It's cold in the hockey arena. Then again, it’s that time of year when it’s cold everywhere. I can see my breath with every stroke of my skates on the ice. The score of the game is 1-1 in Rochester, Minnesota. Our team has absolutely no intent to go home with a loss tonight. If we win this game, our team will be in a better position for the section tournament. This game is the most important game of the season. I'm incredibly focused on what is going on and what play I'm supposed to be carrying out. My brain is quickly and efficiently telling my blades to move in the correct direction.  Coach Gary yells out for a line change, but as I turn, out of nowhere, a defenseman from the other team catches me off guard and the next thing I know I'm waking up.

!I'm still on the ice.!

*The whole arena was silent.* %My body is stiff as a board.% *I can't feel the tips of my fingers or my toes.* I have no idea what happened. Everything is a blur. I’m scared to death and I can’t control my thoughts. I’m afraid. A backboard is placed next to me on the ice. %Gary is standing over me, talking to me and trying to keep me calm.  I can't quite make out what he is saying because it sounds like a foreign language.% My mind can’t quite process the words he is trying to say to me. The paramedics have already placed a neck stabilizer on me. They are telling me I possibly have a severe neck injury, so I have to be as still as I can. They are getting into position to lift me onto the backboard. My eyes dart around looking for Gary, my teammates, or my family. I can see my team and my coach standing worriedly in front of the bench. Gary sees me looking at him and makes his way over to where I am. My mom is holding my hand on one side and Gary grabs ahold of the other. Looking at my mother’s face, I can tell that she’s scared for her little girl. I don’t know where my dad or my sister are, but I’m assuming they went to go get the car to head to the hospital. I am so afraid. I'm being carried out of the arena to the waiting ambulance. I'm shaking uncontrollably, as if I’ve never been this cold in my life. The paramedics put some warm blankets over me.* I can feel the warmth seeping through my gear.* *The metallic smell of the ambulance stings my nose.* The paramedics ask me so many different questions, but I’m in a panic as my eyes dart around the chrome cab of the ambulance. All I can think about is whether or not I am going to see the light of day tomorrow. *I can see all the different equipment used to keep people alive.* I wonder if I’m dying or severely injured. All I can think about is the paramedics ending up having to use that equipment on me. I really must be hurt if I am in this ambulance!

Arriving at St. Mary’s Hospital in Rochester, I’m calm enough to where the doctors and the paramedics can actually talk to me. The doctor and nurses are asking me information about the accident. I’m telling them what I could remember, which isn’t much. My mind is still a blur. I can hear my parents telling the doctor and nurses what happened. What my parents are saying just doesn’t make sense to me. How did I get hurt? According to my parents, I was turning to skate back to the bench during a line change, when this bigger girl decides to body check me into the boards head first. I don’t remember a thing. I’m laying on the hospital bed while the doctors are buzzing around me. I'm still shaking. Nurses continue to bring me more blankets until I'm positive I have every warm blanket in the whole hospital.

The head doctor in the emergency room comes in and is telling us about what’s going to be done. He’s an older gentleman with tired eyes and a stern look. I can tell he’s been in this profession for quite some time. My parents are talking to him trying to understand what is going on. I catch glances from my parents, and from the worried looks on their faces, it’s not good news. I'm just laying there because I can't move due to the fact that I'm covered in blankets and my hockey gear is restricting me. I also have a possible neck and head injury so the doctors don’t want me to be moving in the first place.

#The doctor takes the blankets off, takes one look at me, and says, "We need to get this gear off you before we do anything".#

The doctor is talking about cutting my gear off, but my mom wasn’t going to let that happen. Quite frankly, I didn’t want that to happen either. #She says, "You can't cut it off. That gear will cost over a thousand dollars to replace".#  So, instead, the doctors slid off the chest protector while attempting to keep my neck stabilized.

The nurse is trying to start an IV. She keeps missing the vein, tries multiple times, but just ends up giving me some oral medication. I wonder if she knows how dehydrated I am.  She is very old and tired, so I don’t think anything of it. *After I take it, the grainy taste stays in my mouth for at least five minutes.* My sister is sleeping in the corner of my room. I know she’s worried about her little sister, as she has always been so protective of me. I’m the baby of the family. *It feels like we have been here for hours.* The doctor comes back in and tells me that we're going to get some X-rays done. My parents ask to come with, but the doctor tells them that it would be easier if they were to stay in the room and wait. My mom looked like she was about to cry. My father’s facial expression remained unchanged. My sister was still sleeping. *I'm being wheeled out of the room and the smell of the hospital fills my nose. It's very metallic, synthetic, and clean.* I feel so out of place with my breezers, socks, and knee pads still on. We finally get to the radiology department after what seems like forever. They lift me onto the table and set me on my side. They only need one picture, so that makes it easy.

I'm being wheeled back to my room where I end up waiting a few hours. Throughout that time period, my mind is racing. My mother tells me to try and get some rest, but I simply can’t. I remain awake and continue wondering what could possibly be wrong. I wonder if I am going to be able to walk out of here. I must be working myself up, because my mom comes over to my bed and tells me to calm down. She tells me I was shaking really badly. I must have blacked out again, as I don’t remember any of that. My team comes in to visit me. I’m so grateful to have them as my team. They are and always will be my family. Nothing will ever change that. They tell me they won the game and they will be playing again tomorrow afternoon. I, however, have one question that has been plaguing my mind since I first arrived at the hospital. Will I be able to play tomorrow? I glance around the room and see my parents standing worriedly by the door, waiting to talk to my doctor at the first chance they get. I can tell they’re exhausted and want to go home, but I can also tell that they want to make sure I’m okay. I come to understand that it doesn’t matter who your family is. If they care about you as they should, they will be there for anything you go through. That’s what family is for.

The doctor finally comes back in with the X-ray films. My mom and dad go up and talk to him first. They keep glancing over at me with very unsettled eyes. They’re body language is telling me that they don’t like what the doctor is telling them with his voice in a hush. He’s putting the X-ray up on the display screen, while telling me that I'm extremely lucky to be able to move as much as I can. A vertebra in my neck has shifted. Luckily, as long as I keep my neck stable for a week, it will shift back into place. I also have a moderate concussion. I kind of figured that, as I have had a pounding migraine ever since I woke up on the ice. A sense of relief floods through my body. I can finally put my mind at ease. We finally have an answer. After being placed into a neck brace with orders to wear it for at least a week, we are finally allowed to go home. As I’m being wheeled out the door into the brisk winter air, I thank the doctors and nurses for taking care of me. I wouldn’t be in as good of a shape as I am today if it weren’t for them. In a way, I guess I consider them an extension of my family. They saved not only my life, but the quality of my life. There is no greater gift than that.