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My Story
Injuries are part of a professional hockey player's life. I've
had several major injuries and many minor ones, but the one that changed
my life happened in October 1996 when I was playing with the Buffalo
Sabres. It was a major concussion that forced my family and me to put
hockey, life, and what really matters into sharper focus.
The game against the Pittsburgh Penguins had barely begun. Skating
across the middle of the ice, I was blindsided by a forearm to the head.
This shot knocked me out immediately. I flew into the air, lost my
helmet, and hit my forehead on the ice. The player who hit me was like a
freight train -- six foot six, 235 pounds. The only part of my body he
hit was my head, but I suffered a second blow when I landed on it.
Here's what my wife, Marybeth, remembers: "The kids and I stayed home
that night to watch Pat play. Our six-year-old daughter, Sarah, yelled
out, 'Mom, come quick!' I ran to the door of the family room and what I
saw froze my heart with fear. Pat was lying facedown on the ice; his
body was circling counterclockwise very slowly. I hurried to the phone
to call the Marine Midland Arena to check on my husband and was told
that he was okay. They said he had a concussion and would probably be
back on the ice in two weeks. I had a premonition that the next few
weeks, perhaps months, would not be that simple."
I struggled daily against the impact this injury had on my life. An
early-childhood memory of falling through the ice and almost drowning
kept reoccurring. I grew frantic. I kept grabbing for a "strong piece of
ice" and it kept breaking around me. I went under but the water's
buoyancy brought me back up. I thought I was going to die. I kept
yelling and grabbing, and the ice kept breaking.
And that's the way the next few months unfolded, a nightmare filled with
demons and terror. My emotional and spiritual struggles challenged me
more than any body-rattling check I had ever received, and our family
faced its most severe test.
This concussion left me emotionally drained. My confidence, my courage,
and my will to persevere diminished. At times I doubted that I would
ever recover. Marybeth had never seen me so depressed, and, on some
days, so listless. I could see the fear in her eyes as she watched me
flailing, trying to find my balance. The image of me circling, facedown
on the ice, haunted her.
The last thing I remember about that injury was waking up. I had been
conscious for a good half hour but nothing registered. My conversations
with the trainer and my teammates did not stay in my memory. I was in a
strange world within myself. I wasn't making sense, and I couldn't make
sense out of what had happened to me. I was in our locker room in the
lounge area, watching the TV, with my equipment on, disoriented and
wondering how I got there. I was wondering why I was in the lounge while
a game was going on. Our trainer, Rip Simonick, came into the room
because he heard someone talking, but I was the only one in there. He
told me that I wasn't making sense.
At that point our team doctor began asking me questions. I started
coming to some awareness of what had happened, realizing the medical
team would not let me go back on the ice. As I look back today, I have a
much greater understanding of the devastating effects of a grade-three
concussion.
I saw the neurologist the next day and went through an MRI. The tests
were negative, and the docs cleared me to go back and skate just four
days after the concussion.
