Cassidy Leake, 25, played competitive soccer in childhood through college, but she was always short of breath and struggled to keep pace with other players. That’s because, unbeknownst to Leake and her family, she was born with a hole in her heart, called an atrial septal defect, or ASD. During her first year of grad school, it ended up causing three “mini” strokes and one major stroke over a two-week period. Leake now plays for the US Women’s CP National Soccer Team alongside athletes with cerebral palsy or who have had a stroke or traumatic brain injury. Here’s her story, as told to associate health conditions director Julia Sullivan.
Soccer has been my life since before I can remember. From the time I joined my very first team at three years old, the sport just really clicked for me. Even in those early years, however, I struggled with one aspect of the game: endurance. I recall getting exhausted on the field really quickly. I’d put my hands over my head and ask to be taken off the field sooner than other players. That worried my mom, so when I was six she took me to the doctor. Everything checked out just fine, even my heart. But back on the field, it was still hard to breathe. The doctors figured I probably had asthma, so they gave me an inhaler and sent me on my way.
In my teen years, the intensity of the game increased. I managed to make these teams because of my skill, but keeping up with everyone on the field was hard. In fact, a few of the coaches in my childhood told me that I needed to lose weight because they assumed I was out of shape. I remember a particularly difficult drill one practice. It was clear I was struggling, and my mom was yelling at me from the sidelines to stop. But I was so determined to push myself—and keep up with my teammates—that I ended up blacking out. My inhaler was not only unhelpful, it felt like it was even hurting me, since it gave me a weird pain in my chest. The doctors told me that was normal, especially if I was using it when I was out of breath. This pattern—pushing through my pain and breathlessness on the field—continued through college.
When I started grad school at Boston University, the pace of my life changed. I wasn’t playing soccer anymore, and I was generally less active. But in the middle of my first year, over a two-week period, I started getting strange headaches. I have lived with migraine with aura my entire life—so I’d frequently have attacks paired with sensitivity to bright lights and sounds—but these felt…different, like the kind you get when you have the flu. I was also inexplicably tired. I remember calling my mom and nearly falling asleep with her on the phone. I also had intense brain fog. My schoolwork was tough, yes, but this seemed like so much more than a challenging workload. It was 2021, and COVID-19 was going around, so I assumed that’s what I had, but all of the tests came back negative.
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One night I went to bed and didn’t wake up until the next day at 4 p.m. My partner at the time kept coming and trying to wake me up. I vaguely remember being confused, and somewhat coherent, but not able to open my eyes or move. My partner got my mom on the phone, and though I have no memory of speaking with her, whatever I said really concerned her. She asked my partner to take me to the ER. After doing an MRI of my brain, they found out I had had not just one, but four strokes over the last two weeks. The fourth, and most severe, was the one that caused me to practically lose control of my body. Since strokes happen when there’s not enough blood flow to your brain, the doctors at the ER thought I might have a clotting disorder. When they ruled that out, they wondered if I had a hole in my heart because that’s a common risk factor for strokes. I did—an atrial septal defect, or ASD, which I was born with. It’s what ultimately led to my strokes, which left me with a ton of frustrating, lingering side effects, like brain fog and issues with my balance.
After I got out of the hospital, my life had completely changed. Though they were able to repair the hole in my heart through surgery, the doctors told me there was no way I’d be able to continue grad school, at least for now—the strokes had that much of an impact on my brain. That was tough. I had moved to Boston for school, so I was in a city where I knew very few people. I’d stutter and have trouble keeping up in conversations. It really affected my social life. My mood also flipped. I’m usually pretty happy most of the time, but I began to feel anxious and angry over nothing at all. It was hard on my family. I was suddenly no longer the person they’d known their whole lives. We were all scared and confused. It took me about a year, but I started to feel somewhat close to normal again. However, I had no concept of recovery while that was happening. I could only focus on making it to the next day.
During that tough year, one of my best friends from my college team sent me a tweet from US Soccer; it was a call for athletes with cerebral palsy, or who’ve had a traumatic brain injury or stroke, to fill a new women’s Paralympic soccer team. At the time, it was difficult for me to process any kind of information, so my friend actually sent in my application for me. I didn’t expect to hear anything, but eventually, someone from the team called to ask if I’d like to attend a training camp. I ended up qualifying for the US Women’s CP National Team in the IFCPF Women’s World Cup in 2022 (where we won gold!).
I still have lingering effects from the stroke. Sometimes I forget what I’m talking about—although thankfully, those instances are few and far between. No one usually notices! However, I still can get overstimulated and am sensitive to noise, which is kind of funny coming from a loud Italian family. On the field, my balance isn’t great. My left side is less coordinated, which makes me more injury-prone. It’s all kind of new to me, and while I’m still adjusting to what life after my strokes looks like, considering what happened, I’m lucky to be alive.
It’s frustrating knowing this might have been prevented if the hole in my heart had been found earlier, but it’s amazing what my body is capable of now that it’s patched up. I remember the first run I went on post-surgery. I called my mom in shock: Mile after mile, I just kept going and didn’t want to stop. I could finally breathe.
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