by Ben Utecht
Someone from the team called Karyn. It might have been one of my coaches. She was at the Ivy Hills Country Club, near our home, practicing golf when they reached her on her cell. By the time they called it seemed pretty clear that I did not have a neck or spinal injury, only a concussion. She did not panic. When she heard them say it was another concussion she breathed a little sigh of relief. She still had the mind-set that concussions were minor traumatic brain injuries and nothing to be overly concerned about. For that matter, so did I. We’d been through a few already. Neither of us had any reason to think this one was going to be any different.
8/6/09—Strong headache, dizziness, sore neck, sleeplessness, night sweating, loss of balance, fatigue, blurry vision spots, nausea, hard time driving in car, forgetting sentences, hard to concentrate.
The hospital released me after just one night. I could not drive, so one of the young trainers on the team staff drove me back to Cincinnati, where I could access the team’s full medical staff. We had a team neuropsychologist, but he was not in town. Instead, after this major concussion, the team sent me to see the Bengals’ orthopedic surgeon, Angelo Colosimo. I had a lot of respect for Dr. Colosimo. I still do. He’s a really good guy. However, looking back, I wondered if it was strange, even odd, that the team sent me to see an orthopedic surgeon rather than a neurologist for a head injury.
When I first went in to be evaluated by Dr. Colosimo, several people from the training staff were in the room, including the young trainer who drove me over from the hospital. The doctor went through the evaluation process, asking me about my symptoms. I honestly don’t remember if any concussion tests were given to me, such as balance and memory tests.
Once he finished the overall evaluation, the doctor asked everyone else to leave the room. When we were finally alone, he asked me, “Ben, how are you really doing?”
I lost it. Tears started flowing and would not stop. Finally I gained my composure. “I’m scared,” I confessed. “I don’t know that I want to keep playing if this keeps happening to me.” My outburst wasn’t just caused by my fears. I remember feeling like I couldn’t control my emotions, and that I also wasn’t in the right state of mind to truly know or understand my feelings.
Dr. Colosimo listened. Then he said something that surprised me coming from a team doctor. “Ben, listen, I’m a dad whose son has suffered concussions. I’ve been on the other side of this conversation. I want to tell you, if you were my son, you’d be done. It’s not worth it.”
“Really?” I said.
“I’m just being as honest with you as I can. If you were my son, you would not play football again.”
We talked a little while longer; it felt good to talk to a doctor who cared about my long-term health. When I left I thanked him for his honesty and support. “I’m going to talk this over with my wife. You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I said. Leaving his office, I felt relieved. My fears weren’t completely irrational. Five documented concussions and who knows how many more were enough. I’d battled injuries my entire football career, going back to my senior year of high school. I always battled back. I always got back on the field. I didn’t think I wanted to do that again, not with a brain injury.
However, the relief I felt was short-lived. The moment I allowed myself to contemplate walking away from football at the ripe old age of twenty-nine another thought came crashing down on me: And then what? What do I do now?
8/9/09—Random headaches, dizziness, sleeplessness, night sweating, loss of balance, fatigue, nausea, hard time driving in car, forgetting sentences, hard to concentrate, irritability, sadness, snapping at wife.
My mother came down to Cincinnati because of my concussion. Now that my camp was over, she drove me back down to Georgetown to pick up all my belongings. I could not drive myself. Weeks passed before any doctor cleared me to drive again. I had a hard enough time just riding in a car for any time at all. The movement back and forth made me nauseous. But I had to go get my stuff. No one was going to pick it up for me.
I don’t remember my mom driving me to Georgetown. She now tells me that I didn’t say a word through the entire drive. I just sat and stared out the window, expressionless. When we got to Georgetown College, the guards waved us in. No one was around when I went in my room and stuffed all my things into a duffel bag. I took a final look around the room and said, “I just can’t believe this is happening.” It’s the only thing I said the entire time we were there.
Once I finished packing my things I headed straight back to the car. Off toward the football field I heard the sounds of practice. I couldn’t help but think that that’s where I should have been. This was supposed to be my year. I’d played four years after sitting out my first season with the Colts. I knew the league. I knew the game. I was in the best shape of my life, and now I was packing up and heading home. By the time we got back to my car I was nearly in tears. My mom sensed it and reached over and took my hand. “Ben, let’s pray.” Then she started praying, “Lord, we need You to get us through this season of Ben’s life. We don’t know what Your plan is, but we trust You. We need Your help.” Just like when I had my first football injury, my mom was there telling me to trust Jesus.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I really needed that.”
“That’s what moms are for,” she replied.
When we pulled up to the gate to leave camp, the guard waved us through. He had a sort of smile on his face, but I could tell it was forced. He was trying to be cheerful, as if he were saying, “See you later,” but he and I both knew he wouldn’t. It had to be the same wave he gave guys when they were cut from the team.
It was a solemn ride home.
8/11/09—Head pressure/daze, dizziness from activity, sleeplessness, sweating, fatigue, nausea, hard time driving in car, forgetting sentences, hard to concentrate, irritability, impatient, sadness. Experienced hot flashes during movie, felt very loopy in car ride home, and had difficult time recalling recent past events.
8/14/09—Woke up with slight headache, tried doing more activities around the house but experienced increased dizziness. Still feeling as if I’m in a daze. Also still feeling impatient, and having trouble concentrating. I continue to struggle with forgetting what I was going to say, like my mind just goes blank.
8/16/09—Again woke up with pressure and a slight headache. Still experiencing a dazed feeling with trouble concentrating on things like reading or in-depth conversations. I also experienced two major head rushes today that took me back to the floor on my knees because I felt like I was going to black out. Both instances happened just from standing up from a sitting position on the couch. Still have trouble relaxing and falling asleep.
8/17/09—Met with Dr. Sullivan and Paul Sparling today. I did not pass my symptoms evaluation for the second time. They both were talking with me once again about where my stance is on my decision to keep playing. Again Dr. Sullivan supported his decision about not flying this last week to MA because it would have “hands down” made me worse, even though he told my agent that he couldn’t say for sure if it would truly affect me. So I definitely experienced some mixed signals.
My symptoms are the same today. I woke up with pressure and a slight headache that comes and goes. I tried driving today and felt comfortable but still noticed that I would fall into dazes while driving. I am still forgetting my sentences; it happened twice today during my meeting with Dr. Sullivan. Concentration is still suffering. Also I have to try not to get into a sad or depressed state.
Thomas Sullivan, PhD, was the Bengals’ neuropsychologist, while Paul Sparling was the head trainer. I met with Sullivan the first time on August 10. I went through all the battery of postconcussion tests and did terribly. Out of a possible twenty-one postconcussion symptoms, I had eighteen. Sullivan graded my concussion as a Grade 3, or severe. I remember him saying something along the lines of, “Honestly, Ben, I don’t think you should play again. When you suffer a concussion it puts you at greater risk for another. T
his is your fifth and it is by far the most severe. You have a lot of life in front of you. I think the best thing for your future is for you not to play again.”
I listened. Sullivan said basically the same thing Dr. Colosimo had told me. This time, Sullivan was fully on the record. He reported to the team that this was his recommendation for me.
However, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to make that decision, not right then at least. Now, let me remind you that I was not in my right mind. I was severely concussed. I do not recommend making a major life decision in a fully concussed state. I contacted my agent instead and asked him what course we should take. At this point I did not know if I wanted to play again, or if I even could, but I knew I needed more information. I also needed time to heal more fully before I could make an informed decision.
I also wanted a second opinion, and I wanted to see someone who was an expert in concussions. My agent contacted Dr. Robert Cantu, whom I mentioned in earlier chapters. Dr. Cantu’s office was more than happy to work my case into his schedule. Unfortunately, I had a problem. Dr. Cantu’s office is in Boston. I lived in Cincinnati. Because of my concussed state, the Bengals wouldn’t allow me to travel. Their refusal to let me get on an airplane made me very frustrated. Almost three weeks had passed since my concussion and I still had not seen a medical doctor who specialized in the brain. I had yet to see a neurologist or a neurosurgeon. I began to speculate that the Bengals were trying to keep me from consulting with an MD from outside the team. But why?
I called my agent, Chris, and shared my frustration. The two of us looked into every form of transportation possible to get me to Boston and meet with Dr. Cantu but the team denied every option. The Bengals would not allow me to fly. They would not allow someone to drive me to Boston. They wouldn’t even let me get on a train for the trip. I know because I asked.
That’s why I found myself back in an office with Tom Sullivan and Paul Sparling. They put me through the range of tests and once again, I did poorly. As you can see from the entries I included from my symptoms journal, I wasn’t getting any better. Once again Sullivan brought up retirement. I do believe he was genuinely concerned. “I’m not ready to make that decision yet,” I said. “If I can play again, that’s what I want to do.”
8/23/09—Still feeling pressure in my head. Did not sleep well last night. I just went on my first walk in eighteen days, only about a mile and a half. I got fatigued and lightheaded toward the end and started to get a headache.
8/24/09—The pressure and random headaches are still constant. I continue to struggle falling asleep. My mind continues to feel foggy and concentration still suffers. I am still struggling with my memory, forgetting sentences, and having difficulty drawing out information.
Met With Dr. Cantu today. He definitely seemed like an expert in this field. He shared information and research with me that I have never heard from any NFL doctor. One interesting thing I learned was about how specific blood alleles can be genetic markers that reveal people may be more predisposed to AD, Dementia, and even Concussions. I will be meeting with him again in a couple weeks.
After almost three weeks to the day the Bengals finally cleared me to fly out to Boston to meet with a nonbiased second opinion doctor. Dr. Robert Cantu was a leader in the field of concussions. Unfortunately I was meeting with him roughly twenty-one days after my injury occurred.
8/25/09—Met with Paul Sparling in the morning. Shared with him about my meeting with Dr. Cantu. I did share with Paul the research about the blood alleles and his response was he swept it aside by saying, “Well, there’s a lot of research out there, but nothing conclusive.”
I asked Paul what are the team’s expectations for me as far as being around the facilities. He said there were none, and in fact encouraged me to go do something that would make me “happy” or bring some joy to my situation. So Karyn and I decided to visit some friends for a couple of days.
Still experienced the same symptoms that I have been this last week. There have been no improvements.
I was also asked by Hard Knocks to do a follow-up.
8/26–8/27/09—Spending time with friends in Nashville. I could not journal, due to being away from the computer. No changes or improvements with my symptoms. I did call both Jack Brennan at the Bengals and Alecia Zubikowski, who is in charge of setting up the Hard Knocks “follow-up” interview to decline due to being emotionally uncomfortable and mentally incapable of interviewing or talking about my experience or about my future due to the effects of the concussion. Also my agent and I felt that because of my current injury and symptoms I should not be on camera talking about my situation until we are made aware what the team has planned for me this season.
8/28/09—Still struggling with head pressure and headaches. Also I still experience some random dizziness whenever I have been moving more quickly. I am still having difficulty with my memory, especially with sentences, words, and even why I was doing something. Met with Dr. Sullivan today and failed the symptoms test again. He thought sleep medication could help with my sleeplessness.
8/30/09—Received a call from Marvin Lewis today asking me to come down to the stadium and talk with him about my injury situation. Everything went fine during the meeting until I noticed there was a camera in Coach’s office on top of a cabinet pointing directly at the table. My first thought was that no way are they taping this after I specifically said no to an interview (with HBO’s Hard Knocks). I came home afterward and shared my frustration with my wife and also called my agent.
Still experiencing the same symptoms from the previous day.
9/1/09—I received a call from Mr. Jim Lippincott informing me that the Bengals were placing me on IR for the season. He said that this season was done for me but that they would be paying me for the year and let me heal so that I could make a decision in the off-season whether or not I would return to play.
Still experiencing the same symptoms that I documented on the 28th.
I did a follow-up interview with Hard Knocks on the day I received the call from the Bengals telling me they had placed me on IR. The call came as a relief. Jim Lippincott, the team director of football operations, told me, “Your season is done, but you’re still a part of the team. Take this year to heal and then evaluate what you want to do in the off-season.”
Coach Lewis also called me and asked how I was doing. It felt good to have him check up on me. One of the dynamics of football that I’ve talked about before is how much the team is like a family, and the coaches are like second fathers to you. That’s how Coach Dungy was, and the same was true of Coach Lewis.
Hard Knocks did their follow-up interview with me in my kitchen. Karyn came in at one point with Elleora and gave me the news every dad wants to hear: “She needs a diaper change.”
“Oh boy,” I said. So this was how I was going to spend my 2009 season, changing diapers. I didn’t mind. I love being a dad. The camera crew filmed me taking care of my little girl. It was a sweet moment.
I can’t remember the questions they asked, but when the follow-up interview came I knew I had been placed on IR. I told the camera, “I consider it a blessing to be a part of an organization that cares so much about my health and well-being.” And I meant it. I stopped keeping a concussion symptoms journal since I was now on IR and my season was done. There wasn’t a reason to track my progress. At least not for two months.
11/18/09—I was let go by the Bengals today.
CHAPTER 18
WHAT NOW?
I COULD NOT BELIEVE MY ears when I received the news that the Bengals had cut me on November 18. Ironically, I received the call while I drove home from the Bengals’ facilities at Paul Brown Stadium, where I had just completed some light aerobic activity, including a “jog” diagonally across the field. I use the word jog loosely because the equipment guy picking up footballs was moving faster than me. This was my first time setting foot on a football field since the concussion. Drs. Cantu and Sullivan had only cleared me to do lig
ht aerobic exercise about a month earlier. My workouts consisted mainly of slow work on the elliptical machine in the Bengals’ workout facility. Even though I had been cleared to do “light” aerobic activity, no one from the team’s medical or training staff gave me any sort of workout plan to follow. Basically it was left to me to figure out. When I stepped onto the elliptical machine for the first time in mid-October, two and a half months had passed since I had done any physical activity beyond walking across the room. Some days even that left me dizzy.
By mid-October my headaches had subsided, although my head still did not feel right and I had memory issues where in midsentence I forgot what I was going to say. Even so, Sullivan cleared me to increase my workout to the moderate level. I consulted with Dr. Cantu a couple more times during this period (a common thing to do with a second-opinion doctor). He cautioned me. “Ben,” he said, “the moment your head starts to hurt even a slight bit, shut it down. When you exercise and your heart rate increases, the pressure in your head increases, which will aggravate the concussion symptoms.”
I followed Dr. Cantu’s advice while continuing to meet weekly with Tom Sullivan. It seemed like every time I met with Tom he came back around to the subject of me continuing to play football. I know he felt strongly that I should not play again. At the same time, he cleared me to increase my workout intensity from light to moderate, which meant I was cleared to do some light weight lifting. Again, no one gave me a specific program as to what kind of weight-lifting regimen I should tackle. No one from the team even monitored me as I worked out. One of the first times I tried doing weights, I did some triceps extensions with a forty-five-pound free weight. I lifted the weight over my head, then suddenly my vision started to go black. The room spun around a couple of times and I dropped the weight. It landed on my forehead, cutting a pretty good gash, just as I fell to the floor. One of the weight room trainers happened to see what had happened and helped me up. I was taken to the training room and the cut on my forehead was sealed with butterfly strips. I didn’t try lifting weights again for a few days.
