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Hockey Mom: Is your son's sport dangerous?
Posted by JerseyGirl3030, Dec 22, 2009. 723 views. ID = 3044

Hockey Mom

Posted by JerseyGirl3030, Dec 22, 2009. 723 views. ID = 3044
This post was written in 0 minutes.
Got the prompt from a magazine and let it flow. This is the first draft.
This post has been awarded 7 stars by 2 readers.

Looking over his shoulder and onto the arena’s ice surface she held her breath watching, as if in slow motion, as her son collided with the brutish defense man from the other team. She rose slowly when her son did not quickly climb to his skates. All she could hear was the thudding of her heart when the giant man in front of her stood blocking her view of the ice. She quickly scrambled past the other supporters and skipped down the steps of the bleachers to the boards. The team’s trainers came hustling out to the ice as well.
In the center of the offensive zone, between the tops of the two circles her son lay flat on his back. His left leg bent slightly, his arms at his sides, his stick beside him, he was completely still. Her knuckles turned white gripping the edge of the boards. Her lips moved and the sound of her pleas with God that her son be okay whispered past them. The cheering crowd had gone silent, or she had gone deaf. She watched helplessly as smelling salts were waved below his nose. It felt like an eternity before he twitched and raised his head slightly. She let out long breath and relaxed her hands on the boards.
The crowd cheered as Brandon was brought to the bench, a trainer under one arm, and his teammate under the other. She raced over to the bench to see for herself his injury. She watched as the trainers waved a small pen light in front of his eyes holding his eyelids open. She watched them ask him questions and she bit her lip knowing her son was giving hazy responses. The game continued on the ice but her focus was on the young boy whose eyes stared blankly ahead. The trainer turned to the coach and yelled words she did not hear. The coach turned to her and said her name several times before she could focus on him. Brandon was going to go to the hospital. They suspected a concussion. She only glanced at him for a second while he spoke to her. Her eyes darted back to her son just as his eyes flittered closed and he slumped forward.
She followed the ambulance with white knuckles praying that it only be a concussion. She never thought in her life that she would pray that her son had a concussion. However, she knew that a fractured skull is not outside the realm of things that could happen. Her son was taken into the emergency room and she was told to wait outside the curtain while the doctors assessed him. She watched through the window while gnawing on her finger nails as the doctor circles him shining lights into his eyes and ears. A few times Brandon stirred in response to the light. A nurse pulled her aside and began asking her questions about Brandon’s insurance and medical history. The doctor exited the room and spoke to her about getting CT scans, MRIs, and X-rays immediately for Brandon. She questioned the doctor for how bad Brandon was and she was told that he indeed had a concussion but the doctor was concerned about brain swelling.
She held the large paw of a hand on the way to the tests and afterward. She waited patiently with her son for the results. He spent most of the time sleeping. She watched as his chest expanded while it filled with oxygen and how it fell when he exhaled. She heard the beeps of the monitors praying silently holding his hand.
The doctor entered the room and she held her breath waiting for the worst. Brandon had a severe concussion, which the doctor called a mild traumatic brain injury. There was mild brain edema, which he explained to be swelling of the brain due to the impact of being hit and hitting the ice. Brandon was going to be kept overnight for observation.
“You’re coming to my game tonight, right?”
She blinked several times over her coffee cup. She had been staring at the front of the sports section at the site of a hockey player in a heap on the ice.
“You’re going to come right? I’m starting tonight. Mr. Kozlov says I’ve really been handling the puck well and it’s my first time starting on varsity.”
She reached across the table and brushed his brown curly hair to the side, “Of course I’ll be there.”


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