The Bluestocking 2022-23

Riya Savundranayagam | Grade 11 Concussions

I sat in the plastic chair, alone, the empty gray lockers no one uses staring at me. My fencing helmet sat by my side. How I wished I had it on. And I thought, I thought about ignoring the pain gathering in a halo around my head. If I pretend it doesn’t exist, it’s not real, is it? I could continue on with my life and blame the headaches on the weath er, or the coffee, or the hours of sleep I got last night. I thought about going back out there and pretending this didn’t happen. It did. Like it did the first time, three years ago. One year ago. Today. A never-ending cycle. Someone throws a ball, it hits my head, repeat. Should I confront them? Do I inform them of how dangerous that could be, and prevent more mistakes in the future? They should know better, and if not, I don’t want to be the one who makes them feel bad and bring more attention to myself. We see football players get hit again and again. We see them be out of the game for months. People know, but they don’t know enough. It’s a cycle, and I kept it that way. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t try to break it. Maybe next time.