You Only Get One Brain

I'm a repeat member of the Concussion Club. This latest one (yes, I've had more than one) was last month, at the April North America Cup and Championship in Los Angeles.

Getting hurt comes with the territory when you are a competitive athlete. I've had sprains, pulled muscles, and bruises. We've all had them. Head injuries are serious business. Concussions are strange. Unlike a broken bone or a torn ligament, there’s no cast, no crutches, no visible proof that something’s wrong.

But inside, everything felt off. My thoughts were slow, my balance unreliable, and my usual mental sharpness—gone. I couldn’t fence, couldn’t train, couldn’t even read for more than a few minutes without feeling like my brain was swimming.

I took a direct fully body hit (called corp en corp in fencing) during one on my pool bouts on Saturday fencing Div 1 Women's Epee. It was fast. My opponent advanced into a fleche at full speed. With milliseconds, to act there really is no getting out the way. My body went one way and my head went the other. I finished the bout and went on to fence in Direct Eliminations. My head hurt a bit and I felt a bit dizzy but pressed on. I was less sure-footed than usual but stopping is not something I’m good at. 

I finished my first DE but not the second. It was time to go to the medical tent. After a very thorough evaluation, Mr. Rodrigues diagnosed me with a mild concussion. This would be my third concussion and the medic wasn’t going to take any chances. I was medically withdrawn from tomorrow's event - my main event, Junior Women's Epee and officially barred from fencing until further medical evaluation. With Summer Nationals, finals and AP exams around the corner, this wasn’t the best timing.

Months of practices, hours of classes and private lessons gone. This felt like defeat.

Or maybe this moment’s timing happened for a reason. This moment, this decision, may not define my entire future, but it will certainly play a role. Fencing is who I am, and now I must take a break…but for how long? Time enough to heal? Longer to be extra safe? Forever?

Imagining a life without fencing seems impossible. I spend more time at the club than I do with my family. My coaches are like second parents. My closest friendships and bonds are with my fencing teammates. How do you give up something that is an essential part of who you are?

But that’s just the thing. To grow as a person, really improve upon oneself, means facing these moments head-on, considering all the options and adapting your perspective. Fencing has taught me that. I don’t have to give this up. There are so many ways to stay involved in the sport I love.

I know from past concussions that the road to recovery doesn't always get you back to where you want to go, when you want to get there. But I love this sport. It will always be a part of me, and I will always be a part of it.