The Field Didn’t See It Coming: A Teen Stroke Awareness Story | Mini-Series by JBE Mindful Pathways
A Story for Stroke Awareness Month
🌅 Friday Morning
The same headache had been there for four days now.
Not blinding. Not sharp. Just… there—behind his right eye, steady like a drumline in the distance. It didn’t go away when he slept. It didn’t fade with water. And Tylenol? That had stopped doing anything two days ago.
Still, Julian Ramirez—J.R. to everyone at Southmont High—downed two with his orange juice and a half-burnt bagel.
“Probably just the heat,” his mom muttered, wiping down the kitchen counter. “Or you’re coming down with something. You’ve been staying up too late.”
He didn’t argue. Just pulled his hoodie over his head, kissed her cheek, and grabbed his bag.
He had a game tonight. And a scout watching. No way he was sitting out for a headache.
🕘 The Fog Starts to Thicken
First period passed in a blur.
J.R. sat at his desk, blinking too long between notes, squinting at the whiteboard as if the words refused to hold still.
Second period, he dropped his pencil three times.
By the third time, he didn’t bother picking it up.
Everything felt slow.
Like the world was half a step ahead of him, and he was always catching up.
🔬 Third Period: The Dismissal Begins
Science class.
The fluorescent lights buzzed harshly overhead, and the smell of formaldehyde made his stomach roll.
J.R. had his head down again—this time on the cool surface of the lab table. He wasn’t even pretending to take notes. Just breathing, trying to keep the nausea in his throat from creeping higher.
“Ramirez,” Mr. Devlin barked. “You with us today?”
J.R. blinked, lifted his head.
“I’ve just got a bad headache, sir,” he mumbled. “It’s been a few days.”
Devlin sighed. “Probably your phone. You kids are glued to those screens. Go to the nurse if it’s that bad.”
🩺 The School Nurse
The nurse took his temperature, looked in his ears, asked if he’d eaten.
“I don’t see anything unusual. Could be sinus pressure,” she said. “Or tension. “Here—take this ibuprofen. And rest this weekend, okay?”
J.R. nodded, more out of habit than belief, he swallowed the pills with lukewarm water, and left with the taste of metal in his mouth.
No one asked him how long the room had been spinning.
No one saw the way he clutched the hallway rail for balance.
Not even him.
🍽️ Lunch – The Last Normal Hour
They were serving spicy chicken sandwiches—his favorite.
The cafeteria echoed with laughter and loud conversations. His teammates were tossing fries and arguing over fantasy league points.
J.R. sat beside Alani, head resting on the table, barely moving.
She was gently rubbing the back of his neck, her other hand stroking through his curls.
“You haven’t eaten anything,” she whispered. “They’re serving your favorite.”
His response was just a low groan. She leaned closer.
“J, let’s go. Right now. We can skip the rest of the day. We’ll drive to the beach, okay? Just us. Please.”
His voice came out muffled. “Can’t.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer.
She exhaled through her nose, blinking back the worry. He had already brushed her off yesterday.
But something about today was worse.
His silence wasn’t just tired—it was hollow.
🚪 Last Period – And the Final Brush-Off
After class, J.R. walked slowly into the gym. His vision had started to blur during last period, and the lights now felt like lasers drilling into his skull.
Coach Torres was barking orders about cleats and cleanness and game time.
“Coach,” J.R. said, voice lower than usual. “I still got this headache. Been here all week. It’s messing with me.”
Coach Torres barely turned from his clipboard. “Hydrate. Stretch it out. Everybody’s got something, J.R. Scouts don’t want excuses.”
J.R. didn’t argue, and turned toward the locker room.
Didn’t complain.
Didn’t feel much of anything except a growing static in his chest.
💘 Alani Had Been Trying All Week
Alani Hernandez wasn’t a doctor. She wasn’t a nurse.
But two years ago, she watched her Nono—her grandpa, her best friend—have a stroke while they were playing dominoes in the backyard.
She remembered his smile fading unevenly.
His voice slurring.
His hand trembled as he tried to pick up a tile.
He survived—but the memory never left her.
So when J.R. started acting off earlier in the week, she noticed.
She knew something was wrong.
J.R. wasn’t himself. He wasn’t mean or cold or distant. He was just… disconnected.
He didn’t make eye contact as much. Rubbed his temples in between classes. Spaced out during lunch. He’d stopped walking her to 6th period, even though that was their thing.
“Let’s ditch Friday,” she’d told him on Thursday. “Let’s go to my parents’ beach house. I’ll pack fruit and music. You need to breathe.”
“I can’t,” he replied, jaw tight. “I’ve worked too hard for this game.”
“But what if—”
“I’m fine, Alani.”
And that was the end of that.
And now, game night has arrived.
And he still wasn’t himself.
🏟️ Friday Night Lights – Told Through Alani’s Eyes
The stadium buzzed with adrenaline.
The bleachers roared. The band played their fight song.
The air smelled like nachos and turf.
We cheered from the sidelines—chanting, tumbling, lifting signs high under the lights.
I smiled. I flipped. I hit every eight-count.
But my eyes?
They were on him.
J.R. was across the field in full pads, helmet under his arm.
He looked smaller than usual—not physically, but… drained. Like something was pulling him inward.
He moved slower during warmups. His steps didn’t land like they usually did.
When he stretched, I saw him pause—longer than usual—hand to his temple like he was trying to shake something loose. When the team huddled, he stood slightly behind them, blinking hard like the lights were too much.
Between chants, I kept glancing over.
The rest of my team was hyped, electric. But I felt something in my chest—something off.
My stomach turned when I saw him blink too long after the huddle.
He was trying to stay locked in… but he wasn’t all there.
And I knew it.
Even if no one else did.
⚠️ The Moment No One Else Saw Coming
Then came the play.
It happened fast—and slow.
The ball snapped.
He didn’t move.
He should have moved.
His arm dropped. His knees buckled slightly but he didn’t fall. He just stood there—frozen.
“J.R.?” one of the players whispered.
But he wasn’t speaking.
His mouth was moving—barely. Slurred. Muffled. Like his lips had forgotten what words felt like.
Alani dropped her pom-poms.
Her heart dropped with them.
She ran.
🏃♀️ She Was the First to Move
“HE’S NOT OKAY!” Alani screamed, her voice splitting the night.
She threw her pom-poms to the ground and bolted toward him.
She shoved past two players, past the sideline ref.
“MOVE! Please—he’s not okay!”
J.R. was still standing, eyes wide, left side of his face slack. His right arm hung like dead weight.
“Baby, I’m here—I’m here,” she whispered, cradling his face.
He tried to speak. One word. Maybe her name. But it came out broken.
🚑 The Diagnosis No One Expected
By the time the medics arrived, J.R. was on the bench, barely responsive.
“Facial droop, arm weakness, delayed speech,” one EMT murmured to the other as he knelt down. “He’s checking every box. Possible ischemic stroke—we treat it immediately.”
“Did he collapse?” the other asked.
“No,” Alani said, breathless. “But he wasn’t moving. His face dropped. His words… he couldn’t form them.”
The EMT nodded.
“Good catch,” he said softly. “You might’ve saved him.”
Alani’s eyes blurred with tears.
“I just remembered what happened to my Nono. It looked the same.”
The silence that followed was louder than the band.
Coach’s face fell. His mother sobbed.
Alani held his hand until they wheeled him away.
🧠 The Stroke No One Saw Coming
💡 Did You Know?
- Strokes can happen at any age, even in healthy teens.
- A stroke doesn’t always mean collapsing—it can begin subtly: headaches, vision changes, confusion, or imbalance.
- Symptoms in young people are often dismissed as dehydration, anxiety, or fatigue.
- A lingering headache, especially paired with confusion, weakness, or slurred speech, can be a red flag.
- Every second counts—every minute without treatment can mean permanent damage.
Use the F.A.S.T. Test:
- Face Drooping
- Arm Weakness
- Speech Difficulty
- Time to call 911
🩵 The Recovery
J.R. didn’t finish the season
But he stood tall at graduation—with a slight shake in his voice and fire in his chest.
“I thought I was being tough. I thought if I said something, I’d look weak.
But ignoring what your body’s telling you? That’s not strength.
“When people talk about strength, they think it means pushing through.
But real strength?
It’s listening to the one person who knows you best.
It’s letting love pull you off the field—before it’s too late.”
You know what saved me? Someone who saw what no one else would.”
🌿 What You Can Do Now
✔ Believe kids and teens when they say they’re in pain
✔ Don’t brush off headaches that linger | Don’t assume “it’s just stress” or “just the heat”
✔ Trust your gut when something feels “off”
✔ Teach your teens, kids, and others the signs of a stroke—no matter the age.
✔ Remember: You don’t need a medical degree to save a life (A voice like Alani’s can save a life)
Share this story.
You might save someone like J.R.
Or someone like Nono. 🕊️
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