On my son’s first day of school, I clasped his tiny palm in mine as we walked toward the end of our driveway to wait for his school bus. It was a chilly December day, and I encouraged him to walk slowly as I carried his brother with my free arm.
A thick layer of ice covered the driveway, and I remember thinking how I should have salted it as I slipped, falling backwards beside my Chevy Blazer. My head broke the fall since I didn’t want to let go of my youngest child, who remained safely nestled in my arms when we landed.
The bus was coming, so I ignored the splitting pain and helped my son climb the steps. I don’t remember much else after this, but I later learned I had fractured my skull. This resulted in a serious concussion with painful, frustrating symptoms that plagued me for more than a year.
And these were major symptoms that impacted every aspect of my life, not minor irritations that I could push through. Many friends were sympathetic, but some just didn’t get it.
“My husband was back at work a week after his concussion,” one friend told me after discovering I still had excruciating pain months after my brain injury.
Another reminded me how her daughter returned to sports just days after her concussion.
