Nearly a decade ago, when I suffered my fifth concussion before my 13th birthday and left my school in an ambulance for the second time in as many years, I couldn’t control my eyes. When I regained my consciousness, they rolled to the back of my head, revealing only white to my distressed mom at the hospital.
By the time I was off the backboard, out of the neck brace, in a bed, in control of my brain (as much as one could be while severely concussed) and lucid enough for my first discussion with a physician, the one of the first things he asked was “how many is this?