Life With Brain Injury, Revisited

 

 

“There is a point at which everything becomes simple and there is no longer any question of choice, because all you have staked will be lost if you look back. Life's point of no return.” - Dag Hammarskjold

This blog was originally envisioned as a one-year project. At the time, even that seemed a lofty goal. In the early days after my injury, I couldn't plan what I'd be able to do six hours in advance, much less commit to a year-long writing exercise. But I decided that making a public statement of intent was a great motivator, so I went ahead and titled it "A Year-Long Project". As you can see, I've altered the description. For some time now I've been tempted to return and continue writing about brain injury. Much has happened during the fallow period between my last post and this one. Relationships have come and gone. My brain has changed in numerous ways. I've learned to adapt. I've studied. So it seemly like it might be a good time to return to this project.

I'm currently working on a doctorate in psychology. It's slow going and has been every so much more difficult than a year-long personal blog, but perhaps not in the ways you'd expect. I'll write more about that in the future. Right now I'm more interested in the idea of return, and 

how you know when you've reached the point of no return.

Every week I see clients who have suffered a variety of cerebral assaults - strokes, epilepsy, TBI, dementia, etc.. They allow me to look, however briefly, into their lives and assess how their brains function. Part of what we do is attempt to determine the level of "premorbid function". Although the term sounds somewhat grisly, "premorbid" just means, "before the injury or illness". In a sense, it is much like what I did when I taught writing. Back then, when I read an essay, I had to read what was written on two levels simultaneously. One one level I was reading the words that were actually written, but on another level I was decoding what the student was really attempting to say. In the best case scenario, those two realities matched fairly closely, at worst it was a guessing game when I had to piece together bits of text, trying to make sense out of shattered sentences and improper word usage.

During a neurological assessment, psychologists attempt to measure both the current level of cognitive function and the previous level. In order to appreciate the after, you must understand the before. I was lucky in that I had documentation in the form of IQ tests that I'd taken in school. Most people don't have baseline tests and so we are left trying to figure out where they starting in order to get an idea of the scope of the injury or illness.

I've seen a few clients recently whose injuries and circumstances were similar to mine. I was reminded of how difficult it was, and is, to find good clinicians who understand and take the time to individualize care. 

And so I return, again and again. As much as I'd like to forget about the fact that I am different now, and as much as I'd like to think that I have "recovered", my life revolves around my injury in one way or another. Looking back affords some sort of understanding. It's an attempt to forge something useful from the loss. Did it work? it's too soon to tell. I'm learning that things are often not what they seem and even more frequently no what I thought they were. The one thing I've learned from my TBI is to not be too sure about anything.

Hopefully I'll be able to look back in a few years and say that all of this was worth it.