Supporting my teenager as she recovered from a concussion was one of my most difficult moments of motherhood. This is my story:
I skidded into the parking lot at 4:55 pm to drop my son off to at his 5:00 pm basketball practice stopping at the front door of the gym just long enough for him to jump out and run into the building. I sped away and headed toward the dance school to pick up my younger daughter from ballet class that ended at 5:30. My plan was to then rush back to the high school in time to catch the tail end of my older daughter’s softball game before I had to pick my son up from basketball practice which ended at 6:30 pm. I was thinking. “How am I going to feed these kids?” when my cell phone rang. It was my friend whose daughter was also on the softball team. “Are you coming to the game?’” she asked. “Yes,” I replied, “I just did a drop-off and am on my way to a pick-up then I will be there. How are they doing?” “Your daughter was hurt,” she said. “She was pitching and was hit in the head by a line drive. I think she is going to need to see a doctor.”
Time stood still. I stopped breathing and felt like I was suspended in a haze, like my heart skipped a beat. After that, I don’t remember what I said or what was said to me, but I knew this would be bad. My daughter had sustained two sports related concussions in the previous year, and this would be her third. My eyes began to well up. I shook my head to force myself out of despair and into action. The next thing I remember is arriving at the softball field and being directed by her coach to drive onto the field and up to the dugout. She was slumped over, holding her head in her hands, and sobbing uncontrollably. Her teammates were crying and holding her in their arms trying to comfort her. It was heartbreaking and scary for all of us. I grabbed her hand, squeezed it tight and drew her into a gentle but firm embrace. “You’re going to be okay,” I said. I said it with confidence. I said it with certainty, all the while not knowing if it was true.
The days that followed were long. Doctors advised her to completely shut down her brain. That meant a total cessation of stimuli. No light, no sound, no activity. Just rest in a dark room. She lay in bed in silence for a week. I would bring her food and talk to her to pass the time, but the days were long, very long. What I saw over the next few months was enlightening. I learned a lot about concussions, the brain but most notably, how others react to people with a traumatic brain injury.
Having Just One Good Friend Can Make all the Difference.
My daughter was not using her cell phone. She did not communicate directly with anyone. At first, her friends would send me messages asking about her condition. But after a few days they stopped texting. It seemed as if no one was terribly concerned about her except for one amazingly kind and considerate friend.
I rarely left the house during the early days of my daughter’s recovery and only when necessary. One afternoon, I stepped out to buy groceries and when I returned there was an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway. As I approached the front door, I saw a teenage girl holding flowers and a large greeting card. She said, “Hi, I’m Clara, one of your daughter’s friends. I was wondering if it would be okay if I saw her. I rang the bell but there was no answer.” I knew Clara. She had been a good friend of my daughter’s when they were younger and they were still friendly, but she wasn’t one of the girls in my daughter’s inner circle. But on that day, she was my daughter’s best friend and her entire peer support group. “Of course,” I replied, “she doesn’t come out of her room. That’s why she didn’t answer but I’m sure she would love to see you.”
We climbed the stairs together and slowly opened the door to my daughter’s bedroom. “Sweetheart,” I said, “Clara is here to see you.” “What? Really? No, she isn’t,” she said in disbelief. I stepped aside and let Clara in. It was a sweet, touching reunion. Clara sat on the side of my daughter’s bed, in the dark and stayed with her for hours. They talked, they cried, they laughed. My daughter knew someone cared. I suppose her “close” friends didn’t think her injury was serious. Or maybe they were just too wrapped up in their own life. But then there was Clara. And sometimes you just need one good friend to get you through a tough time.
The Biggest Obstacle is Ignorance.
After a couple of weeks of complete rest and multiple neurological evaluations, we collectively decided to allow my daughter to try to return to school. She still suffered from sensitivity to light and sound as well as a general foggy feeling, but her headaches were able to be controlled by medication. She was not well but she desperately wanted to try to return to school because she had missed a lot. A plan was set with school administration based upon her doctor’s recommendations. She would attend half days and was excused from classes like chorus, orchestra and gym that were most agitating to her condition.
Her return to school was very difficult. Hallways, common areas and the cafeteria were bright and loud. She tried wearing sunglasses and avoiding crowded areas, but it was impossible. She had difficulty concentrating in class and her headaches returned. It was clear that she was not ready to return to school. And she did not. She missed the remainder of the school year which was the last half of the final semester. It was her junior year, so she also missed Prom, the SAT’s and multiple AP exams.
It was time to assemble a team at school to support her. The first person I enlisted was her guidance counselor. Together we reached out to all her teachers to let them know that she was not able to return to school. The response was mixed. Several teachers responded with complete empathy and agreed to give her a final grade based upon the work she had completed in the first half of the semester. But her math teacher could not agree to that. There were two exams left in the semester which he insisted she take. We provided multiple doctors reports explaining her condition, but he had boxes to check and would not agree to give her a grade without her completing the last two assessments. Astonishing. She would miss all the classes that covered the material, and he somehow expected her to teach herself the material and take the assessments in her debilitated condition. Her math teacher had a complete lack of understanding of her limitations even when those limitations were explained by a doctor.
And then there was her gym teacher, yes, her gym teacher. Of all the classes my daughter was taking you would think excusing her from gym would be a “no brainer.” But her gym teacher required her to write a one-thousand-page essay on any topic relating to athletics to receive a grade for the semester. That is like asking a person with a broken leg to run a mile. But he couldn’t seem to understand that. He said, “oh, my daughter had a concussion once, so I know what she’s going through.” No, he didn’t. There was no way he could have known because, “brain injuries are like snowflakes and fingerprints. No two are the same.” (Wendy Renzulla, traumatic brain Injury survivor).
It dawned on me that it’s difficult for people to understand what they can’t see. On the outside, my daughter looked fine. There were no obvious signs of trauma. But what was inside her head was completely dysfunctional. Ignorance of her limitations was the biggest obstacle to overcome. Even smart people just couldn’t wrap their heads around reality for a person with a traumatic brain injury. With tremendous pressure from my daughter’s guidance counselor, her math teacher agreed to give her an incomplete due to medical reasons which allowed her to receive a grade for the year. And her gym teacher received the one-thousand-word essay he required. I’m a decent writer so I “helped” her complete the assignment.
Your Child is More Resilient than you Realize.
Inch by inch, step by step, day by day, I watched my daughter fight to get back to her old self. It was a long process, and advances were small and incremental, but she never complained. She just pushed forward. Slowly but steadily, she started to do the things she used to do. Eventually, she was able to read and study again. She sang again and began to enjoy time with her friends and family. She needed medication to keep her headaches in check, but the medication was not a total remedy. After 6 months of steady improvement, she appeared to be back to her old self and I casually asked her, “Do you still get headaches?” To which she responded, “almost every day.” I had no idea. You could not tell by the way she carried herself. “They are not as bad as they used to be,” she said, “but I know what triggers them, so I avoid those situations and other than that, I just deal with it.” She learned how best to cope with her new normal and was stronger than I ever imagined. She led us through this and when she saw the concern on my face, she intuitively said what I need to hear.
“I’m going to be okay,” she said. She said it with confidence. She said it with certainty. And it was true.
