Clint Malarchuk woke to dozens of messages and missed calls from friends checking in and media looking for comment on a horrific on-ice event that was eerily similar to the one that haunted him for decades.
Adam Johnson, a 29-year-old forward for the Nottingham Panthers, died after his neck was cut by a skate blade during a game in the Elite Ice Hockey League on Oct. 28. The tragedy recalled Malarchuk’s harrowing near-fatal injury when the Buffalo Sabres’ goaltender was struck in the neck by a skate blade during a goalmouth collision.
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“I have to be really conscious of what’s going on,” he says. “The PTSD is real. It definitely triggers. But I have my tools.”
The stress hit as soon as Malarchuk scrolled through his text messages. He tried to stay away from the details surrounding Johnson’s death, but found that he couldn’t avoid it.
“Total anxiety. I can feel it,” Malarchuk says. “It overwhelms you.”
In February 2008, when Malarchuk first received a barrage of calls about a similar incident, he wasn’t prepared.
Florida Panthers forward Richard Zednik had his neck cut open by the skate of teammate Olli Jokinen, who tripped after being tangled up with Buffalo Sabres forward Clarke MacArthur. Jokinen’s leg kicked up as he fell and the blade cut Zednik’s external carotid artery. Zednik clutched his throat and skated to the bench, followed by a trail of blood.
Reporters wanted to know Malarchuk’s reaction to the gruesome scene, so he relived the ordeal that made him famous: The St. Louis Blues’ Steve Tuttle crashed into Malarchuk, skates first. Malarchuk threw off his catcher and blocker, and clutched his neck. Malarchuk was saved by the quick aid of the team’s training staff and doctors. The gash cut through Malarchuk’s jugular, but stopped a millimeter from his internal carotid artery. The surgeon who performed emergency surgery to close the wound told Malarchuk that he’d narrowly escaped death.
Ten days later, Malarchuk stepped back on the ice, amid the roar of a standing ovation at the Buffalo Auditorium.
The image of Malarchuk clutching his neck in the crease became one of the sport’s most frightening reminders of its potential dangers. The story of his return to the ice 10 days later was glorified; a fable for the fortitude that tough hockey players possess. But long after the ovation faded, Malarchuk suffered from OCD, depression and addiction to alcohol. He endured severe anxiety and panic attacks. Through most of it, he suffered alone — afraid to get help, resisting the efforts of his closest friends.
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Everything intensified after Zednik’s injury.
“I was reliving that accident over and over,” he says. “I had no tools then.”
Malarchuk’s personal life unraveled that year — and he reached a point where panic, suspicion and paranoia overwhelmed him. In October 2008, Malarchuk attempted suicide.
In 2014, Malarchuk and I co-wrote his memoir “The Crazy Game” (published as “A Matter of Inches” in the United States), in which he tells the story of his struggle with mental health, which was compounded by his near-death experience on the ice. After his suicide attempt, he was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder — which was something he assumed that only soldiers and first responders could experience. My text was among the many that bombarded him after Adam Johnson’s death, messages that he at first appreciated but then grew exhausted from as they continued to flood in.
“People are texting me out of concern,” Malarchuk says. “I go from ‘Thanks for thinking of me’ — but as these texts keep coming in, I’m like ‘Would you guys leave me alone — you’re making it worse.’”
The kindness is a double-edged sword, he says. We all remember his injury when something terrible happens, but he lives with the memory every day. A few years ago, Malarchuk’s vivid nightmares of the incident returned. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing, clutching his neck. He returned to therapy to address the recurring visions and hasn’t suffered from them since. He’s hopeful that they’ll stay away.
“It’s big, big anxiety,” Malarchuk says, of learning the details of Johnson’s death. “But I didn’t go into panic mode, which I guess is a testament to the work I’ve done.”
At first, Malarchuk decided that he needed to avoid the requests coming in to speak about his own experience.
“Just take care of yourself,” he thought. “Stay away from this.”
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After resisting requests from media, Malarchuk read an article by The Athletic’s Michael Russo about the kind of person Adam Johnson was and how he’s being remembered by friends and family as they mourn.
“I really feel just terrible for his family,” he says.
He thought of his own mother watching on television as he nearly died in the crease. He thought of the trainers and team physicians who rushed to save his life. The players on the ice, who screamed for help. The fans who watched it all unfold, never able to forget that terrible moment. He thought about how fortunate he was to be alive — and that maybe there is some good he can do, because he is.
There are people impacted by Johnson’s death who won’t be able to process it, Malarchuk says. He worries about them. About how trauma lives inside of people and rises in ways they can’t expect. After speaking about Zednik’s injury, Malarchuk felt overwhelmed by panic and anxiety about issues that had nothing to do with a near-fatal injury. It was as though the feelings became part of his daily life, regardless of what was happening around him. For months leading up to his suicide attempt, he refused help.
“I never processed anything,” Malarchuk says. “I never told anybody about my fears or what I might be feeling.”
When the news cycle fades, the grief for those who lost someone irreplaceable will remain. And the trauma of what many people witnessed will linger, Malarchuk worries, even if it’s not at the forefront.
“What I hope is that maybe people will get some counseling,” he says. “PTSD is real. … Don’t go undiagnosed for 20 years, like me.”
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(Photo of Clint Malarchuk from 2014: Brad Watson / NHL via Getty Images)
