Still, you should see the other guy

(I'm not sure it's driveable)

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"It's gonna get worse," the nurse in Honesdale said after all that had happened that night, "before it gets better."

The miserable first few hours of April 27, 2006, that I remember. The few weeks before that...

The funniest part of all this was probably in training camp, or right before, maybe. I was looking back over the 2005-06 Sound Tigers stats, looking for something or other, and one name stood out.

Miles.

What stood out was that I couldn't remember him. Who was he? When did he sign? Why? What'd he look like? What position did he play? What were the circumstances of those five games, 0-0-0 and minus-6?

What was his first name?

A few weeks later, I was looking back for the last time Bridgeport was shut out. It was Game 4 of the playoffs. I couldn't remember a thing about it. My game story tells me a puck went off Jeff Tambellini into the Bridgeport net for the only goal of the night. You'd think it would be memorable. No clue.

Basically, all I know about April 2006, I learned from my blog. And a lot of stuff since then wasn't sticking, either.

Look, I always knew concussions were funny animals. The brain's complicated, and we don't know what it's going to do while it's healing. But I wasn't prepared, and not just because I'd never had one (as far as I know) before. Every few weeks, I'd get a little better, and I'd think, "Whew, thank God, back to normal." And then I'd get a little better again and realize, "Jeez, no I wasn't. But whew, thank God, back to normal..."

Good gravy, eight months I wouldn't wish on anybody: It stunk. And so did I.

It slowly got better, though. Picked up on some things. The haze keeps lifting. I think I'm pretty close to normal again (though I'm reserving judgment). A turning point was mid-January, reading this column during a trip to Philly. None of it and all of it felt familiar. "There have been times I just didn't want to do it because my head just didn't feel right," said Keith Primeau. That was my year. But accepting it made it a little easier to deal with.

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So why am I writing this down now? I don't know. The anniversary brings it to mind, for one thing. (Weirdly, my ear started to itch Sunday night; dry skin on the scar.) Maybe it's just that old "If I can help one person" bit. In a weird way, covering Brandon Cullen's recovery reinforced in my own mind that I wasn't nuts, that these things can happen.

Head-on-steel-on-asphalt probably guarantees that they happen. Forget about forgetting Jeff Miles: Without a seat belt, I'd be starting my second year of death. You may be a civil-liberties, stick-it-to-the-Man type who can't be told to wear a seat belt. You may be the type who worries about getting out of a car if you have to get out of your seat belt. Hey, I'm right there with you, but do me a favor: Wear it anyway, so you can still be a civil-liberties worry-wart on the off chance your car rolls over.

And God forbid that does happen, remember: Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better.