My First Concussion During The Spring Of My Sophomore Year

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got my first concussion in the spring of my sophomore year. I remember being stressed because I had an Organic Chemistry quiz the next morning and I was sure I had not studied enough, and the passages I had read in the atrium during my 30 minutes of downtime between class and practice had made little sense. I remember being distracted when I was on the diving board because I was worried I would not have enough time to eat before making it to my last class of the day. I do not remember hitting the water, but I found myself back on the pool deck regardless, my coach was talking to me in a language I did not understand. The words were jumbled, but I was too confused to say anything.
My subsequent concussion diagnosis marked the beginning of a long road of disenchantment and rediscovery of both the medical practice and myself. My reasons for pursuing medicine started when I was young. I always had an early spark, which left me obsessed with obscure diseases. After reading “The Hot Zone,” my family threatened to disown me if I would not stop describing hemorrhagic fevers and black bile during meals. When I started college, I knew that the human body was all that I was interested in, and medicine felt like a calling that I could not ignore. The beginnings of my frustrations lay with maintaining my academic record while concussed. This required a level of skill and patience that I had not been asked to exercise up to this point. I have always been a “good” student; learning had

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