“In many ways it is my family who suffer most from my injury.”
This article was produced by Progressive Rugby
Andy Jolley remembers nothing of the incident that left him prone on the pitch whilst playing for Christchurch XV but the consequences have been devastating. Here he tells his story.
Nothing prepares you for the feeling of utter helplessness as you sit there; desperately scouring what is left of your brain for those three words the neurologist told you to remember some half a minute ago.
I really tried hard to recall what he said, repeating the words over and over, but in those intervening 30 seconds he asked another unrelated question and that simple act of distraction wiped clean my memory.
Just three simple words, or more the lack of them, brought home to everyone in the room the severity of the injury I suffered three months previously, the damage done whist playing Rugby, the sport I love. Three words to be declared fit and fine, but my mind is blank. That was the moment of comprehension, the realisation that I have permanent brain damage along with all that entails.
This is a very difficult to write, physically, mentally and emotionally, but by putting my story into writing and passing on the perspective of someone whose life has been decimated by brain damage, I hope to raise the profile of concussion in rugby.
I am not looking to court publicity or to look for sympathy, simply to explain some of what life with permanent disabling brain damage can be like. I want to raise awareness the risk players and coaches take with repeated concussions.
In essence I am describing what the “If you carry on you will do permanent damage” actually looks like.
Like the vast majority of rugby players in this country, I was just playing for fun on a Saturday afternoon, I had a good job as a Systems Analyst at Unisys and was turning out for my local club Christchurch RFC against St Lo from France, it was May 1997, the ground was hard, but it didn’t matter so much because was a friendly game against a touring side.
I have no memory of the actual incident. Apparently, I was tackled as I caught an up and under, he didn’t dump me, but it was a big hard hit and because I had both hands on the ball, I couldn’t protect myself as my head hit the ground.
That single moment determined the rest of my life and that of my family. I suffered what medics call a contra coup brain injury, essentially when my head smashed onto hard ground, my brain rebounded into the front of my skull, leaving me with serious and permanent frontal lobe damage. I was to be the one of the “one in a million” who suffers permanent brain damage. I would live to find out how lucky the 999,999 who preceded me without a thought, actually were.
Even though my injury was almost 25 years ago, I still suffer lots of problems as a result, I initially wrote them all down but it took up pages explaining them all, but I thought it best to concentrate on a couple of areas where my injuries impact on my family and loved ones.
A simple analogy is for people to imagine suffering the worst bits of being very drunk and yet hungover at the same time, the slowness of thought and confusion, poor balance, lack of empathy, disinhibition, the tendency for aggression along with the headache, noise and light sensitivity, the fatigue and the general grumpiness. All of these without the fun bits of alcohol, all this without a break, all day, every day for the rest of my life.
One of the major problems I now experience is the fatigue I suffer from the simple act of concentrating. Nowadays I can only process one thought at a time, at best I have a concentration span of about an hour before I need to rest, which is extremely frustrating.
Suffering a brain injury doesn’t mean I am stupid, but it does restrict the speed and breadth of my thinking. The knock-on effect is significant, seemingly “normal” activities become extraordinarily difficult, I can’t travel unless I know I have somewhere to rest and recover. Whilst I still love rugby and cricket, I can’t manage to watch a full game, I need to pace myself in everything I do, for every aspect of my life, which because of my memory problems has become a life dominated by lists.
I have no doubt some of this will come as a shock to acquaintances who don’t know about my disability. Brain injuries are often described as invisible injuries, I don’t need a wheelchair or wear a bandage, but that doesn’t mean I am fit and healthy. As my doctor once commented, I do a very good impression of “normal”, but it is all a façade, a pretence that is exceptionally hard work to keep up. Few people see me when I get confused or frustrated, because I have learned to remove myself prior to getting too bad.
The other symptom I want to talk about is probably the most difficult one to live with. I have a completely different personality now, I have lost much of the empathy and I can get very irritable very quickly. I am always on the lookout so I can avoid confrontation as I know it won’t end well. Sadly, especially when I am tired, that is very much what happens in my house and it isn’t nice for any of us.
In many ways it is my family who suffer most from my injury. I can cope with the pain and the suffering, but I can’t help some of my behaviour, I know occasionally I can be difficult and challenging, but because I damaged the frontal lobes of my brain, I can’t always control my behaviour as I would like. This is a heavy burden to carry as I know my children and wife are the ones who suffer most.
I am conscious this all sounds a bit of a whinge, a bit of a “my life is shit” ramble, but I am actually quite stoical and positive doing my utmost to live my life to the best I can within the limits of my disability. Just like the inspirational former rugby players Matt Hampson, Andy Barrow and Henry Fraser, I do my best to push my boundaries and to help others. When I can, I read with children in school and with the support of my GP and the head, I became a school Governor. This gives me a focus, gets me out of the house to meet people and provides a great sense of achievement in the fact I am still able to do something to help others.
But at the end of the day despite our resilience, my life and the lives of my family have been hugely compromised by the injury I suffered.
I am not bitter about what happened, I understand that in a contact sport like rugby, there will always be the rare one-off serious injuries like mine, it is sadly part of the risk we all take when we step on the field. But the risk of brain damage as a result of repeated concussion IS something we can work on. The risks can be mitigated and minimised, but it requires a change in approach from clubs and players alike.
The whole rugby community needs to recognise that brain injuries are different, that you can’t run them off or rush the recovery. If you suffer permanent brain damage, it could well have the kind of consequences I have described and I can assure you, it is not pleasant.
Education is key, I know the rugby authorities are addressing many of the issues. I believe rugby is at the forefront of the debate, changes to the law have kicked in, yet incredibly we still see incidents like the recent selection of Luke Cowen-Dickie for the British Lions where the protocols appear to have been senselessly ignored. Players long term welfare must be a priority at all levels of the game, we can’t allow any more tragedies like Ben Robinson to happen simply through lack of knowledge.
By speaking out, I hope I can further the debate, help to increase peoples understanding of the consequences and raise the profile of concussions and brain injuries within the rugby community.
I wouldn’t wish what I have had to go through on my worst enemy. It is time for rugby to take brain injuries seriously, we need to change our attitude to concussion and get players off the field of play.
· As a postscript, I would just like to highlight the fantastic work done by the Injured Players Foundation.
I am in the unfortunate position where the club I was playing for folded, consequently for a long time we didn’t get a great deal of support. Serendipitously and thanks to my old club Tyldesley playing at Twickenham, a few years ago I was “found” by the IPF who immediately came in and offered their incredible support.
The most obvious help they provide is financial assistance in the form of grants. For example, last year our washer gave up the ghost, I emailed them and they organised a grant to buy a new one. Receiving a cheque for £500 may sound relatively inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. But it is the knowledge they are there, that they will step in and take care of things, that is so important.
In providing this kind of support the IPF take away so much of the worry that adds pressure to an already stressful family life and I cannot thank them and their supporters enough for that.
They also occasionally arrange a get together in their box at Twickenham or arrange for tickets to games. In doing so they provide me with a sheltered, safe environment where I am able to take my son out for a treat, something I would not otherwise manage. Even with their support, it remains very difficult for me; I need help getting there and have to plan in about 3-4 days just to recover. But I take great pleasure from seeing my son enjoying Twickenham and meet with people like Jason Robinson (who popped in last time we were there), so I consider it a price worth paying. (I am very conscious he is missing out of many of the Dad and Lad things)
I also get to meet other critically injured players, which is always a joy and hugely motivating. To a man they are an inspirational group who accept their injuries and get on with their lives. We all share the attitude that life is about your abilities not your disabilities, which isn’t a bad mantra to live your life by.