http://www.theglobeandmail.com/sport...rticle2187134/

At times, they talked about Mr. Crosby's brain as if he wasn't there himself. Yet Mr. Crosby seemed undistracted. Respectful, he watched and listened as if the experts were only his trusted advisers. He was still the captain of his own ship.
When it was his turn to speak, Mr. Crosby was composed and informative, not seeming to hold anything back. He spoke of how he felt at each stage after his injury. At first, he had felt himself in a fog, he said, as if he was living one step removed from his own life, a spectator to it. Objects around him weren't quite where he knew them to be; once, Dr. Collins related, Mr. Crosby, feeling he was falling, found his body reacting when he wasn't falling at all. Even the flickering images on a TV screen moved too fast for him, making him dizzy – this in someone who had always seen everything so acutely, who at only 24 had seemed somehow to figure out hockey and life. Now, his board had been scrambled. Normal life, his medical people said, would return when, at full exertion, his headaches stayed away. Normal life as Sidney Crosby would return when everything went back into its proper orientation and, when confident of that, he could resume his Crosby-like creating, scrambling the board for everyone else instead.
The medical experts and Mr. Crosby said no one could predict when that would occur. Given where he had been and where he was now in his recovery, and pushed by the media's questions and by their own professional and human hopefulness, they put science to one side and declared that it would happen. Asked if he had played his last game, Mr. Crosby replied without bravado, “I wouldn't bet on that.”

Great read.