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Last week I was late with WYFP and so didn't have a chance to write anything substantive. I don't think that hurt anything, but I wanted to make up for it this week by actually describing an actual effing problem of mine. I'm sorry this is a little bit long; I won't be at all offended at all if you skim by it to post your own FP. :-)
I have a history of mild traumatic brain injuries (concussions), mostly from falling off horses, the most serious one in 1997. According to the Brain Injury Association, 1.5 million Americans suffer brain injuries each year, and I thought I'd try to describe my experience. You may know and love someone with a similar problem.
In fourth or fifth grade health class, oh about 1989, we were taught that every time you hit your head pretty hard 10,000 brain cells die, and brain cells
never grow back. This wasn't precisely true (in the decade and a half since, scientific understanding of the brain has grown by leaps and bounds), but it made an impression on me. It worried me actually, because I was a socially incompetent
oddball and I felt that the one thing I had going for me was my brain. I was unnerved contemplating its fragility.
When I was in 7th grade I fell in gym class and my skull met the concrete floor with a loud crack. I was sent to the nurse's office. I felt a bit woozy. The nurse sent me back to change out of my gym clothes, and while changing I became overpoweringly dizzy and sleepy; I collapsed and passed out for a few minutes. I came to very disoriented when several girls walked by, talking. My mom came and picked me up, and our family doctor said I'd be okay.
My mom doesn't even remember that; having been assured that I would be just fine, I guess she put it out of mind. The brain itself is hidden, and the symptoms of its injury aren't necessarily obvious. They often resemble common psychological problems, and since I already had a history of troubles, nobody made the connection when my depression and anxiety became acute and I had severe insomnia and daytime sleepiness, and uncharacteristic poor motivation at school. This was an incredibly devastating period for this and other reasons. I had at least two or three other mild head injuries in the following years, from falling off horses--the occasional riding lesson was my chief joy in life.
Away from home for the first time at college, I somehow (this still amazes me) convinced my parents to let me buy a horse with some of my school money. Darty was a great dream come true. But he had a paranoia of riding in wide-open spaces and was the most difficult-to-stop runaway I'd ever known. One day in February, 1997 he took off at 35-40 mph toward a gate with a patch of concrete in front of it; I don't remember what happened exactly, but I think when he didn't slow I thought he was going to jump, and when he skidded to a stop I came off.
If it knocked me out it was only for a few seconds. I dimly remember extreme disorientation, and a kind of mental slowness. When I sat up I saw a horse standing in front of me, reins dangling, and it was obvious I'd fallen off. But I didn't remember the horse, or the ride. I reached for the reins, but felt no motivation to get up. Someone up at the barn had seen what had happened, and arrived in a few minutes to find out if I was all right. When I told her I really didn't know how I'd gotten there, and didn't remember owning a horse, she helped me up, helped me walk back (nothing broken, but I was awfully sore), took Darty's tack off and put him in his stall, and drove me to the hospital.
Apparently we waited a good 3 hours in the ER waiting room. When I was finally admitted they put my neck in a foam collar and gave me oxygen, and I think DMSO by IV. I had both retrograde and anterograde amnesia; meaning I couldn't remember the past few months and I couldn't properly form new memories. I talked with my mom on the phone a few times, and it would go something like, "Hi mom--I fell off my horse!!" "Yes I know honey, we talked half an hour ago and I know all about it. How are you feeling?" "We did? Sore but okay; I'm in the hospital." "I know you are, I'm glad to hear you're okay. You know, I'm not so sure that damn horse was a good idea..." "I have a horse?!" Every time, it was like waking up to find my fondest dream realized!
I spent the night in the hospital and in the morning was visited by a doctor, who quizzed me on his name. I couldn't remember ever having met him before, but "Rudy" came to mind (see, I still remember, even). He asked me some other things, and began provoking me about environmentalism; I reflexively argued with him, feeling muddled and surprised he knew to pick that topic. But he was satisfied (albeit disapproving of my politics), and I remember exactly what he said: "Well there's nothing wrong with you that wasn't wrong before." He gave me a head injury information sheet and said to get in touch if I had too many migraines.
I was not okay; I was not even okay enough to have any accurate sense of how not-okay I was. I was sleeping an inordinate amount, I was barely caring for myself, I was totally disorganized and a terrible slob though I'd formerly been compulsively neat, I was deeply depressed and often weepy, I had quite poor judgment, I was struggling to get to classes, to stay awake and pay attention in class, and was doing a very minimal amount of studying. When the end of the semester rolled around I got so confused about the final exam schedule that I missed two exams (both professors graciously let me take them later; I failed a fencing class I hadn't showed up for often enough and a class I didn't manage to write a final paper for). I actually thought all this was because of clinical depression, and so did my parents because that's what we'd been told in the past, and we'd believed I'd be fine after the head injury. I made the difficult decision to move back home.
It wasn't till 2001, after painful struggles and repeated school and work failures (and a couple more minor concussions for that matter), and much self-blame and blame from my parents and others, that I finally began investigating traumatic brain injury and came to understand what had happened, and that I had some permanent effects, particularly executive function (motivation--unless it's something I feel enthused about, I need a lot of reminders and prodding to get anything done), problem-solving, making decisions or planning, attention, concentration, and working memory, organizing thoughts, poor sense of time and difficulty following schedules, lethargy, mental fatigue and slow processing.
These are ordinary problems that everybody probably has to some extent and at some times; people quite often suggest that I'm clinically depressed. But this brain injury related "pseudodepression" isn't necessarily mood-related, and it doesn't wax and wane; I've had these symptoms continuously for years.
Brain injury is sometimes called a "silent epidemic." It's very common for individuals, their families, and their employers (and unfortunately, still even health professionals) not to understand how a brain injury has affected them; the symptoms are hidden in plain sight. Usually the injured person heals over a period of weeks or months (therapy is available which can optimize recovery) and functions normally again. The brain is actually pretty remarkably plastic and adaptive. But a worse injury, or multiple mild injuries, will have long-term effects. The Brain Injury Association says that a little more than 2% of Americans live with brain injury-related disabilities, including a great many with significantly worse effects than mine.
The problems I've had are significant though, and when I realized that all those failures weren't my fault, it was a great relief, though I felt angry about all the suffering I'd gone through from being blamed and blaming myself. And I felt I'd lost some parts of the person I had been, which I initially grieved over. I was also worried for my future, since the problems I still had could be expected to remain with me.
I only came to understand what the matter with me was because, out of deep frustration, I eventually figured it out for myself, and I was able to seek professional evaluation and various kinds of help, including through a Vocational Rehabilitation agency. I'm seeking Social Security Disability. Most importantly, I've been able to explain to my loved ones what the matter really is with me, so that they have a better idea of how to be kind rather than cruel. And after all that anxiety, I feel okay about who I am. None of us is the person we thought we were in fifth grade. Wow, thank goodness.
More info at the Brain Injury Association
P.S. General notice to theist and non-theist kossacks: all true supporters of the progressive agenda shall break their eggs at the convenient end.
P.P.S. Yes the double entendre in the title is intentional.