Sam is hunkered down in front of his computer, totally immersed in what's on the screen. Every once in a while he breaks away to take a furtive glance around the office. He's stuck at a workstation that gives him absolutely no privacy and right now, more than anything, he craves privacy.

He's supposed to be writing a sales report but he's absorbed in something much more gripping: a Hockey Canada website on concussions.

Last night his 13-year-old daughter was the victim of a scary on-ice collision. It was midway through the period; Megan was skating full speed after the puck when she lost her balance and twisted in the opposite direction, right into an opposing player who was also in full flight. They collided and hit the ice hard.

Megan slowly raised herself to her knees and looked around as the play whirled to the other end of the rink. The other player remained flattened. Megan got to her feet and skated aggressively after the winger, who now had a clear path to the goal. The girl with the puck was about to shoot when the referee blew his whistle to stop play. His priority was the safety of the injured girl who was still lying prone on the ice.

Sam was only interested in his daughter. He watched as Megan slowly made her way to the player’s bench. She paused with one hand on the gate. Her stick dangled from her hand as she carefully shuffled to an open spot.

The rink was filled with the sound of sticks slapping the ice as players from both teams saluted the injured player who was slowly being helped to her skates. Her legs were wobbly and she needed the help of two teammates. She was taken directly to the dressing room -- not a good sign for the worried parents who were watching.

Megan didn’t see any of it. She hung her head, took off one of her gloves and rubbed her forehead through the mask. She put her elbows on the edge of the boards and studied the tattered rubber mat that covered the concrete floor. She had no interest in what was happening on the ice.

The trainer came up from behind and leaned forward to speak with her. The conversation was quick. Sam watched him sidle up to the coach who nodded his head. Megan stayed on the bench for the rest of the game.

Afterwards Sam paced in the lobby of the arena. He didn't join the traditional post-game chat. He could only think of Megan falling to the ice, and the girl who needed help to the dressing room. He was afraid that Megan had suffered a concussion.

The team's trainer came up to him as soon as he emerged from the dressing room.

"Megan took quite a hit there," the trainer said. "I don't think she had a concussion, she didn't black out, but you might want to get a doctor's opinion."

Then he added, "She says she's OK but I’m not convinced. I'm not sure she'd tell me how she really feels, especially when these games are so important."

And there's the crux of the problem. Megan is a tough competitor and a key element in the team's success. She's aggressive, works hard and has a scorer's touch. Without her, the chances of a playoff victory are slim. The deciding game is the next night.

On the drive home Sam tentatively asked Megan how she felt.

"Fine," she said.

"No headache?" Sam wasn't going to let it go quite that easily.

"Dad, I feel fine. I know you think I had a concussion but I didn't. I'm just angry that the coach didn't play me for the last couple of shifts. I might've been able to help us at least get a tie."

Sam didn't ask any more. It wasn't unusual for Megan to be uncommunicative after a game, especially after a loss. He thought about taking her to the emergency room, but rejected the idea. He didn't want to sit there and wait for three or four hours.

This morning he was out of the house before Megan was up. Just after 9 a.m., he called his doctor’s office for an appointment. He wasn't surprised when he was connected to an unfriendly woman from an answering service. He was disappointed to hear his doctor wouldn't be back in the office for three days.

Now, an hour later, he leans back from the computer and looks at a picture of his daughter that's pinned to the short divider separating his desk from a co-worker’s. He loves the picture. The photographer caught Megan seconds after she'd scored the winning goal in an American tournament last season. The photo captured every bit of her youthful exuberance.

Sam loves watching his daughter play and desperately wants her to experience a league championship. If she can dress tonight, it just might happen.

He goes back to the screen and reads the symptoms of concussion. Her co-ordination has been fine; she skated well immediately after the collision. She didn't vomit and remembered everything. She said she didn't have a headache, although this morning he noticed someone had left the Tylenol container on the counter.

Maybe if she dressed and only played a few shifts it would be fine.

The phone rings and it's Megan's coach. He comes quickly to the point.

"Sam, I just thought I'd let you know that I'm not going to let Megan play tonight unless she gets written permission from your doctor. She said she's OK, but I saw something in her eyes when she came off the ice that I didn't like."

Sam's first reaction is to argue, to say that she's fine, but he knows how stupid it would be to do anything that might jeopardize her safety. He knows that not even a championship game is more important than his daughter's health. And though he knows how painful it will be for the two of them to be in the stands for one of the most important games in her hockey life, he'll choose painful over dangerous.

Hockey Canada Safety Program: Concussions

 [Email Ken here]

Just wanted to send you an email in regrads to your story on concussions. Good job. I had a concussion two summers ago and it was not fun. We need to educate our hockey world on the importance of effects on concussions.

- Jonahthan K.