the throttle to the max. Jeffry then saw a washout in front of him from a rainstorm. He did not have enough time to hit the brakes, so he decided to try and lift the front of his bike to clear the gap. That didn’t work and he buried his front tire in the ditch, bringing the bike to a dead stop. Jeffry was flung over the handlebars and traveled over 20 feet. The visor on his helmet broke, and he was left completely dazed. His motorcycle’s front forks bent the tire into the engine due to the harsh impact. He later remembers his dad using a sledgehammer to get the forks unbent. This was the first of many concussions throughout his early riding life.

He did not know the effects of falling while riding motocross would start to add up.

Jeffry grew up in sunny California so there was plenty to do. He started playing football when he was 12 and even won a CIF Championship with Newport Harbor High School in the process. There were many undiagnosed concussions to the head Jeffry can remember from his football days in the mid 90’s. Over and over, collision after collision. He was having a hard time focusing in school and was challenged with forgetfulness. Jeffry’s family at the time associated it with just being lazy or not following through on something.

“Back then there was no concussion protocol,” said Jeffry. “If you could play you were back in the game.”

Toward the end of high school, motorcycle riding really started to take off. Jeffry’s skills were improving, and he started collecting sponsors. He went on to compete in 125cc motocross races. After racing and jumping in the hills of Beaumont, California, he knew he had a skill and subsequently turned pro.

But going big comes with a price, including numerous hard falls and many broken bones. The love for flying on a motorcycle though, kept Jeffry committed to the sport. He then went from racing to Freestyle Motocross, turning pro shortly after the transition. He started jumping ramps and performing more challenging stunts. This resulted in numerous concussions. Things got harder for Jeffry; he was more snappy and not as nice as he once was. He only cared about riding and himself. He was changing and no one knew why.

Jeffry qualified for the X Games three times, competing with the likes of Travis Pastrana and Brian Deegan to name a few. Then a big fall happened in Northern California that would forever change Jeffry’s life. He was hard at work preparing for Games’ qualifiers, learning a new trick to bring to the big show. His riding friends (other pros) helped him pull the ramp back to a much bigger gap. This gap was nearly impossible to clear in second gear, so third gear it was. But jumping a ramp is a lot different than jumping on dirt – while not as much speed is needed, an extra push is important at that distance.

As Jeffry was practicing, he turned the corner and started running up to the ramp. He hit it at the right speed and twisted the throttle. But near the top of the ramp, the bike’s engine stopped. He had slowed down enough that he was not going to make the landing. Jeffry pushed off his bike and jumped for it, flying in the air about 30 feet high traveling roughly 35 mph. He landed on his back. Everything at the time went numb. He then slid down due to the momentum before losing consciousness. Jeffry was out for some time. No one recalls exactly how long. But he woke up to a serious concussion, a broken C7 and C3, a torn groin, and many ligament tears all through his neck and back. It took more than six months of rehab to get back to mostly normal, though he still does not have full mobility in his neck. This was by far the worst of his TBIs.

After that accident, Jeffry decided to hang up his boots. Through all the broken bones and many concussions, it just didn’t make sense for him to continue. He walked away from the sport he loved and began a semi normal life. He battled depression, anger, anxiety, heavy drinking, and the list goes on. For years he had a chip on his shoulder. He lost many motocross friends to suicide or overdose. He then later sought help to better learn about chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) and the effects of repetitive head trauma.

“Understanding CTE was extremely important to me,” said Jeffry.

After learning more about CTE, Jeffry decided to pledge his brain to the Concussion Legacy Foundation for research. He saw the effects of brain injury to his close friends and other extreme sport athletes and knew a few who were diagnosed with CTE after death. Nobody knew that their livelihoods as motocross professionals would turn out this way. If they would have known, Jeffry doesn’t think they would have jumped dirt bikes for a living.

“Most of us who were professional freestyle motocross riders just assumed we were like this,” said Jeffry. “We didn’t know about TBI and CTE. But I have been working on speaking with my fellow riders on social media about this so they can be aware and seek the help they need.”

For Jeffry, there is light at the end of this wild tunnel. He has tried different treatments and found meditation especially helpful. He works hard to learn new things and challenge his brain. He surrounds himself with a strong support system who can keep him positive on the tougher days. And Jeffry is motivated to maintain his brain health for his daughter.

Jeffry eventually became an entrepreneur, starting his first company, a sales consulting firm, when he was 30. He has been a private equity CEO and most recently founded Ecommerce Management and Ecommerce EDU in 2019. He has also written many ecommerce courses for top universities in the country. Living with a TBI is not easy, but Jeffry’s commitment to learn what triggers his symptoms has saved his life.

“You don’t have to quit life because your head is a little banged up,” said Jeffry. “You can have a full and great life. I am so grateful for all of the support my family has given me. Moral and emotional support. I am thankful for the doctors I work with to maintain my health. I hope my story shows you that you too can beat this thing. We are all in this together! We have each other!”

If you or someone you know is struggling with concussion or suspected CTE symptoms, reach out to us through the CLF HelpLine. We support patients and families by providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Life After Brain Trauma in the U.S. Army

Retired Lieutenant Colonel Robert Gowan experienced a substantial share of head trauma during his athletic and military careers. He grew up playing football in Houston, Texas before walking on to the football and rugby teams at the Virginia Military Institute. This was in the 1980’s, well before concussions were widely regarded as a serious injury.

His sports teams were “old school” and prioritized toughness. For Gowan and his teammates, that meant playing through pain and leading into tackles with their helmets.

One of the earliest concussions Gowan can remember came during a high school playoff game in the Houston Astrodome.

“It was a toss sweep to their running back on my side. When I made contact the lights went out,” said Gowan. “I don’t remember the hit or much after it besides looking up at the scoreboard and seeing sparks and stars flying toward me, but I finished the game. Back then if you weren’t knocked out cold and put on a stretcher you got on your feet and kept going.”

Gowan has several similar stories, as do some of his former teammates. The common factor: if they could hide their symptoms enough to continue playing, they did. Gowan’s military experience was no different.

Decades of Service

Inspired by his father and grandfather’s service, Gowan knew he was interested in joining the Army after college. In May 1988, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army.

Gowan’s 25-year military career took him all over the world. His first major assignment was in Germany at the tail end of the Cold War. Serving as a nuclear weapon technical operations officer, Gowan witnessed the toppling of the Berlin Wall, the reunification of East and West Germany, and the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Gowan took on various roles at bases throughout the United States, Korea, and Kuwait, earning jumpmaster status and commanding an artillery battery for the 82nd Airborne Division along the way.

By the time of the 9/11 attacks, Gowan was a seasoned officer. The historic events that followed, including the U.S. invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, marked a momentous shift in his career. By 2003, Gowan was serving his first tour in Iraq.

“My military career was bisected by the events of 9/11. Everything became focused on supporting combat operations in Iraq and Afghanistan” said Gowan. “The second half of my career was very serious and intense. I saw a lot of casualties and fatalities in the men and woman I was providing support to.”

It was a new chapter in Gowan’s service and a life-changing experience. He remained committed to the Army and redeployed to Iraq in 2007 as part of a surge in U.S. Military presence before taking a post in Afghanistan in 2009. Gowan witnessed and personally experienced significant brain trauma throughout his career until retiring in 2014.

Common Brain Trauma in Military Service

Gowan knew about concussions from sports, so he was able to recognize their hallmark characteristics during military training and deployments.

At U.S. Army Airborne School at Fort Benning in 1989, for instance, Gowan landed hard during the final training jump before graduation.

“When I stood up, I was seeing double,” said Gowan. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t seek medical attention because it was my final jump of Airborne School. I recovered quickly enough to just move on, put it behind me, and head to Germany for my first duty assignment.”

Shaking off rough impacts was the norm. In fact, hard landings were common enough in the Airborne community that they have a saying about it: “feet, butt, head.” When a landing went wrong, usually your feet hit first, then your butt, then your head. The saying is a common reference among paratroopers to help brush off rough landings, which were often unpredictable, uncontrolled, and forceful.

Some jumps go off without a hitch, like the time Gowan completed a midnight jump onto an airfield in the mountains of northern Iraq with the 173rd Airborne Brigade, and some don’t. Even less technically challenging jumps can go wrong. Gowan’s daytime jump with the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Brag in 1997, for example, was a comparably routine jump. At the time, Gowan was a battery commander leading a training mission. When he landed – feet, butt, head – he recognized another hallmark concussion symptom in himself.

“I remember thinking oh, boy, that was bad,” said Gowan. “As I regained awareness, I tried to speak, but I couldn’t because my speech was temporarily slurred. My first thought was that I knocked out all my teeth or broke my jaw, but when I felt they were intact, I realized it must be the hit to my head.”

Gowan felt like he didn’t have the luxury to pursue medical aid because he was in charge, so he proceeded with the mission. Gowan recovered quickly, completed the mission, and moved on. In hindsight, Gowan wishes he’d told the medical team.

Now that Gowan is retired, he wonders about the cumulative effect of these and several more traumatic incidents and how they impact his life today.

“I have concerns about the long-term effects. I have some memory issues and I have been diagnosed with PTSD,” said Gowan. “When you’re in a combat zone, you see and experience things that you can’t shake even if you want to. It’s hard to draw a direct line from a concussion or traumatic experience to later changes in functioning but the uncertainty, or the possibility, is hard to wrestle with.”

Gowan is familiar with Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE) and knows that sub-concussive impacts, impacts to the head or body that don’t cause obvious concussion symptoms, can bring substantial long-term complications.

“I was on the delivering-end of mortar rounds in trainings, but I was on the receiving-end of mortar fire in Iraq. It’s hard not to worry about those blasts now,” said Gowan. “I was in Basra for just a few days in 2007 as part of a JSOC [Joint Special Operations Command] leadership recon and we got hammered by repeated mortar shelling. One blast in particular was so great if felt like my teeth were going to blow out of my head.”

Today, we understand better the risks soldiers who operate artillery, mortars, and anti-armor weapons are exposed to from concussive blasts and know TBIs are happening often. According to the Defense and Veteran Brain Injury Center (DVBIC), 414,00 TBIs were reported among U.S. service members between 2001 and late 2019.

“We know it’s a problem. The military has been studying this and working to minimize risks, but it is a big concern,” said Gowan.

Military training also comes with significant risk for injury. Servicemembers are asked to prepare for realistic situations.

“Military training is inherently dangerous,” said Gowan. “Whether you are training in vehicles, parachute jumps, combat simulation, or land navigation you tend to get banged around. You suffer trauma to various parts of your body.”

Retirement has given Gowan time to reflect on his own injury history, the servicemembers he worked alongside, and what the military community can do to prevent the worst outcomes of cumulative brain trauma.

Observations in a Combat Theatre

Beyond his own injuries, Gowan witnessed large scale combat and casualty trends in Iraq and Afghanistan after the introduction of improvised explosive devices (IEDs).

Gowan finished his first deployment in Iraq right as IED attacks were becoming more common. Initially dubbed “roadside bombs,” IEDs were a bigger problem when Gowan went back in 2007.

“That was how the enemy seemed to be most effective fighting against U.S. and coalition forces,” said Gowan. “When I was there in 2003, we didn’t have ‘up armored’ Humvees. As IED casualties became more common, the Army adapted.”

Beyond his own time in combat theaters, Gowan learned that a close friend from early in his military career at Fort Bragg was injured in an IED attack, losing both of his legs. Another servicemember close to Gowan, one of the ROTC cadets he mentored as an instructor at the Virginia Military Institute, suffered a severe TBI from an IED in Afghanistan.

“I know of a lot of exceptional men and women that were wounded and suffer from the effects of TBI. The issue hits very close to home,” said Gowan.

A 2017 study on post-9/11 veterans showed explosive blasts were the leading cause of reported traumatic brain injuries in Iraq and Afghanistan. Regardless of injury source, it is a staggering fact that 414,000 of the 2.7 million total troops deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan have been injured by TBI. Considering not all TBIs are reported, the proportion is likely even higher.

“I came into contact with a lot of people who were real heroes,” said Gowan. “I’m no combat hero and would never represent myself as such, but I was in close proximity to those men and women in support operations. I’ve seen and still feel the weight of their sacrifices.”

A New Mission After Retiring

Gowan is grateful for his military career. Now, on the other side of service, Gowan is passionate about finding ways to improve the lives of service members impacted by brain trauma. That passion led him to Project Enlist. The goal of Project Enlist is to accelerate critical research on TBI, CTE, and PTSD in military veterans.

Gowan is giving back by pledging to donate his brain to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, Boston University, Concussion Legacy Foundation (VA-BU-CLF) Brain Bank. This gesture helps to raise awareness about the need for research and directly contributes to scientific breakthroughs in our understanding of military brain trauma.

“I’m an organ donor. I believe it’s a good thing to help other people after you’re gone,” said Gowan. “So, when I heard about being a brain donor for CLF, it was a natural thing for me. There’s still so much we need to learn about the effects of trauma and sub-concussive blasts.”

Gowan is recruiting other veterans to support Project Enlist because he feels the urgent need for this research. Many veterans, like Gowan, are also former athletes with previous brain trauma.

“I think about how so many military service members are also former athletes.” Gowan said. “I have an interest in the TBI, CTE, PCS, and PTSD interplay because this issue is a huge piece of the quality-of-life puzzle for me and for them. I know a lot of folks who are still struggling. It feels good to do something about it and know that we can do more than just endure.”

Veterans, even former military service members with asymptomatic exposure to brain trauma or no history of brain trauma at all, can support Project Enlist by pledging to donate their brain like Gowan has. CLF also offers personalized support to veterans fighting the effects of concussions or suspected CTE through the CLF HelpLine.

“Everything we do in the military is about improvement. How do we perform our mission better? How do we make a process more efficient, or safer?” said Gowan. “This mission is an extension of the same mentality. It’s a great opportunity to support veterans when they’re out of uniform and, hopefully, improve life for the generations that come after us.”

Lt. Col. Gowan is a brain pledge and peer mentor for the CLF HelpLine. Gowan spread the word about CLF and Project Enlist with the Institute for Veterans and Military Families (IVMF) in June 2021. Watch the interview here.