Photo Credit: Courtesy of Ron Ciancutti
It was just another day. My wife and I had done some Saturday shopping: one store for paper products, another for meat and groceries. As we often do on Saturdays, we decided to stop for lunch. Since there were no more kids at home, we were in no hurry to race to the house to put everything away. Life had a nice, easy pace to it with the last child away at college and the others raising their own families.
The waiter was filling the water glasses when my wife’s phone rang. It was our youngest, who is on a rugby team. He was calling from an ambulance. He had gone head to head with an opposing player and had gashed his noggin a good couple of inches along the hairline. Evidently, he was bleeding profusely and he seemed to be fighting the panicky, shock-like shakiness that can be part of a concussion.
My wife and I sat in Cleveland, Ohio, completely helpless as the ambulance took him to a hospital in Kalamazoo, Mich., where the “away” game was being played. Within the hour, he was stabilized, stitched, and fully coherent. He had gone through the concussion protocol and was in the clear. We heaved a sigh of relief and debated whether to meet the bus when it returned to campus. On the phone he begged us not to do so. “Dad, really, I am FINE.” We respected his wishes.