“Hello? Mr.
Johnson? This is Justin Coffey. I coach your son in football. Look, I needed to call and tell you that your
son has been injured in our football game today. He was hit in the head on a kick-off return,
and he can’t move or feel his legs. We’re
taking every precaution. The ambulance
is here. They are strapping him to a
backboard as we speak. We are heading to
the hospital here in Liberal. I am going
to ride with him and stay by his side. Can you make it down here?”
I could never explain how difficult it was to make that
phone call. It still makes me sick to my
stomach to think about it. The entire
time I was on the phone, I couldn’t help but think about how I would react if
daycare called me with the same information about my son. I tried so hard to be as upbeat and positive
as I could, but, at the same time, I didn’t want to project a false sense of comfort. The truth is I was scared. And, the more I thought about my own son, the
more I wanted to cry during that phone call.
However, that wouldn’t have helped the situation.
In the blink of an eye, things come into perspective. All the plays we had practiced, all the preparations
we had made, all the talk about winning suddenly did not matter in the
least. What mattered was the life and
future of a young student who was only trying to help his football team.
The ambulance ride was unbearable. It was dead silent. My mind raced through scenarios. My imagination took over. I couldn’t help but dream-up worst case
scenarios, best case scenarios, and the most probable outcome. I would occasionally try to talk to the young
receiver whom I had gotten to know over the past two months. No conversation seemed appropriate. It was a long ride.
During the ride, my player began to regain some sensation
and movement in his toes. I knew this
was a positive sign, but I also knew that we were going to still have a long
night ahead of us. When we got to the
hospital, I called dad again. I wanted
to let him know we had made it, and also let him know about the new
developments and plan going forward. The
nurses at the hospital were great, and helped provide comfort to my middle
school player as they took his vitals and started an IV.
Ten minutes felt like an eternity. I asked endless questions of my player. We talked about sports, family, snakes,
sports, our futures, wrestling, fantasy football, school, and sports. We became tight in those ten minutes. I am pretty sure we will always have a tight
bond because of those ten minutes. After
the eternity, a doctor emerged. He talked
to us about ordering a CT scan. I think
the conversation scared my friend still strapped to the board. He was suddenly silent.
I was beginning to feel better about the situation. His toes and legs were slowly gaining more
sensation and mobility. Once they
finally wheeled my player away for the CT scan, I called dad again. I wanted to keep him posted on the happenings. Again, I couldn’t help but put myself in his
shoes. In the meantime, I was also
trying to keep our Athletic Director and Head Coach updated on the status.
Eventually, my player returned to the Emergency Room with
me. We were back to the waiting
game. I continued to gain confidence
about the situation because my player was getting antsy being strapped to the
board. He squirmed and wiggled trying to
find some comfort against the hard plastic.
As much as he was struggling to find comfort, I found comfort in his
movement. We continued to share stories
and conversations while we awaited the results of the CT scan. I began to realize more and more that I was
coaching a pretty neat kid with a long bright future ahead of him.
At some point, the doctor reemerged. He was happy to inform us that the CT scans
of the brain and neck came back negative.
There was no bleeding in the brain.
The neck showed no damage. And,
my player was happy to hear they could remove the neck brace and board that was
strapped to his back.
It wasn’t long before the door to our emergency room
opened. Mom, dad, and brother came
flooding into the room. Seeing the look
on mom’s face instantly brought me to tears.
Again, I couldn’t help but put myself in their family’s shoes. In a moment, my mind went to my wife. See, my wife and I have already been through
a situation where our son had to be life-flighted to Wichita. We’ve felt the emotions I could see on the
faces of my young player’s family. My
mind flashed back to the weeks my wife and I lived out of a hospital room. We shared tears, confusion, small
celebrations, and very few hours of sleep.
It is amazing how strong you can become for a family member in need.
I tried to fade into the background and let this family
share the love and relief with each other.
I wanted them to cherish this moment and engrain this instant into their
mind, so they could always remember what is important.
We all get caught up in life. We lose ourselves in work, errands, stress,
fights, and emotions. We say things we
don’t mean. We do things we don’t
intend. We put priority on things that
aren’t important. Being in that instant;
watching this family share this moment, helped remind me of what is important.
In the end, my player was released from the hospital with a
clean bill of health. I only got to coach
half of the seventh grade game, and I missed the entire eighth grade game, but
we ended up winning both (our first wins of the season) thanks in large part to
an onside kick recovery from one courageous receiver. Hearing the news that we had won the game put
a huge smile on my player’s face, but as I looked into the his eyes and the eyes of his family members, we all knew that it wasn’t important.
