During that first neurologist appointment, four weeks ago, we were told that Chase had experienced a serious concussion, one that was the worst the physician had ever seen. At that time, it appeared as though the vestibular system was compromised, and physical therapy was prescribed.
Chase would be unable to return to school that week because of cognitive function as well as for mobility issues that left him unable to stand for long or take more than a few steps without threat of falling. Even in that first week, Chase did not question his situation or demonstrate frustration with his circumstances, particularly ones that most likely would end his lacrosse season.
A pastor, and also friend, visited our home to pray with Chase, reminding him that this was a bad chapter in his life but that God was going to unfold an amazing story. Chase agreed with the pastor then, and holds onto that truth even now – 32 days into the injury.
That first week, there was a day where physicians suspected damage to Chase’s spinal cord. An appointment for an MRI was made and we headed to the Cancer Center in town, the newest clinic that houses the most state of the art equipment. Although quiet since hearing the concern about his spinal cord, Chase immediately became wide eyed as I wheeled him to the second floor, a place known as the Breast Center.
Allow that to sink in as you imagine the face of a twelve year old boy.
Blushing profusely, as he looked at all of the women in the waiting room moments away from having a mammogram, Chase looked at me and said, “You do realize that I don’t have breasts, right? Or is there something Coach A forgot to tell me in health class?”
I laughed out loud at the expression on his face, and explained that we were there to get an MRI, a different machine than the one most of the ladies would be using.
“But since this is the Breast Center,” Chase responded with unnecessary enunciation on the last two words, “is it possible that there are some that will have an MRI of their breasts?” More unnecessary enunciation on the last word. If he hadn’t been concussed, I would have joyfully spanked him.
“Yes,” I responded, with little emotion, knowing that if I showed the slightest amusement, the interrogation about breasts would continue.
“So they are going to the same place I am going.”
“Yes,” I said straight-faced again, unsure of where any of this conversation was going.”
“So,” Chase said with a sly grin on his face, “Do you think I’ll get to see any of them naked?”
The nurse called his name before I had to respond – or spank him – and Chase spent the next 30 minutes in a machine that would later produce results mercifully clear.
Unfortunately, we are not seeing much improvement in Chase. His pain and double-vision continue, and mobility remains very compromised. Physical therapy has been put on hold because of the intense pain it causes afterwards.
Chase has been absent from school for almost five weeks now. He has received amazing encouragement and ongoing support from administrators and teachers, but still misses his friends and the school desperately. He even misses homework, which he would have never thought a possibility.
We are in ongoing discussions with physicians about alternative treatment options, a task difficult because of the unusual symptoms presented. It is our prayer that Chase wake up one morning, fully recovered with a great story to tell, but in the meantime, we continue to search for the medical path that leads to complete healing.
Please continue to pray for our son, Chase.