Friday, Nov. 12: my last football game. Ever.
Fracturing my fibula is not exactly how I pictured finishing my football career. However, the most remarkable experience I take away from the night is not found on the field.
Limping into the emergency room of St. Agnes Medical Center with one cleat wrapped in tape, I realize that this place is not the ordinary hospital facility. With a massive headache, the feeling of absolute dread comes over me — I am certain the wait will be long.
However, after five minutes in a cold, plastic seat, the headache is completely gone, and not because I take some painkillers. The atmosphere of the room lifts me into a different state of mind.
While my dad waits in line, I remain in my chair, stared at from each and every direction; the eyes of those waiting fall on my neck. Settling in to wait, I have the opportunity to examine those around the hospital workplace.
Often times in our world, emotion is either hidden or exaggerated, but this is not the case in the emergency room. All over in the room people attempt to hide their emotions by putting up a wall. However, this wall is easily seen through: Their emotion is all sincere.
My first encounter is not the typical grieving or sadness. It is anger. Two women are talking to a nurse about how long they are waiting and how their son is not being treated immediately. They are frustrated that they have not seen a doctor. However, these two women are not the ones who stand out to me. The nurse who is dealing with the situation shows me how courageous a person must be to work within these walls.
The nurse asks to take the boy’s sugar level, and the women do not react kindly to this. Finding myself angry at the situation, my mind begins to spin. What has this nurse done to the patient that was wrong? It is obvious that this is her first involvement with the patient. How could she possibly be responsible?
In football, there are many situations which demand self-control. Emotions are high and anger easily transforms into a violent storm. Many times people tell me that I do a good job of controlling the emotional aspect of the game; however, at this moment, self-control is far off.
While anger overwhelms the body of this football player, I admire the exceptionally composed way the nurse deals with the problem. I have never seen someone manage anger so soundly — she is obviously trained for this.
As these two women do not feel the need to hold back their emotions, many others in the room try to conceal their grieving. While some must stand up and walk around, others sit silently staring into the distance. Emotion is everywhere; it is seen in body language and heard in voice.
The only sign of relief is a large red telephone connected to the wall. Each person’s face lights up at its moment of use, whether they are just catching up with an old friend or letting a loved one know that they are going to be all right. What is heard in the voices now is not fear. Instead, it is relief.
While waiting with my father, our personal experience is not that of anger or grief, but is closer to relief. I do truly love football, so due to the rough experience, both physically and emotionally, I find the situation sad.
I look everywhere around me and almost feel foolish to even be there. This room is full of people having to deal with serious, painful injuries — others even having to deal with death. Self-pity is the last thing on my mind.
As I chime in on other conversations and observe reactions of those around me, another thing catches my eyes and ears.
The television hanging from the ceiling is playing the “Late Night” show with comedian and actor Will Ferrell. Being well-known for his humor, the crowd on the television is roaring with laughter.
Occasionally my father and I chuckle at the show, probably due to my light situation. However, those around us do not find the show amusing, but are rather lulled into a different world where their troubles take over.
I find it almost funny that in such an emotionally intense place, this show is on. I believe most of the other people probably do not even notice the show; there is too much to think about to pay attention to Will Ferrell.
Finally, my wait comes to an end. At this point I am put in a wheelchair. Strolling around the hospital, I go through the emergency room and encounter several different people being assisted.
Seeing a grown man come to tears is not an unusual sight. Adult men can be overwhelmed by a certain emotion and easily release some fluid from their eyes. But I must say, it is in every way different seeing a man cry from physical pain.
As I roll by a middle-aged man whose arm is in a sling, he grits his teeth. Trying to catch tears falling down his face, it is obvious that he cannot hold back his pain. The seriousness of what I have witnessed slaps me in the face.
A younger boy is watching all of this; I imagine it is the man’s son, but cannot be certain. A step behind me is my father. In my head, now, I attempt to step into this child’s shoes; I find myself emotionally crushed.
The waiting room is simply where some of the emotions are seen — the actual emergency is where the emotions come from. It was not until Nov. 12 that I realized what an emergency room is.
