My Spleen

I sprinted up the field, the little white Lacrosse ball swinging in my net. At the 30 yard line I raised my stick, and, without slowing down, brought my stick down hard, sending the ball toward the goal. Thud. His shoulder hit me in the stomach and he bounced backward, stumbling. My momentum was barely altered. I turned to sprint back to the goal side and I found myself gasping for air. I struggled off the field, discarded my helmet and stick on the ground, and dropped to the turf. My struggle for air was quickly replaced with an intense nausea. I leaned over the blue trash can and threw up again and again. Maybe that Power Gel at half time was a bad idea. Sharp pains erupted all along my lower ribs and inside my abdomen. I stumbled over to the bench and tried to drink some water. The pain in my abdomen intensified but was instantly overruled by my vision, which was now suddenly blotchy and bright. I could barely make out the players on the field or the coaches looking down at me. They told me to put my hands over my head as I tried to relay my symptoms. My vision kept getting worse. “I can’t see,” I said over and over again with a hint of panic in my voice. Thousands of bright lights flashed and changed colors in front of me like an angry sea of light. Suddenly I went limp. My arms fell to my side and the lights in front of me blinked off and then back on again as I grappled with consciousness. I managed to get the words out to call an ambulance. The commotion around me seemed far away; muffled, as though it were coming from behind a locked door down the hall. My eyelids desperately tried to stay open. Something was pressed against my mouth. Oxygen. The paramedics were trying to tell me to take slow deep breaths. I realized that I was hyperventilating. My breath raced in and out of my throat at a frantic pace but never reached my lungs. Panic tried to take over but I would not let it. “calm down. Breath.” I said to myself. It took every bit of will power to slow my breathing. They put me on my back and loaded me into the ambulance. My vision slowly began to come back. Then came the shakes. I was freezing, colder than I had ever felt. I shook violently. My whole body convulsed, threatening to break the straps pinning me to the stretcher. My teeth clashed together and a sharp pain ran through my tongue. I turned my head to the side and threw up. I remember missing the bowl. I had nothing left to throw up but it didn’t stop. My stomach muscles spasmed and I cried out in pain. The next thing I remember was violently shaking under a pile of heated blankets and a hot air cover in the Emergency Room at Dominican. After what seemed like hours, my convulsing slowed and my vision became fairly normal. But the pain was unbearable. My abdomen felt as though my organs were ripped and scrambled and it felt as though someone had stabbed knives through my shoulders. The nausea was awful. I groaned out loud and shifted and writhed on my bed. Apparently three doses of morphine was not enough. I looked down at myself and saw that I had IV’s in both of my arms, electrical cords attached all over my chest and stomach, a heart rate and blood oxygen level meter taped to my finger, multiple pieces of gauze taped to my arms where they had drawn blood, and a blood bank wristband on my right wrist. I have no recollection of the transfer from the ambulance to the ER and I only remember them putting in one IV. Countless Doctors and nurses came in and out of the room, bombarding my mom with questions and diagnostics. Grace, tears brimming in her eyes and worry plastered on her face, came to my side and held my hand. For just a moment the pain lifted and I felt ok. Wonderful in fact. I knew that I was going to recover, I had to recover. They did an ultra sound and then a CAT scan. Within a few minutes of the CAT scan I was wheeled out to the helipad and lifted into the CalStar Helicopter. I couldn’t see from my position, so the 12 minute flight to Stanford was unexciting. I spent the next few hours in the Trauma ward. Nothing could help the pain in my shoulders and the pain in my stomach. I lay in misery as the days melded together. I spent a day and a half in the ICU and another 5 days in the recovery ward. I slept 20 hours a day and ate nearly nothing because of the pain. When they sent me home I was 15 pounds lighter then when I arrived. One thought continues to crop up in my mind: "All that and I didn't even score a goal."