Noise was emitted from the cold, tiled floor as my foot continually tapped against it. I repeatedly rocked myself forward, anxiously waiting for the doctor to exit the operation room with good news.

"Please let him be all right…please let him be all right."

I had recently made it onto our school's First Team Rugby. Ecstatic, I was determined to never miss a single match. Though my grandfather, whom I recently started living with, wasn't entirely pleased. I had a habit of getting hurt in sport, and rugby – being violent already – induced my injuries.

On the day of my first ever First Team Rugby match; my grandfather had begun to feel extremely weak. I started to worry and feared the worst. However I was determined not to miss my first match of the season. I called a family friend to visit and look after him in the meantime; though the trip would be long and they wouldn't get there for a while.

Little did I know then, that leaving my grandfather alone at home would be catastrophic. For here I sat, in the hospital's waiting room, praying for good news.

I kept tormenting myself with agonising questions – What if you stayed with him? What if you brought him with to the match? But no matter how much I tried, I couldn't shake the feelings of regret. Until, a darting figure caught the corner of my eye…

In a jolt, I hoisted my head up. It was him – my grandfather! He was charging to where the rest of our family waited. Worry clouded his wrinkled face. I was so dumbfounded and bewildered.

If he wasn't in the operating theatre, then who was?

As I called out to him, a door swiftly opened, revealing to us our doctor's presence. My grandfather trembled toward him, his hands shaking with fear.

"How is he?" he inquired.

The doctor shook his head. "I am sorry. There was too much intracranial pressure for him to survive."

Who? For who to survive?

"That's the danger of rugby. You don't know which game could be your last."