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It can take years to accept a loved one’s afterlife, and it may take a decade. I’m not talking about life after death; I’m talking about life after a family member’s brain injury.
The interesting thing about brain injury is being left with a before and after—lifetimes separated by that one moment that changed everything. Last week Nicole and her family set out on an old, but once again new, adventure...
My exposure to brain injury has been a journey in education and life lessons. Connected to the brain injury community by circumstance, coincidence, and the universe speaking (loudly) for the past few years, I’ve learned some things.
It took a few minutes to go over my medical history as we sat in his exam room. He took a few notes, listened to our story, took a few more notes, and asked a question or two. He then looked us square in the eyes and uttered four words. “I can fix you.”
If you are caregiving for a loved one with TBI are you tired of hearing, “Isn’t it a miracle he’s here? Think of all the blessings you have in your life!”
I am a very average “TBI Guy.” I have ongoing memory challenges. Word-finding challenges and aphasia are my constant companions. Add a splash of vertigo and half a cup of tinnitus and you have the perfect recipe for a pretty average post-concussive life. And amazingly, today I am okay with that...
Over the last few months, as my five-year anniversary passed, I felt an internal change. No longer was I simply trying to keep my head above TBI water. A new passion started to stir inside of me...
Recently, life unfolded in a way I never saw coming. The raw, gut-level emotional pain was unimaginable. And for the first time ever, I decided that a topic was too raw, too real, and too emotional to even consider writing about. Until now.
Over the last few years, I have come to the slow realization that there is no way to wholly rebuild a life shattered by traumatic brain injury. There will always be a few pieces that are missing.
Like so many others who share my fate, I get a bit reflective every year around TBI anniversary time. I now allow myself to look to the future with hope, a realistic hope that I will continue to heal. But there was a day that someone stole my hope and left me completely and utterly devastated.
Right before my weekly TBI yoga class, a man was telling me how he wanted to do yoga, to give it a try, but for such-and-such reasons he was afraid he couldn’t do it...
Little did I ever give a thought to the fact that during all those years my brain was quietly remapping in stealth mode. No smoke pouring from my ears, no smell of wood burning, all my healing was happening quietly under the hood.
In the three years since TC’s attack, I have learned a great deal, and chiefly, I have learned what any good writer knows to be true: in life, and in writing, it is essential to revise.
A couple of years ago, I was not sure if I would be able to keep the gears of life turning. Time has shown that while the gears occasionally grind, they are still in motion. I am profoundly grateful for that.
Recovery from a traumatic brain injury is not a spectator sport. By better understanding where my deficiencies were, I would be better able to work on them.
You need a mission. So says Sergeant Bill "Big Sarge" Hansen, a former Marine and a current mentor with the Wounded Warrior Project®. Today Sgt. Hansen has a clear mission: to provide mentorship and support to young veterans carrying the physical and emotional scars of war.
Family life after brain injury? It’s complicated. People walk out of your life without explanation, without just cause, leaving you to wonder what the heck happened.
I feel like I have mastered the face-to-face challenges I used to confront when asked about my health. But it’s my written work that still often causes me angst. Like a human-sized pendulum, I swing back and forth about how much I should share. How transparent is too transparent?
Gretchen Rubin, once wrote, “The days are long, but the years are short.” She was writing about parenting and not traumatic brain injury, but as I reflect on this poignant quote, I realize that as a caregiver, even those seemingly endless days have passed with such speed that I can hardly account for the last three years of my life.
Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, I now see that my family was not fractured. It was slowly being rebuilt as a new kind of family — a survivor family.
Today I live an unfiltered life as my brain injury has essentially wiped away my emotional and verbal filters. No longer does anyone say, “So David, can you tell me how you really feel? These days, I am learning, often the hard way, to say less. ne times.