Concussed

March 8th, 2025. A day that dogs my steps with cloudy thoughts, painful pauses, and glitchy memories. Mike was on his own, so Chris and I finished cleaning the church for Mom before driving to Nate's house. Spring was "just around the corner," but it could be a thousand corners away, for all we knew. Maine is not a state that welcomes spring early. The arrival of my favorite season comes as slowly as molasses running uphill in January.

I dreaded going to Nate's house because you could make the argument that telling someone to "stick it where the sun don't shine" could very well mean putting it in front of his house. The ice and snow notoriously held on long past the warming trends, and I had forgotten to wear my ice cleats. Dusk fell before we parked the car, and Chris jumped out and glided into Nate's house. I took my time. I used my phone light to guide my steps, but it wasn't good enough.

My right foot slid first. As my ample weight shifted dangerously, an oath slipped from my cold lips. I repositioned the offending foot just as the left foot swooped out from under me. I threw caution to the wind and cussed generously on my way to the ground. I released my phone from my left hand and braced myself for impact, determined not to hit my head on the icy tundra.

I was successful in keeping my head above the ground, but I gave myself whiplash. My knees scraped on the ice, and my back twisted in agony. The world spun in a dizzying fashion as I stood up, but I maintained my balance and limped into the house.

Within a few days, the bruises from my knees subsided. However, those pains were replaced by searing headaches in the crown of my skull and daggers of agony in my left eye. I began to experience dizziness and loss of balance whether standing or sitting, and I could neither read nor look at a computer or phone for more than a few minutes at a time. I contacted my doctor via MyChart and described the symptoms. His medical assistant relayed his reply: "You have a concussion."

"How? I didn't hit my head."

"Whiplash. You described your head snapping back and forth when you fell," he said. "That's enough to cause your brain to shift in your skull, causing the concussion."

I was silent. Maybe I should have just let my head hit the ground, I thought. "What now?" I asked him.

He didn't get back to me right away.

In the meantime, Mike, who had been at a friend's house, fell ill. He was too sick to drive home, so his friend's mom drove him in my car. When they arrived, she and his friend switched into my wife's car- a roomier vehicle- and I drove them back to their house. On the way, I told her of my symptoms, and she offered advice.

"As a physical therapist," she began, "I urge you to drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest."

Her daughter spoke up from the back seat. "Yes! Do what she says!"

"I will," I said. "Thank you."

The next day, when I connected with my doctor's office again, I relayed the information she'd given me. He agreed with the advice. "That's great, but I'd like to consult directly with you. Can you see me in my office this week?"

I shook my head and wrote, "No. I've used up my leave time because I had influenza last week and missed some days of work."

"Okay. I'll have you speak with my assistant and see what we can work out." He turned the messages over to his medical assistant, who arranged for a video appointment later in the week.

My symptoms worsened each day, and when Doc and I held our video visit, I had to wear sunglasses to minimize the glare. My students said I looked like a pimp. Doc got a chuckle out of that. That's what I get for teaching in a prison, I guess.

Doc gave me some prescriptions to deal with the almost-constant nausea and headaches. He also told me to lay off the cell phone word games I'd been playing. "Just stay off your phone and your computer. And don't read books, either." He might as well have told a fish not to swim in the water or a bird not to fly in the sky.

The weakened weekend arrived. Searing crown and eye daggers cemented my eyelids shut. No phone. No computer. No problem. %#%&@!?^$! With cussing.