Then one player targets me, pushing me into the wall, and it jolts me. My ear rings for a moment with the impact, but I’m able to stay on my feet. The slight moment of confusion scares me. I’ve never had that happen before. I rub my chest as it grows tighter. My breathing comes a little faster, but I try to keep it under control.
“You’ve got this, Kellan,” I mutter to myself.
The end of the first period brings me some relief.
“You okay?” Clay asks as I come off the ice.
“Yeah, that hit was just a bit hard,” I mutter.
“I saw that. Fucker needs to watch himself,” Beckett says, putting his arm around me.
“Okay guys, this is going well. We are ahead, and we need to stay that way. We want to score, but we also need to defend. I’m proud of the effort you are putting into this. Go out and show them we have so much more to give them,” Coach calls out.
Just like that, we are back on the ice.
We keep going round and round with these guys, but they are getting more brutal. Every time one of them comes near me, I can’t help but flinch. It’s like my body is preparing for another hard hit.
No amount of preparation would have helped me, though.
As the Ravens player checks me into the glass, my teeth rattle. I feel like my airways close as the breath is knocked from me and sends me spiraling.
The player skates away quickly, but I’m stuck. I can’t move if I even tried. My hand reaches up, attempting to get my heart to release the tension, but instead I collapse to my knees.
The last thing I remember is hitting the ice.
Sometime later, my eyes open, and all I can see are the bright lights of the rink.
“You’re going to be okay, kid,” Coach tells me, walking beside the paramedics as they carry me off the ice.
I can’t even respond to him. I feel like I can’t breathe. That only has me panicking.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe in for me. One, two, three, four,” the woman next to me says.
I try to follow her instructions. Soon I’m breathing easily again.
She continues to help me breathe until they get me back to the medical room. Coach waits with me while the doctor assesses me.
“He’s fine. His heart rate is a little high. Can you tell me what happened?” the doctor asks me.
“He pushed me into the boards, and I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt so tight. Then I fell,” I tell him.
He nods. “Is this the first time you felt the tightness?”
I shake my head. “No. It happens often, actually. Usually when my nerves are getting to me.”
“Were you nervous tonight?”
“I’m always nervous getting on the ice. It did start to get worse after the first hit caused my ears to ring a bit.”
“Do you have anxiety?” The doctor writes something in his notebook.
“Don’t we all?” I scoff.
“I mean, have you been diagnosed?” he clarifies.
I shake my head.
“You will need to go see another doctor, but what you are describing to me are symptoms of anxiety. I think that you might have had a panic attack, which is what caused you to feel like you couldn’t breathe. We can treat it, but I recommend you sit out the rest of the game.”
