Baylor's Melissa Jones was running down the court recently when something scary happened.
The Blind Leading: Baylor Player Fights Through Freak Injury
Fear was not in the falling. That felt normal, just a typical tumble in a typical basketball game. Nor did Baylor forward Melissa Jones worry much about the crash of a player on top of her, or the thumping of her head upon the floor. These things happened all the time. She stood up afterward and ran down the court. No, panic wouldn’t come for several more minutes when the vision in her right eye clouded, then slowly faded away..
Until there was only darkness.
That’s when she knew something was very, very wrong.
This was just two weeks ago, at a game at Oklahoma, right before the end of the regular season. As a senior she was already facing the final month of her college career. And standing there that night on the court in Norman, she was filled with a flood of dread.
Was she going blind?
Was this something more?
What about basketball? What about her career?
Then nothing seemed normal anymore.
It would take more than a day before doctors told her this was the result of swelling around the optic nerve. And once she learned that this was not serious, that it would indeed go away and that someday the vision would return, she did what any basketball player would do with the last postseason of her career coming fast.
She said she would play.
“I want to help the team any way I can,” she said by phone on Tuesday night, not long before Baylor beat West Virginia in the second round of NCAA tournament.
So a week after wondering if she’d be blind forever in one eye, Jones pulled on a pair of dark glasses like the kind a bicycle racer might wear and walked onto the court in Kansas City for the first game of the women’s Big XII tournament. The glasses provided protection for her good eye in case she got poked or hit there. In a way she felt awkward wearing them. "I feel like a big goof," she said.
Then Jones played 25 minutes in the conference tournament opener against Kansas, running the court just as she had for the 3 ¾ seasons before, only this time with sight in only one eye. The other was still dark.
It was an odd experience, playing basketball with one eye. At first she was certain her depth perception would be off, and everything would be too short or too long. Instead, her muscle memory took over. Shooting turned out to be easy. Playing defense, the one thing she thought she’d be able to do with little trouble, was much harder.
“You can’t see the screens,” she said. “And when you are guarding someone you can lose your man. Over there everything is black.”
Until there was only darkness.
That’s when she knew something was very, very wrong.
This was just two weeks ago, at a game at Oklahoma, right before the end of the regular season. As a senior she was already facing the final month of her college career. And standing there that night on the court in Norman, she was filled with a flood of dread.
Was she going blind?
Was this something more?
What about basketball? What about her career?
Then nothing seemed normal anymore.
It would take more than a day before doctors told her this was the result of swelling around the optic nerve. And once she learned that this was not serious, that it would indeed go away and that someday the vision would return, she did what any basketball player would do with the last postseason of her career coming fast.
She said she would play.
“I want to help the team any way I can,” she said by phone on Tuesday night, not long before Baylor beat West Virginia in the second round of NCAA tournament.
So a week after wondering if she’d be blind forever in one eye, Jones pulled on a pair of dark glasses like the kind a bicycle racer might wear and walked onto the court in Kansas City for the first game of the women’s Big XII tournament. The glasses provided protection for her good eye in case she got poked or hit there. In a way she felt awkward wearing them. "I feel like a big goof," she said.
Then Jones played 25 minutes in the conference tournament opener against Kansas, running the court just as she had for the 3 ¾ seasons before, only this time with sight in only one eye. The other was still dark.
It was an odd experience, playing basketball with one eye. At first she was certain her depth perception would be off, and everything would be too short or too long. Instead, her muscle memory took over. Shooting turned out to be easy. Playing defense, the one thing she thought she’d be able to do with little trouble, was much harder.
“You can’t see the screens,” she said. “And when you are guarding someone you can lose your man. Over there everything is black.”
