Christian Braun

Wanninger 1st Period

AP Lang
Due 12/14/15
Back to the Field
I wake up, roused by cool glass trembling against my head. My vision emerges from its
shallow slumber, blurred by cloudy drowsiness. I look through the clear pane having awoken
me to see crumbling pavement and gray, overcast skies. Trapped between the omnipresent
mass of despondency is a shining glass structure which illuminates its surroundings with golden
beams of hope. I open the bright orange door in front of me, stepping down onto rough, frigid
concrete. Ambling into the hospital, the gray gloom outside creeps through the seemingly
impenetrable windows.
Anxious silence fills both the air and my heart.
I keep the shallow facade of my usual, cheerful self as I pass multitudes of new faces
draped in white. Each quick, short step forward brings me closer and closer to the room. The
pressure builds in my ears and my heart as the elevator quickly ascends. As the metal box
reaches the summit of its journey, the thick silver doors retract to reveal the beginning of mine -the room.
Not just any room. Not a waiting room, nor a living room, nor a bedroom. A surgery prep
room. Patterned walls encase a cramped area barely large enough to accommodate my family
and me. Bright, color-coded tubes extend from every inch of the wall, accented with switches,
plugs, and glowing screens. Metal hooks screech as the nurse retracts the thick, woven fabric
to reveal the bed that Ill call home for the next week. The pure white sheets--not a spot or a
stain or a blemish on them--invite me in for a peaceful slumber, but I know that my future will be
far from placid. I look away as she starts an IV, piercing my skin with a sharp, shining needle,
only to see my parents nervously examining two thin sheets of paper covered in dark lines of
text. I need not read them to understand what they are -- the consent for surgery forms.

Having signed my life away, my parents give an apprehensive yet passionate Good
luck, and suddenly I am on the move, rolling, helpless, with the nurse directing my bed down
the hallways adorned with murals of nature. Before I know it, two thick, white doors with the
bright red Operating Room placard open with the push of a button, and the bed rolls smoothly
through the threshold into the space which will change my life forever.
I carry my vision throughout the room, seeing scores of tubes of all colors, trays of
gleaming scalpels, eyes surrounded by thin, light blue fabric -- all things I expected. Just as I
look for more, a doctor carrying a plastic mask says to me in a speedy, whining accent, Hello
Mister Braun! How are you doing today?
Im all right, I guess. Dont know how much better I can be, I respond apprehensively.
Oh I know, but youll do fine, I know youre a great young man, she says, and after I
nod in agreement, she places the mask over my nose and mouth. The doctor continues, Okay,
now I want you to count down from ten, maybe think of something happy. I start the slow count
in my head:
10. My eyes scan the room as I struggle to keep my eyelids open.
9. I catch sight of the thick black foam structure Ill be placed in for the operation.
8. From the looks of it, Ill be bent around a lot for the next few hours of surgery.
7. My eyelids become heavier and heavier as I continue surveying the room.
6. My vision and my memory turn black.
-------------------------I awake from my drug-induced slumber, barely conscious of the commotion around me.
I still recline in that same inviting bed, not nearly as comfortable as I once was. My back feels
stiff as stone, and dull pain travels throughout my entire body. My head spins with nauseating
dizziness, and my throat burns with dry scratches. A web of tubes and needles emerges from
my left and right arms as a bright monitor beeps beside me. Doctors cloaked in white surround
my bed, recording proof that Im still alive. Rumbles about a long recovery resound in my ears

-- a physical therapy session here, a meeting with the anesthesiologist there, a follow-up
appointment every now and again. For now, however, my only concern is my exhaustion from
the operation I have just survived. I surrender to the peaceful repose of sleep.
-------------------------My eyes open once again to find the cool blue walls, weathered white shelves, and
honey colored dressers of the bedroom I am so accustomed to be surrounded by. I notice the
dull tumult of the television set outside as I begin the complex procedure to get out of my bed -roll to the side without twisting my body, knees up, push from the side to get vertical, carefully
stand up.
Already exhausted, I slowly amble towards the living room, journeying towards the
recliner, my hallowed refuge. This chocolate brown chair, covered in cheap, fake leather billows
with soft foam from within, providing the only comfort I have found after this life-changing
surgery. My journey towards repose ends as I lie back into the chair, causing the immense
pressure in my back to relent. Having found the perfect position, I nearly fall asleep but am
awoken by the ring of the doorbell and the frantic clamor of my dog. I sit up, but do not yet care
to travel all the way to the front door; my parents can take care of this one. Suddenly, however,
I hear the coarse, masculine voice which I know so well -- my very first visitor, Coach Spagnoli.
I stand up as quickly as my muscles allow, refusing to let the stiff metal framework in my
back halt my progress. Each step towards the door drains my body of vital energy, but I press
on, intent on finding Coach before he departs. When I finally step through the threshold of the
doorway, he has nearly reached his car, leading me to shout in a painful, raspy voice, Coach!
He turns around, surprised and delighted by my presence, and responds enthusiastically,
Brauny! How are you feeling buddy?
Well, Ive felt better, Coach, but Im doing just fine, I respond, still tired from the journey
to the door.

Thats good to hear, Coach Spagnoli answers, I just came out here to drop off some
protein shakes for you to help you get better faster. Well, now I have to get back to class.
Thanks Coach! I reply as the screen door shuts in front of me.
My dad carries the case of valuable sustenance away and I follow behind, making sure I
remember exactly where he places them. After he sets the nourishing care package down on
the counter, I journey back to my bedroom, already tired from all the movement Ive done in the
last few minutes. I carefully lie down on my bed and then close my eyes, ready to be
rejuvenated for the next day.
-------------------------I open my eyes, and a massive mirror hangs among burnt yellow tiles on the wall in front
of me. In the reflection, I see the usual commotion present in the locker room before a game -wrists being taped, shoulder pads being strapped up, cleats being tied, prayers being said.
Turning my focus to myself, the bright gold number twenty-six contrasts its royal blue
background. I stare into the reflection of my gray eyes, remembering all I have done to get to
this very point -- learning how to walk again, pushing my fragile physical limits daily,
overexerting myself to the point of nausea at each practice. Filled with anxiety, my face is
already covered in beads of sweat which drip over the eyeblack Ive so carefully applied.
Behind me, the team gathers, ready to race outside of the locker room and play the game we all
love. I slide the shining blue helmet adorned with golden spears on my head and join the group,
sprinting out on the field underneath brilliant white lights.
After the end of the third quarter, victory has almost been secured and I still anxiously
await my first varsity snap. Suddenly, on the last offensive drive, I hear that raspy voice with
that classic east coast accent shout Braun! -- no doubt that is Coach Dewald, the offensive
coordinator. I rush to the huddle forming on the sideline, and I see the him standing right
beside.
Coach Dewald commands, Braun, get in there! Youve got F; Babs, take H!

After a resounding Break! the huddle disperses, running out onto the green field turf
adorned with narrow, white stripes and a massive LF. I scan the sideline, seeking out the play
sign, translating quick hand movements into a coherent phrase -- inside run to me. Anxiety
suddenly builds up in my stomach. I carefully align my feet beside Charlie, the quarterback -one step to the left, two steps behind. I quickly eye the defensive front, looking for any gap I
can exploit to break a run. I cease the careful analysis early; I must not give away the plays
direction. A loud, firm Hut resounds in the air. The ball gracefully soars into the backfield and
into Charlies hands. I run to the right, secure the handoff, and immediately look in front of me.
A sea of blue figures all flow to the right, pushing white and red obstacles to the side. Open,
green turf parts the sea of bodies, the perfect opportunity. I aim directly for it, propelling myself
forward with the greatest effort.
Suddenly, a white body fills what once was the open space, and with a resounding thud I
make contact with the 5 10, almost 200 pound middle linebacker. I struggle to keep my feet
underneath me, chopping my legs in hopes of a broken tackle. My efforts prove to be in vain,
for before I realize it, my head slams against the turf, leaving me dazed with dull pain
resounding within my body. The sharp whine of a referees whistle echoes throughout the
stadium, and the massive body on top of mine disappears. I spring back up, and upon hearing
shouts of Punt Right, I jog off of the field and back into the sea of blue on the sideline amongst
a multitude of high-fives and commendations.
On the sideline, it hits me -- my head is throbbing, my leg is scraped, my arm is bruised
-- but my back is free of any pain. Relief flows throughout my body. Im healthy. Im finally back
to playing football.