After play the full understanding of what had happened hit me. My bad technique in evasion was down to a lack of courage. I had been lucky that more damage had not been done. While I tried not to show it, others could see just how upset I was. Team psychologist Michael Lloyd was the first to approach me and ask if I wanted to talk about it, so I invited him to my room, where I broke down. I had kept so much to myself throughout recent weeks, but the blow to the head had stirred something in me. After talking to Michael, who was very supportive, the next contact was with Dad. I told him everything I was thinking and that it might be time to call it quits. As stated before, the lows are terrible, and what became consuming was a desire to get out of the bubble and live a more balanced life. Deep down, however, I knew I would fight on. I couldn't walk away and even though I considered it when Darren Lehmann took me aside after the game and said I needed to be clear about whether I wanted to go on, I knew I would keep at it, otherwise I'd have felt a failure. It was with relief that I wasn't asked to do short leg after that, as Joe Burns was drafted in to the team and he took over the role. I was asked to do it in the Ashes series the following year but only for the quick bowlers – a good enough compromise. However my days of being hit on the head weren't over. The first day of training ahead of the Dominica Test against the West Indies proved to be lively. They were bouncing like tennis balls and I could not get a read on it as length balls were going through almost head-high at times, not helped by the local net bowlers having a penchant for loving the short stuff. Finally I decided enough was enough and attempted a rare pull shot, but I was through the stroke too early and the ball cannoned in to the side of my helmet. Not thinking too much of it as it wasn't a particularly fast delivery, I carried on and was hit in the box next ball, sending me over the edge as I whacked the stumps out of the ground in a fit of petulant rage. Doc Brukner had seen me taking one on the helmet and after the net asked how I was, to which I replied fine, although a touch weird. I put that down to the raging heat, and having just spent 30 minutes in my gear and under a helmet. That night I started to feel a little fatigued so went to bed a little earlier than usual, still not thinking anything of it.

The next day we convened for training and the Doc asked to speak to me. His first question about my health elicited the response that I was "just still feeling a little fatigued". What happened next took me completely by surprise. He told me he was ruling me out of the Test as tiredness is an indicator of concussion – and therefore I wouldn't be able to play for at least six days. He then pulled over the captain and coach. While I half-heartedly tried to argue against the verdict, it was clear that once the doctor had said it, there was no way he could then let me play. Initially the reaction was one of incredulity, as I'd been hit in the head numerous times before and this had never happened. I felt like I was a test case for the new concussion ruling. The last thing you want to do is miss a match and give another guy a chance to take your spot … especially when you are 36 years of age. The next day I thought I'd train with the guys and maybe show Peter he'd misdiagnosed. After taking some diving catches from side to side amid some energetic fielding, all of a sudden my vision started to change. I felt this pressure inside my head and my vision started to narrow. Everything peripheral was blurred and it felt like I was looking down a tunnel from further back. Not only that but nausea started to rise – the possibility of throwing up was very real. Something was wrong and there was no denying it. Immediately I stopped and approached the doctor, who seemed very concerned, and sent me home to rest in my room with no light. I'd been hit in the head many times but this time was different. It had been such an innocuous blow and not even that fast, but something was very wrong. Trying hard to help out with 12th-man duties, I tried staying at the ground during the Test but would get very tired very quickly and start to feel sick. The heat was oppressive and almost unavoidable so I would be sent home. I still remember walking through the streets of Dominica alone with Australian team training kit on, wondering what I was doing. Celebrations were had that Test after Adam Voges had played sublimely on debut but I wasn't allowed to drink, and it was the first time not being part of the team during my time with the Australian squad.

The second Test was in Jamaica, where we were advised to stay in the hotel complex due to the danger of wandering off in what is a dangerous city. After about nine days off from training, I joined in for some light running with the guys in the first training session at the ground. Within five minutes, familiar sensations returned and once again my condition went south quickly. It seemed any time the brain was moved or bounced by exercise, I would deteriorate dramatically. It was at this stage I started to become concerned. The doctor had suggested it would take a week or so to clear up, but the symptoms didn't seem to be abating. Querying the doctor about tests, he said there wasn't much point until we got to the UK, which made enough sense to me as once again I was ruled out of the upcoming Test and nothing could be done in the meantime. It was hard to shake the feeling that the symptoms were becoming permanent, in much the same way as when I had a bad back and couldn't move. The mind often deals in worst-case scenarios and mine was no different. It was a depressing time. Eventually the time came to travel to the UK for the Ashes, which was a relief alongside subsiding symptoms. Somehow I managed to get myself set in our first innings in Cardiff – the first Test – and was playing as well as I had for a long time. It was the introduction of Mark Wood that started to cause worries. "Woody" had ridiculous athleticism and agility, which enabled a whippy action. Because of this he managed to get the odd ball to fly – without any noticeable difference in his bowling action, it would be considerably quicker. I couldn't get a feel for him and every now and again a ball would kick or fly past my head. Getting into the 80s I started to play uncharacteristic shots and even top-edged a six off Stuart Broad – my only one in Test cricket. Then I tried to "ramp" a couple of Broad's bouncers over the keeper unsuccessfully and then on 95 played a poor half-cut to Wood and edged behind. Michael Clarke was at the other end and I knew he was furious with me for my lack of discipline – but I had demons running through my thoughts. We lost the game and my dismissal was a key moment. A score of 150 instead of 95 might have been the difference in the result. Heading to Lord's, our batsmen had been written off as performers only on home soil and it made me furious. I felt it was a bit premature, as the same journalists were the ones predicting an Australian victory in the series. After all, one bad game can happen. This, along with the inspiration of playing at Lord's, combined for my best performance for Australia, the one time I batted a full day in a Test.

Going out to bat the next morning, my expectation was that a stiff Jimmy Anderson would serve up a nice loosener. But he isn't one of the best bowlers in the world for nothing and his first delivery was a surprisingly quick bouncer right at my head, which was too quick to evade in my slightly tired state. Turning my head, the ball clattered into the base of the back of the helmet, on the new StemGuard protecting the neck that had been adapted since Phillip Hughes died. I was very fortunate to be wearing it, as it took a fair portion of the impact. The next day was to be one of the weirdest experiences of my life. Starting once more I managed two very good shots in the first over and raced to 49. The next over, stationed at the non-striker's end, I watched as Davey had to deal with a Broad over. After the fourth ball, I turned back to walk into my crease and all of a sudden my eyesight started to bounce. Initially I wasn't concerned: sometimes this happens when you move your head too quickly and then it settles down. However Broad bowled the next ball and it wasn't settling down. It was at this moment I became very worried. Everything seemed to be bouncing side-to-side and there was no way I could face Anderson while this was happening. Finally Broad finished his over and I could hardly stand. Davey immediately realised something was very wrong and told me to sit down and he called for the doctor. As Davey kneeled behind me looking over my shoulder he asked what was wrong, to which I replied along the lines of "Something's wrong with my eyes mate. The pavilion is moving." Davey proceeded to look up at the pavilion, paused and then said, God bless him, "No it's not." The doctor quickly realised I was in no state to continue and told me my innings was done and therefore, I knew, my Test match also. Sitting in the pavilion and then on the balcony to be visible for friends and family I couldn't contact as we had no phones available – one of the rules to stop any possibility of match-fixing – the symptoms happened again that afternoon and again that night. On what turned out to be the last day of the Test as Australia ran through a dispirited England, I was getting an MRI on Harley Street in the city and by the time I'd returned I'd missed out on a lot of the celebrations as many friends, family and celebrities crammed into the change room to enjoy themselves.

Though I was originally scheduled to continue on with the Australian team, the doctor insisted I stay in London for more tests as the MRI hadn't indicated anything. A CT scan was next and once again it showed nothing, so eventually an ear specialist was recommended. It turned out I didn't have concussion at all, but instead bruising to the inner ear, although fascinatingly it was the opposite ear from the side that was struck, as the head was rocked to the side and some sort of reverberation had occurred. It was a huge relief, as one more concussion would have been enough for me, even though I was desperate to keep going. So despite some trepidation, I declared myself fit for Edgbaston, which turned out to be the quickest pitch of the series. We batted first, and after lunch England came out breathing fire, particularly Steven Finn, who had been a teammate at Middlesex. I had pulled him before the break. He didn't like it and now bowled as quick as I'd seen him. His height and pace were difficult to manage. He bowled two bouncers that fizzed past my head. They were so quick I couldn't actually move to avoid them – it was just fortunate they were off target. This was the innings when I knew my time was just about up. The feeling of being stuck as quick deliveries passed close by my head was enough to make me realise I had had my fair share of luck and that it was time to get out. It's not just the games – the nets can be even scarier, especially when it's Mitchell Johnson and Mitchell Starc bowling at you. I was all too aware what could happen following Phillip's passing. The growing fear in me was not subsiding. It was time to admit my age was becoming a factor. The next time I was hit might be one time too many. Bucking the Trend

by Chris Rogers Hardie Grant Publishing Available from Monday. Recommended retail price: $45