Five years ago today Jimmy was badly hurt playing baseball. He was pitching for our highschool at an "away" game. He took a hard line drive to the side of his head off of a metal bat. Slowly he collapsed to the pitching mound while the ball rolled over to third base.. It took the coaches at the game a full half hour to decide to send him by ambulance to the hospital. Maybe because he never lost consciousness? I'll never really know...
I got the call at home as I was not at the game. Off I went to find the small hospital in the middle of nowhere where he was lying. On the way I got a call from his dad-he said they were going to send him home- "NO!" I say. "Please keep him there until i arrive." I find my oldest child in the ER-he's lying on a stretcher looking perfectly fine. No cuts, no bruises, nothing. But strangely he can't tell the time on the clock.... The ER doc comes over to his dad and I saying "The CAT scan room has opened up-why don't we do a scan just to check for the heck of it since you are still here." After the scan I am told there are 2 small spots that are showing on his brain and they should be watched, so they will transfer him into Boston Medical Center sometime tonite. Jimmy and I eventually head off for the transfer in the ambulance at a leisurely pace. It was dark and cold out. It's now about midnight."Fun, huh, Jim?" I say to him, but he only nods and is oddly quiet.
We arrive and they redo the scan as is their policy. "We don't accept other hospital's scans," they say. Thank God. At this point Jimmy is saying his eye hurts and his speech is now garbled and halting. I wait off to the side while they repeat the scan. A guy suddenly comes running down the hall with a wet film in his hand- yelling "HE"S GOT AN EPIDURAL, HE HAS TO GO TO THE OR NOW!!" I am suddenly aware that we are in a life-threatening situation. "Shhhh," a nurse says, "that's his mother".
They call in the brain surgeon. He quickly arrives. He examines Jimmy's CT scan in a nearby room, I see lit images of my child's brain on the walls. He comes out. In his hand is a little brown leather bag containing his tiny operating tools. He speaks very quietly to us.
"Your son needs to go into emergency surgery-an artery has burst in his brain". The neurosurgeon continues to say before he goes in to cut open my child's head-"I can't promise you anything....". His dad and I nod. What else can you do? I kissed my son for what I prayed was not the last time and told him all would be OK. And he was wheeled away. The longest 3 hours of my life.
Out he comes into intensive care- with a big bandaged head. Tubes everywhere percched on him like a big spider. But he's doing well I am told. What followed was a difficult few days for him. At one point a nurse was doing a very painful procedure to him and when it was over Jimmy murmured--"Thankyou". At that moment I was filled with such pride and admiration for the person my son was becoming. He humbles me. Handling himself with more grace and dignity than expected from a 15 year old, let alone from an adult in such a situation.
Eventually we can go home but with lots of restrictions. He can't ever play hockey again, can't play football, can't ride a bike, can't wrestle, can't go back to school this year, can't lift over 20 pounds, can't play baseball, can't, can't, can't, CAN'T........a long recuperation with tutors at home and multiple trips into Boston to see the neurosurgeon and neurologists.
Not only had an artery been severed at the point of impact from the baseball but also his brain had bounced against the back of his skull causing an injury to the back of his brain that would take at longer time to heal and require frequent MRIs to be sure it did not develop into a further problem.
Over time a few restrictions were lifted but not many. He struggled with this but remained upbeat. He was also trying to put on the 20 pounds he lost. Apparently with such a severe head injury, weight loss is common. He was also adjusting to a big 6 inch surgical scar on the side of his head. He was having a little trouble with word retrieval.
Months go by and at each visit to the doctors he would ask the most important question for him----Can I play baseball this coming spring? Can I? Can I? Can I??????? Finally, they say "yes--but with a full helmet on at all times". He is silent, silent, silent..... "OK, I'll do it", he declares.
April came along and practices began. Out to first base he trotted, comfortable, a natural and at ease. He was born to play first base. His helmet was on, but the kids on the opposing teams yell taunts, make fun. They are unrelenting. "Why are you wearing a helmet-hahahahaha!" Jimmy just played. He was doing what he loved. One day he said to me -"Mom, I don't know if I can take the mound again to pitch". My response was -"that's fine-no one would expect you to. Play first base-that's YOUR position, that's where you shine". And I meant it. He is so graceful out there.
"But mom, I want to pitch". I was fearful even with his helmet on and tried to dissuade him. "Stick to first base babe". But he was persistent.
"Mom, I have to try...". Part of me admires his courage but I was so afraid. "Well, OK", i say, afterall he has the helmet on....so the coach starts him out slowly-pitching to the younger kids in practice only. A couple of weeks went by and then I heard --"mom, I want to pitch in a game"--now I was starting to get a little itchy about this....but ok...the helmet is on....and it went well......until I heard a few weeks later -"mom, I am going to pitch without my helmet". "No! No! No! You can't, it's not safe", I explain, almost hysterical, "I can't watch you do that. The answer is no." But he pressed onward, " Yes, mom I have to"....for many reasons that he proceeded to explain to me in quite an adult manner and that I cannot for the life of me remember. But I do remember this: he said at the end -"Mom, if I get hit in the head again then it was just meant to be". I sat silent. He was right. He was so right.
It was time to let go and pray that I could cope with HIS destiny-whatever it was to be. I could not protect him any longer. The only one who could was God. And Jimmy had great faith. Others were critical and disagreed with my decision but this was between me, my son and our God. I loved my son so much that I had to let him live his life, whatever the risks. This was not about me.
There were no more incidents in the following years of baseball. He was courageous, aggressive, enthusiastic and talented. I cried the day he played his last baseball game, knowing I would never see him play again. The end of an era. My admiration for him is more than I could ever put into words.
One of the lessons I learned from this experience was that I had been so worried about my daughter's issues and survival that I took the boys' perfect health for granted. I assumed I'd have them forever. I was wrong. I almost lost my oldest son that day...not my daughter. Every day I am so thankful that each one of my children is thriving. I feel very fortunate.
Oh and one more important thing I want to say...after any impact to the head...never, ever assume all is well...get a CT scan. No one, not even doctors are qualified to "guess"...get the scan. If I had taken Jimmy home that evening as suggested by the first hospital, he would not have survived the night. Something told me there was more than just a 'bump on the head'. And that 'something' was right.
.jpg)
