Depression, Concussions and Wisdom
As seen in the St. Paul Pioneer Press on 3/7/16
From war-ravaged Nigeria to prominent American universities, Dr. Bennet Omalu (the “Concussion” doctor), forged a path marked by hard work, unyielding conviction, deep faith, and debilitating depression.
Born during the Nigerian-Biafran war that produced images of emaciated babies, the forensic neuropathologist was among the malnourished. Both his growth and his self-esteem suffered. He was shy and reclusive.
Nevertheless, Omalu’s family considered him a genius. He started college at 15 and medical school at 21. The smartest boy in the family would attend medical school, his father declared.
The introverted teen had dreamt of being a commercial pilot, traversing the world and romancing women in foreign cities. Instead, he struggled through medical school, suffering from incapacitating depression.
In the depth of his illness he turned to his Catholic faith. He eventually stopped trying to understand why he suffered from depression and learned to accept it as a chronic condition to be managed.
While many things were beyond his control he would not allow his depression to rob him of who he was. He later concluded his struggles readied him for battles with the NFL and his own profession that ensued decades later.
He graduated from medical school in Kenya and moved to Seattle, arriving with a vision of America fashioned through satellite TV.
Instead of traversing the globe in an aircraft he hopscotched from West to East Coast, earning eight advanced degrees and certifications. Education and information bolstered his confidence.
His curiosity and training led him to a shocking discovery in 2002, unwelcome in some quarters, embraced in others.
After studying the brain of 50-year-old Mike Webster, an NFL center whose life degenerated after retirement, Omalu identified a condition he labeled chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). The condition has since been identified in at least 91 other NFL players, in military veterans and in professional wrestlers.
CTE results from repeated head blows that cause damage in certain regions of the brain. CTE explained why Webster, the popular Pittsburgh Steelers Hall of Famer, used a Taser on himself, urinated in his oven, and used Super Glue to replace his teeth when they fell out.
Football was foreign to Omalu — and perplexing. Why would anyone play a recreational game that was meant to be entertaining when you had to wear a helmet to protect your head?
Excited about his findings, he was unprepared for the NFL’s pushback. But Omalu told himself that his battle with depression was bigger than the NFL and he’d survived that.
After a contentious fight, the NFL established new concussion protocols that are finding their way into youth leagues. At least two states are contemplating changes to youth sports. But Omalu insists we must do more.
With a biography and film (“Concussion”) chronicling his life, the squat man with a big smile has overcome the shyness that plagued him in childhood. Speaking at the Beth El Synagogue in St. Louis Park last month, Omalu, who says his surname (Onyemalukwube) means, “If you know, come forth and speak,” offered life lessons and a pointed message about the danger of contact sports.
He suggested that football is played differently in the 21st century than it was in the last century. He encouraged the audience to liberate itself from “conformational thinking” and to embrace “revolutionary thinking.” Insisting he does not object to the sport, he advocated a shift to “intelligent football.”
The man who described himself as the family weakling paced the stage, noting that while adults have free will and can make their own choices, the same is not true for our children. He posed probing questions, framed in disconcerting facts.
Once you have suffered a concussion the damage is done.
There is no cure.
The effects can manifest years later.
The younger you are when you experience the injury the greater the possibility of damage.
Helmets do not prevent the disease.
As I listened to his words, guilt parked itself in the empty seat beside me.
An estimated 3,000 Minnesota youth sustain concussions each year. Four years ago my daughter was among them. As a high school senior she sustained two concussions — first on the ice, later on the soccer field.
Though no one mentioned permanent brain damage I knew an insult to the head was serious. I wrestled with what to do. Bench her? She loved her sports. What was the likelihood of another insult? Her doctors said she’d recovered. …
Her energy-sapping back pain ended the mental pingpong match, relieving me of rendering a decision my mind accepted but my heart rejected. With her final hockey season looming she hung up her skates and decided to get a job.
In a society so enamored with contact sports I wonder if — or when — we will heed the message in a meaningful way. Will we change the way we suit up our kids to play football and hockey? Will we delay their entry into contact sports?
I’m skeptical of significant reform, for the sports that pose the greatest risk are the ones with the greatest draw. Adults delight in lacing up our kids’ skates, in huddling on bleachers on chilly fall nights to watch our kids battle over a pigskin. It’s social. It’s competitive. It’s fun. And for some athletes it’s a gateway to their future.
More than a week after his lecture, Omalu’s message lingers. The disquieting question he posed is lodged in my mind. Knowing what we now know, he challenged, why do we put helmets on children so they can bang heads with other children wearing helmets?
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