My brother works on the halftime show for the Super Bowl. He
has booked this lucrative winter gig for himself every year for the past 6 or 7
years, at a time of the year when work in the industry in Western Pennsylvania
can be slow. I’m still not exactly what all of his work entails. I know that it
has something to do with production – building the set, gripping, lighting,
etc. He’ll usually leave a few weeks before the Big Game, bidding us all a fond
farewell via phone call or text (we live in different states) since we don’t
usually get to talk to him much in the weeks leading up to the game. However,
we can all expect a call that night with his famous phrase “Whatcha think of
the show?”
As a football fan I’ve never missed a Super Bowl. I’d gather
at a party, bar, or my husband and I would invite a few friends over where we
always had a full array of Super Bowl foods prepared for the festivities. I
would watch the game, no matter the teams playing and I was always sure to
catch the halftime show. “Awesome
show!!” I would exclaim while my husband would yell, “Nice job Trav!” from the
other side of the room hoping to be heard over my squeals of pride for my
little brother. The past four years haven’t diminished that pride – I still get
excited for him each year around mid-January, request a phone call before he
boards the plane, and I make sure to tell whoever I can that “my brother is
there…’doing’ the halftime show.” However, my ability to actually watch the
game or even the show has been overtaken by intense fear, anxiety, flashbacks,
and panic. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and the Super Bowl is
one of my triggers.
When most people hear PTSD they usually think of soldiers
coming home from war or survivors of rape and/or physical trauma. However, PTSD
can be caused by a number of different traumas that a person can face within a
lifetime. Symptoms of PTSD can range from general anxiety to severe psychosis
when the traumatic memory is triggered. My PTSD was caused by the premature
birth, NICU stay, and subsequent death of my daughter almost four years ago. In
addition to being triggered by the Super Bowl some of my other more prominent
triggers are certain areas of hospitals and beeping monitors.
But let me go back a bit and explain exactly how the Super
Bowl became a PTSD trigger – In late
2010 my husband and I discovered that the daughter it took us 3 years to
conceive had such a severe case of IUGR that she was measuring almost 4 weeks
behind. After bouncing around trying to find a specialist who was willing to
take our case and help us fight for our child we landed in Louisville, KY (about
4 hours from where we were living at the time and 8 hours from family). In
early 2011, I found myself being placed on hospital bed rest. My husband moved
into a hotel room and began teaching his classes online and we prepared
ourselves for what was sure to be a difficult 3rd trimester. The
hospital became my home and the staff became my family since ours was so far
away. My husband and I are originally from Pittsburgh, PA – home of the
Steelers. And boy were the Steelers making a good run in the playoffs that
year. With my Steelers shirt pulled on over my hospital gown and tiny belly we
watched each game as nurses, doctors, and other hospital staff would come into
my room and razz us about being Steeler fans. We just knew that our precious
unborn daughter, Stella was the lucky charm that landed the Steelers into the
Super Bowl that year. Stella was born on February 1, 2011 – 14 weeks premature
weighing only 12oz. She was a fighter! She was doing amazing and each time we
got the report of “she’s doing better than expected” we breathed a sigh of
relief. That relief was quickly replaced with dread when her doctor looked me in
the eyes and told me, “Shanna, she’s not going to survive this.” In that moment
I knew my life was about to change forever.
That was February 5, 2011 and the Steelers/Packers Super
Bowl was played on February 6, 2011. I know that the Steelers lost, but I
really only know that because I’m from Pittsburgh and people from Pittsburgh never
stop talking about the Steelers. I’m not able to recall anything about the
actual game or halftime show. But I can tell you so much more about that day. I can tell you about how the hotel room that
we “watched” that game from smelled like dirty laundry and pizza. I can tell
you that if I close my eyes I can still feel the searing pain of my C-Section
scar more sore than the moment the epidural wore off since all the screaming
and crying I had been doing had caused me to use my abdominal muscles too much.
I can tell you that although I was in such excruciating pain I was moving from
the bed, to the couch, to the chair at the tiny kitchenette table in the room
because I just didn’t know what else to do with myself. I could go on and on about
the pain from the evening – feeling like my arms were on fire, aching with this
longing to hold Stella again, the thoughts I had about ending my suffering in
the bathroom quietly with the bottle of pain pills I had while John lay on the
couch in the living room area of the hotel room. But do I really need to? The
first sentence in this paragraph is enough to explain how the Super Bowl became
one of my PTSD triggers.
It’s been 4 years since that beaten and bruised Baby Loss
Mom stood in the bathroom of a hotel in Louisville and contemplated suicide. My
husband and I now have a beautiful daughter, Sophia (who we adopted). We now
live in South Carolina where he teaches and does research on Sport
Communication at Clemson University and I proudly teach elementary students
with special needs. We are considering adopting again to expand our family. We
are doing well! We really are doing well; however, I will not be watching the Super
Bowl on Sunday. I’ll peek in at the Half Time Show so that I can proudly answer
the phone with my typical “Awesome show!” when my brother calls. But there
won’t be a Super Bowl feast at my house, we won’t have any friends over and I definitely
won’t know the score of the game come Monday.
