Former N.F.L. Player Mitch White Learns to Adjust To Postconcussion Life FORT WORTH - Mitch White watched football last Sunday, a framed New Orleans Saints jersey mounted on a wall over his shoulder at his home. White watches football differently from most people. He likes to analyze the offensive line, fitting for a tackle out of Oregon State who was a sixth-round draft pick of the Saints in 2001. And on most days, at around the hour the early games would reach halftime, White needs to lay down to take a nap. The Saints jersey has its spot, but there were other stops with other teams, too, so many that White sometimes is confused about what order the teams came in and who the coach was. Everywhere it was the same, though. White never played in a regular-season game, always stopped by a freak injury, a newly signed player, or even one extended battle with the staph infection known as MRSA. After that, White asked the Tampa Bay Buccaneers to allocate him to N.F.L. Europe, now defunct, hoping it would help him get back into shape. White was a journeyman backup and practice squad player, perhaps the most anonymous rung in the N.F.L. player hierarchy, trying to hang on to his career. Now, seven years and one crushing hit later, he is one of the more than 3,000 former N.F.L. players who are suing the league over concussions. At 34, White is unable to work and is sometimes so debilitated by migraines that he cannot care for his two young daughters. He takes as many as eight medications at a time to ease his headaches, to smooth his erratic moods, to soothe his sleeplessness. He spends much of his time exploring treatments to find relief that rarely lasts longer than a few days - Botox injections, massage, sensory deprivation. White and perhaps just a few hundred other plaintiffs like him did not enjoy much of the glory or the riches that playing on Sundays usually bring. But they suffered the damage that they believe is the N.F.L."s calling card, too. In White's case, it was one hit at an N.F.L. Europe training camp in March 2005, when a blitzing middle linebacker crashed into the right side of White's head as White was pulling from his right tackle position. That sent him tumbling to the grass, knocking him out for a few moments and altering him so ineffably that his mother said, "When he first came home, it was like my son was gone." To see White now is to get a glimpse of the challenges of living with the effects of a head injury. He looks healthy, back down to his high school weight of 245 pounds, down from his high N.F.L. weight of 335. He and his family live in a comfortable house with a big portrait of their daughters on a mantle, in a well-maintained subdivision. This was a good day, his wife, Jennifer, said, meaning he got some sleep and had restrained himself from physical activity enough - a workout at the gym can set him back for three days. The headache, while there from the moment he woke up, was at least tolerable until midafternoon. But after 90 minutes of talking, White's energy waned. His speech became more deliberate. Sitting on his sofa, he shaded his eyes from the overhead lights in his living room. He gets lost if he drives more than a few miles from home. He and Jennifer were recently out to dinner with friends and after two hours, White said he could not talk or think normally. When they have plans, White said, he will load up on medication and try to get through it. Or they will simply cancel. He used to be really funny, he has told his wife. He misses that, she said. "I try to act normal," White said. I just want to be normal. White did not start playing football until he was 16 as a high school sophomore and he does not remember sustaining any concussions in high school or college. The hit that injured him, White said, was not even the hardest one he had ever taken, although he thought his helmet was not inflated properly. "I tried to stand up, and fell over, I did that like twice," White said, sitting in his living room, which is usually kept cool and dark because heat and light can make his headaches worse. A lot of people have told me - I don't remember like two or three days after that - I guess I walked up to the huddle, I thought I was in the huddle, but I was three feet behind the huddle. All I remember is I went back in, I just remember being in my stance and trying to lift my head up, and it was excruciating. White's odyssey through postconcussion life winds through doctors and hotel rooms, starting first in Tampa, Fla., when he was given Tylenol and Advil for his relentless headache, but still told to go to meetings and watch practice the next day. The nadir came during three months in Birmingham, Ala., where players with longer-term injuries were sent. He was told by one doctor he saw that he had a mild concussion and should be ready to go in another week or so. But he could not sleep. He was made to run at one point, and ended up vomiting. He spent most of his time alone, in a dark hotel room.