I keep a smile for my friends and parents. Maybe there’s something to this “fake it till you make it” thing. I decide to give it my best shot for the rest of the vacation. I start watching TV with Mom and Dad in the evenings, but after ten minutes, my head always starts to hurt. My parents have been worried, and I don’t want to freak them out. I try to get up to make popcorn or close my eyes without them noticing, but I’m not fooling anyone. When Mom brings me to my doctor’s appointment a week later, she calls me out. “You need to tell her you can’t watch TV for very long.”
“You noticed that? Yeah, it just gives me a headache.” It’s more like a head-splitting pain that pulses behind my eyeballs, but Mom doesn’t need to know that.
“Let’s go to the library after this. We can get you some books to read instead.”
“Sure.” I’m feeling guilty for being such a downer during my time with my parents, so I’ll do whatever Mom wants me to.
Mom’s pulled up in front of the offices to drop me off, but I decide to ask her if she wants to come in with me. “I know you’re worried it’s something more serious. Last time the doctor made it pretty clear all this stuff is normal after a major concussion. You can ask her questions about it if you want.” Maybe it will put her mind at ease. Hopefully it won’t have the opposite effect.
“You don’t mind?”
“No, that way I won’t have to repeat everything to you later when you ask me a million questions,” I joke. It’s partly true though.
Mom sits quietly while I tell the doctor what’s changed since last week: I’m not sleeping quite as much, but still more than usual. With more activity though, I’m getting worse headaches.
It’s not until the doctor starts asking about my anxiety that I question whether I should have brought Mom in. She knows I used to get panic attacks, and I told her I had a couple “mild” ones at school with all the adjustments. I didn’t tell her I think that’s why I crashed, and fortunately that doesn’t come up.
“No anxiety. Actually, I’m not feeling much at all except sort of sad. I let myself have a little pity party last week, cried a lot, and thought that’d be it, but I’m sort of stuck in that mode.”
“What about when you spend time with your friends and family, does that help?”
“Yeah, a little, but I’m not really myself. I’m just kind of a downer all the time. I think it’s because I can’t skateboard and I don’t know when I’ll be able to again.”
“That could be part of it, but we can’t change that. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes moods are affected by concussions. I really encourage you to keep getting out, spending time with people.”
“But what about the headaches?”
“It sounds like those are exacerbated more from screens than general interaction. Keep the physical activity to a minimum, but don’t stay in bed all day. That’s not going to help your mood.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
The doctor turns to face my mom for a moment before looking back at me. “You’re supposed to fly back to California next week to start classes?”
“In ten days, yeah. Maybe the sun will help my mood.” See, that’s optimism, right? Inside, I’m just thinking how depressing it will be to be on campus without Beck around. And if I can’t skateboard? No one’s going to want to be around me I’ll be so miserable. Yeah, not a lot to look forward to here.
“I’m concerned about you taking on a full course load. You’re still recovering, and with what I’m hearing, I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes two to three months for a full recovery.”
“So you think I should take classes part time?” How would that work? I’d get bored. I’d end up taking a job the rest of the time, and that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?
“Classes and schoolwork require a high level of focus. Based on some of the symptoms you’re experiencing–headaches, the feeling you described as ‘fogginess’ –I wouldn’t recommend returning to classes.”
“You don’t think she should take any classes?” Mom asks.
“We have a test she can take on the computer. We can schedule it this week if you’d like. It tests things like memory and focus abilities.”
“I think my memory is okay,” I mumble, too overwhelmed to think of anything else to say.
“This is short-term memory. You may not have noticed any changes because you’re on vacation right now. Perhaps it isn’t an issue at all. This test will help us determine that.” She turns to Mom. “Typically, with the kind of symptoms Jordan’s experiencing, I don’t recommend returning to work or school if at all possible.”
That fogginess I’d experienced only a handful of times since the crash is in full bloom now. Mom and the doctor are talking, but I’m not following the conversation anymore. It’s kind of similar to right before a panic attack comes on, I realize. Except my heart isn’t racing, and my breathing remains slow and steady. Everything is muddled, but I’m not fighting it or freaking out. It just kind of takes over, giving me a reprieve so I don’t have to process any of it.
When we get back in the car, Mom doesn’t start the engine right away. “How are you feeling about all this?” She turns to look at me, and I try to dig for the right answer. The only honest one is that I don’t know how I’m feeling.
“I guess sort of numb? Not numb really. Just, resigned. Like I can’t do anything about it anyway, so why bother figuring out how I feel. You know?” She probably doesn’t know, but I add that at the end to make my answer sound less… depressing.
“It’s okay to be sad you might not be able to go back when you planned, Jordan. That’s normal. You’ve made some great friends, and I know that despite things not working out with your first boyfriend, you were really happy there. Either way, you’ll get to go back. It just might take some time at home first. And you know Dad and I will be thrilled to have you for longer.”
I’ve kept the Beck details to a minimum. When we were dating, I said he was a senior, but didn’t explain he was twenty-five years old. I also told them he was a really good skateboarder, but didn’t mention he’s a world champion. They think I broke up with him because he was graduating and would be traveling for skateboarding. So, I was partly truthful.
My hand goes to my necklace and I twirl the pendants. “Yeah, I guess maybe I am sad, but I’ve been sad for two weeks straight now so it doesn’t really feel that different,” I admit. I don’t want to break Mom’s heart, but she knows I’m not myself, so I might as well talk to her about it.
“Well, Dr. Harrison gave me a list of therapists if your mood doesn’t improve. She says that managing those symptoms is really important.”
“I don’t really want to see a therapist, Mom.”
“Will you promise to get outside every day at least then?” she asks as she starts the car.
“Yeah, I can promise that.”
Mom pauses at the road out of the parking lot. “Did you still want to go to the library?”
“Sure, that was a good idea. I haven’t done much reading since the summer. Not reading for fun anyway.”