mTBI – Like Permanent Jet-Lag

Back to regular life…

Well… I’ve been back in my own time zone for more than 48 hours, and I’m still feeling the burn. It usually takes me about a week at home, till I start feeling like myself again. It’s weird – when I travel outside the States, I acclimate pretty quickly — I’m good to go after a day of acclimation. But when I come home, it’s much, much harder. Strange. Most people I talk to say it’s the other way around for them.

Well, wouldn’t be the first time I was oriented in the opposite direction to everyone else.

Maybe it’s more a question of returning home. The folks I know who do better coming to the States, live outside the States. So maybe it’s the return home that’s the trouble.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this jet lag business, and thinking that given my history and the issues I have on a daily basis, I’m probably more adept at functioning when jet-lagged than most people. The “symptoms” I experience when I’m jet-lagged — foggy head, slowed reaction times, intense fatigue, general disorientation, and feeling just plain “blah” — are pretty much run-of-the-mill for me under normal circumstances. I don’t even have to get on a plane to have a full-blown case. I just need to be off my routine… and push myself… and not be eating right… and have all kinds of stress and troubles… and voila — instant jet-lag! And now for my next trick…

Or, sometimes I don’t even need to do anything. I just live my life like everyone else — which, come to think of it, is full of lack of sleep, not eating right, pushing yourself, and being deluged by a daily dose of stress and strain and troubles. So whether I try it or not, I end up with “walking jet-lag” — kind of like walking pneumonia, where you’ve got fluid in your lungs, but you’re still able to walk around and function.

So, there is some comfort in knowing that I can function under even these kinds of conditions, and it’s not that huge of a deal for me. It’s just business as usual — and then some. Actually, even though I can function, it really truly sucks to have even more strain put on me that keeps me from living my life. I swear, thinking about all the things I cannot do anymore because I am so friggin’ fried from just everyday life… all the things I choose not to do, because getting into social situations or navigating “exciting” night life sets me off and sends me into an anxiety-attack-like catastrophic response and I shut down… I’ve actually given up a LOT over the past years, because A) I lose it if I get into those situations, and B) I don’t feel like watching myself lose it… yet again.  Heck, even something as simple as going to a movie can throw me for a loop, which is not fair to my spouse. Or to me. Or anyone else around us.

So, yeah, I’ve given up a lot of things over the years because I just don’t feel up to them. I’ve started doing a lot more things in the past three years, like traveling for work and going to professional conferences and what-not… but to tell you the truth, I’d rather just stay home, read and study and explore online and write on my blog and watch movies and make a nice dinner to enjoy with my spouse, than go out and deal with crazy-ass people who love drama for the sake of drama.

I really don’t need that. It serves no useful purpose. And it makes me feel even worse than I did before. So there we have it.

Anyway, it’s time to get on with my day. Life is waiting, jet lag or no.

Onward.

Bringing light

Light is where you find it – find more art like this at http://www.atagar.com/bobsGallery/

I’ve been thinking a lot about this holiday season – and all the ways that it’s associated with light. Most of the “big” traditions I know about feature light of some kind, and no wonder — this time of year is when the days become longer, and we literally can celebrate the return of the light. It’s a physiological thing, as well as a psychological and spiritual thing. And it’s well worth celebrating.

I celebrated yesterday by walking deeper in the woods than I have in a long time. Once upon a time, when I first moved to this place, I was out in the woods for most of my waking hours every weekend, rain or shine, good weather or bad. I guess I’ve always been drawn to the forest — it was the one place I felt at home when I was a kid, and there’s something really calming about being in the woods. When I was younger, I wanted to be a forest ranger, until my guidance counselor talked me out of it because it wasn’t “practical”.

Hm.

Anyway, now I get to be my own forest ranger, and I don’t have to worry about government funding cutting me off from my livelihood, so it’s not all bad, the way it turned out. And yesterday I got a good reminder of the things that matter most to me in my life — clean air, fresh water, room to roam, and friendly, like-minded people also sharing the paths.

And I couldn’t help but think about how — for years after my concussion/TBI in 2004 — I couldn’t go into the woods. I just couldn’t. There was too much stimuli there for me. It was either too bright or too dark, or it was too quiet or it was too loud. I got tired so quickly, and when I did, I got confused and anxious. And the idea of interacting with anyone I came across on the paths, was out of the question. I panicked anytime I had to interact with someone who was out for a nice quiet hike like myself. I also got turned around and lost very easily, and since I have never had the best sense of direction to begin with, I would spend hours just trying to find my way back to where I wanted to go. I told myself I was “exploring” but the fact was, I was getting lost and had to keep walking to find my way back.

And half the time, I couldn’t remember where I’d come from. Even reading maps was impossible for me. Especially reading maps.

So, I quit going into the woods. I gave up my forest. And things were very dark and dreary for a number of years. The crazy part was, I told myself it was by choice, not something I was stuck doing, because I was so trapped in anxiety and sensory overwhelm.

What changed it? I think just living my life. Working with my neuropsychologist to just talk through my daily experience. Also, doing my breathing exercises — and exercising, period. And practicing, practicing, practicing some more at the things I wanted to do, until I could do them pretty close to how I wanted to. And learning to not be so hard on myself for being different now than I was before.

I also really paid attention to the times when I saw signs of more functionality — like when I started going on hikes again, after years away from them. Like when I was able to read an entire book, after years of only being able to read short papers — and not understand much of them at all. Like when I gave things my best shot, and found them turning out pretty darned close to how I intended — sometimes even better.

Taking the edge off my anxiety, giving myself a break, focusing on things that were bigger and more significant than my own petty concerns… those helped. Those brought light to my life.

And it continues to get better.

When I think back on how I was, just five years ago, it amazes me. I was so trapped in a dark place, confused and not knowing what was wrong with me. I didn’t understand what was holding me back, I didn’t understand what was stopping me from just living my life. I didn’t understand how confused I was or what I was confused about. I couldn’t discern the different issues I had, because it was all just a dark blob of problems that pulsed like a nebula of hurt and pain and confusion. When I think about how things are now — with so much light and so much more possibility… it amazes me.

There are answers out there, if we look… if we know to ask. There are solutions out there, if we take the time to be clear about what the issues truly are. There is hope out there, when we are willing to take a chance, have some courage, and move on — move on.

As the days lengthen and we roll towards the spring (I know, winter is just now beginning, officially)… as we take this holiday season to step away from the everyday grind and do something different with ourselves… as we try to imagine what else is out there for us… let’s all remember that as dark as it gets sometimes, the night does pass. There is always dawn and a new day, just around the corner.

Yes, let there be light.

Management matters for all those issues

One thing at a time… works

Back to everyday life. Back to my schedule. I’m a big jet-lagged, but not horribly so, as I’ve been in the past. My Christmas present this year is having a full three weeks without crossing paths – in person – with the uber-boss who has it out for me. Keep moving, keep working, keep making that effort… without their interference. And always have a snappy reply when they write about something that is screwed up… because they interrupted me from fixing it with some other “priority” before.

I’m not the only one in our team who has attentional and distraction issues.

But I think I’m the only one who actively manages mine. The uber-boss? They have them big-time. But management strategies and remediation? Nowhere in sight.

Which reminds me, yet again, of how vital it is to manage those issues. I managed my issues aggressively and proactively while I was overseas, and it paid off in a very big way. Now I’m home again (home again, jiggedy-jog) and I need to keep up the good work. Take care of things right away, instead of sitting on them. Manage my time. Keep my energy up. And take breaks when I need to.

Life is a hell of a lot harder in fact than I tend to think it is. And I have a lot more difficulties than I tend to expect I will (with supposedly “simple” things). I am living in this different country, each and every day. Discovering how I am misunderstanding what’s being said… discovering that I need to listen more closely and ask more questions… discovering that I am not being clear, when I think I am at my clearest… and discovering that I am being perfectly clear, when I doubt myself the most. Each day, I walk out into a new world, with my memories telling me one thing, my sensations telling me another, and my hopes and dreams, recollections and regrets speaking different dialects all their own. And life goes on.

I step into the day, I step into the world. I may know what I think I “know” or I may not. I may be right about what I am convinced of, or I may be mistaken. I may have a clear head and a strong heart, only to find that my clarity and strength are working against me or are clear and strong about the wrong things.

In any case, life goes on. And so do I. It is early morning, and with the time change, my head feels like I am already halfway into my day, while my body knows it is still dark outside. Head and heart and body and spirit all have a chance to align in the next two weeks, before the Christmas week activities begin. On it goes. Today I make the most of what I have and what I can.

On it goes.

I’m not necessarily slower – I just have more to think about

Choices, choices…

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about concussion/tbi making you “dumber” – slower, etc. When I had my neuropsychological exam, it became painfully clear that my processing speed was slower than expected. And it really bummed me out for quite some time. Plus, once I was aware that this was happening, it seemed like I couldn’t do anything without being painfully aware that it was taking me a little longer to process things than I (and others) expected it to. For some reason, everybody just expected that I’d be able to respond immediately to their questions or comments or conversation starters. But it just wasn’t happening.

After thinking about this from a bunch of different angles, I had a bit of a revelation this morning. It was something I’ve thought about before (and maybe I’ve written about it before – I can’t remember), but this morning it really made a whole lot of sense:

It’s not that I’m necessarily slower or dumber than I “should” be — or than I used to be. The thing is, after my TBI(s), I became so much more sensitive to a lot of different stimuli, and my brain has to work harder to sort through a larger amount of input, than before. It’s like the injury/-ies put holes in the filters that are usually there, allowing in a whole lot more input and information — sensory, like light and sound and (sometimes) smells and touch/feeling — and all that has to be factored in. It’s like my brain has to work harder to shut those things out, and since concussion/TBI has a way of activating your sympathetic nervous system fight-flight activity, you’re even more alert to all the stimuli around you…. constantly scanning and checking things out and sensing for danger, where it may or may not exist.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who has this.Maybe someone else can confirm/affirm this for me?

Think about it – say you give someone a deck of cards to shuffle and sort. Then you give someone else two decks to shuffle and sort, while they’re having a conversation with someone and an important piece of news is playing on the t.v. behind them. If the two people race to get done with their shuffling and sorting, the person with the two decks of cards are is going to take longer — because they have more to sort through, in the first place. And they have these other distractions going on around them.

That’s what it’s like after concussion/TBI – so of course I’m going to seem “slower” than others — when in fact, my brain is actually working harder, and perhaps even more efficiently than others, because it has so damned much stuff to sort through.

I think this can also explain why folks after TBI have the same IQ level as before, only now their processing speed is slower. I’d like to challenge the idea that processing speed is actually slower, in fact. Because regular measures probably don’t factor in the distractions and added sensitivities that have to be filtered and processed. Heck, if you look at the sum total of all the activity, it could be that post-TBI, your processing speed actually increases — but your brain is so busy trying to sort things out and re-categorize them and figure out what it all means (all over again) and re-learn the old past familiar things… not to mention battle against the rising dismay that things “don’t work like they should” and the wondering “what the hell is wrong with me?!” … that the end result and net effect looks like you’re stupid and slow and not keeping up.

That’s my theory, anyway. Although it’s almost purely anecdotal, it’s consistent with my experience, so I’ll have to go with that.

It’s ironic, isn’t it, that we go through these things that actually make us stronger and more active, but people who don’t understand and don’t share our experience (including researchers and doctors and therapists and other certified experts), will label us as “weaker” and “less active” and “stupid”… all because they just don’t get it, and they can’t see why they should change their opinions.

I’m not sure what it will take to change this, but for the time being I feel pretty good in my own changing understanding, and it’s giving me some relief from that nagging sense of being stupid and slow and (excuse the expression) retarded.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful day, it’s Memorial Day — so, here’s a big THANK YOU to all who have served, and are serving, and to all who have paid the ultimate price out of love and service and duty. I probably wouldn’t be sitting on my back porch watching the dragonflies making their rounds this morning, if you didn’t do what you do. So, again, thank you.

But enough of the talk. It’s time to get into my day and enjoy myself with friends and family. Here’s hoping you can too.

My 10% life

I've decided the glass is half full

Well (knock wood) my new year is off to a good start. I actually did my federal taxes before the end of January — a first for me ever. And I’ve had some incredible experiences at work, lately. Some of my experiences have been downright bad, and I’m not saying it’s been easy, by any stretch. But I’ve had some incredible moments, and I’m hanging onto them.

Someone once said to me recently that “You have to go for the 10% moments.” Which means that 90% of your life may be pretty rough and hard to take, but 10% of the time, you have these moments which are just incredible, and make it all worth it.

That sounds about right.

The thing about those 10% moments is that they’re usually preceded by a whole lot of tough lessons, hard hours, and long days. It’s a good thing the payoff is so amazing — otherwise, my life would just be a series of tough lessons, hard hours, and long days. And I don’t want that.

Then again, if I look at things a certain way, and I choose to overlook the 10% moments, then sure enough, my life turns into a long slog that’s filled with pain and hurt and disappointment. It turns into one injury experience after another.

It all depends on how I look at it, and what I choose to focus on.

And you know, it’s funny – no matter where I look, no matter I focus, I can choose to have whatever reaction to things I want to have. I’ve been really working on my fight-flight reactions, toning them down with a combination of breathing exercises, talking myself out of getting all up in everyone’s face, music I love, and time alone. I’ve also been pushing myself a little more, in some areas, getting myself in the game, even when I don’t want to be.

Like yesterday — I had a really early meeting I had to call into, and I had to get up and get going several hours earlier than I wanted to. I was absolutely dreading the whole meeting — talking to folks overseas, not necessarily understanding what they were saying, trying to overcome not only the cultural differences but also time differences and discussions about some topics that were pretty touchy. I just did not want to do the call.

But I did. I rallied at 5:15 a.m. and got my butt on the phone by 5:45. And the end result of the call was that it went 30 minutes longer than planned, and we were all on the same page, discussing things in a really positive light. What started out as a chore and trial, turned into a pretty big deal, with some excellent stuff coming out of it, that’s going to last us for several months.

Goodwill, cooperation, collaboration, and pro-active decision-making. All good.

And I’m really glad I pushed myself hard yesterday morning. I could have just dialed in and sat back and not participated in the call at all. I could have kept to myself, put myself on mute, and waited for everyone else to speak up. But I just got in there. And even though I had some moments where I was really struggling for words and to organize my thoughts, and I started to panic — all the thoughts got jumbled up in my head and I couldn’t put two coherent words together, a couple of times — I just kept going. I pretended none of that had happened, and I got my focus back on the central idea I was trying to get across. Close calls — but just part of the deal.

And in the end, that 90 minutes of (sometimes nerve-wracking) intensity produced some great steps that a number of people can take to step up their/our performance, and the outcome is going to be a whole lot more impressive than my stumbling around and struggling to find words.

Anyway, I’m not sure that my stumbling really worked against me. After all, I was on a call with a bunch of people, many of whom didn’t speak English as a first language, and who struggled, themselves, with putting their thoughts and words together. So, it all worked out.

And I had my 10% moment — and then some.

It’s good.

One concussion, two concussions, three concussions, four…

I had a meeting with my neuropsych last week, when we talked about my concussive history. I had read the article by Malcom Gladwell in the New Yorker called Offensive Play, and I had some questions about how my past might have made me more susceptible to tbi, later in life.

I was wondering aloud if my rough-and-tumble childhood (when falling and hitting my head and getting up and getting back in the game ASAP were regular parts of play), might have brought me lots of subconcussive events, like so many impacts on the football field. I checked in with my neuropsych, and they had me recap from the top, all the head injuries I could recall. My recollection and understanding of them was considerably better than it was, just six months ago. What came out of it was the determination that I’d had enough genuine concussions to do a fair amount of damage to myself. Forget about subconcussive events; the concussive events sufficed to cause plenty of problems, on their own.

It kind of threw me off for a day or two, and I got pretty stressed out and ended up pushing myself too hard, and then melted down in the evening. Not good. It’s hard, to hear that you’re brain damaged. It’s not much fun, realizing — yet again — that you haven’t had “just” one concussion, but a slew of them. And considering that I’m in this new job where I have to perform at my best, it really got under my skin. It’s taken me a few days to catch up on my sleep and settle myself down, after the fact. But I’m getting there. My past hasn’t changed, nor has my history. I’m just reminded of it all over again…

All told, I’ve sustained about eight concussions (or concussive events) that I can remember. Possible signs of concussion (per the Mayo Clinic website) are:

• Confusion
• Amnesia
• Headache
• Dizziness
• Ringing in the ears
• Nausea or vomiting
• Slurred speech
• Fatigue

Some symptoms of concussions are not apparent until hours or days later. They include:

• Memory or concentration problems
• Sensitivity to light and noise
• Sleep disturbances
• Irritability
• Depression

I experienced most of these (except for nausea and vomiting, and not so much slurred speech, that I can remember) during my childhood and teen years. Not surprising, considering that I had a number of falls and accidents and sports injuries over the course of my childhood.

It’s pretty wild, really, how those experiences of my childhood contributed to my difficulties in adulthood — especially around TBI. I’ve been in accidents with other people who had the same experience I did, but didn’t have nearly the after-effects that I suffered. For them, the incident was a minor annoyance. For me, it was a life-changing concussion. A head injury. TBI. Brain damage. Geeze…

Thinking back on the course of my life, beyond my experiences with the accidents that didn’t phaze others but totally knocked me for a loop, I can see how the after-effects like fatigue and sensitivity to light and noise, really contributed to my difficulties in life. It’s hard to be social and develop socially, when you can’t stand being around noisy peers (and who is as noisy as a gaggle of teens?). It’s hard to learn to forge friendships with girls — who always seemed so LOUD to me(!) — or hang with the guys — who were always making loud noises, like blowing things up and breaking stuff — when you can’t tolerate loudness.

And when you don’t have the stamina to stay out all night… It’s a wonder I did as well as I did, as a kid. Of course, I was always up for trying to keep up – I was always game. And I wanted so very, very badly to participate, to not get left behind, to be part of something… That kept me going. I was just lucky to have people around me who were kind-hearted and intelligent and tolerant of my faults and limitations.

Anyway, I did survive, and I did make it through the concussions of my childhood. I have even made it through the concussions of my adulthood.  And I’m still standing. I didn’t get any medical treatment for any of these events, and the most help I ever got was being pulled from the games where I was obviously worse off after my fall or the hard tackle, than I’d been before.

But one thing still bugs me, and it’s been on my mind. During my high school sports “career, ” I was a varsity letter-winning athlete who started winning awards my freshman year. I was a kick-ass runner, and I won lots of trophies. I also threw javelin in track, and by senior year, I was good enough to place first and win a blue ribbon in the Junior Olympics. Which is great! I still have the blue ribbon to prove it, complete with my distance and the date. But I have no recollection of actually being awarded the ribbon, and I barely remember the throw. I’m not even sure I can remember the event or the throw. It’s just not there. It’s gone. And it’s not coming back. Because it was probably never firmly etched in my memory to ever be retreivable.

I’ve never thought of myself as an amnesiac, but when it comes to my illustrious high school sports career, when I was a team captain and I led my teams to win after win, I have all these ribbons and medals and trophies, but almost no memory of having earned them.

Which really bums me out. What a loss that is. When I hear Bruce Springsteen’s song “Glory Days” I feel a tinge of jealousy that the guy he’s singing about can actually recall his glory days. I can’t. And that’s a loss I deeply feel, mourn… and resent. Seriously. It sucks.

This could seriously mess with my head. And sometimes it does. But on the “up” side, it might also possibly explain why I’ve been such a solid performer over the years, in so many areas, yet I can’t seem to get it into my head that I am a solid performer. My memory of having done the things I did, in the way I did them, is piecemeal at best, and utterly lacking at worst. So, even if I did do  well, how would I know it, months and years on down the line? How would I manage to form a concept of myself as successful and good and productive and inventive and trustworthy, if I have little or no recollection of having been that way in the past?

It’s a conundrum.

But I think I have an answer — keeping a journal. Keeping a record of my days, as they happen, and really getting into reliving my experiences, while they are still fresh in my mind. If I can sit down with myself at the end of a day or a week, and recap not only the events of the past hours and days, but also re-experience the successes and challenges I encountered, then I might be able to forge memories that will stay with me over time. If nothing else, at least I’ll be making a record for myself that I can look back to later. And I need to use colors to call out the good and the not-so-good, so I can easily refer back to the date and see where I had successes and failures along the way.

Most important, is my recording of successes. I’m so quick to second-guess myself and assume that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. And when I think back to the times when I overcame significant difficulties, I often lose track of the memory before I get to the end of the sequence I followed to succeed.

But I cannot let that situation persist. I need a strategy and a practice to reclaim my life from the after-effects of way too many concussions. I’m sure there are others in life who have had it far worse than me, but some of my  most valuable and possibly most treasured experiences are lost to me for all time, because I have no recollection of them.

No wonder my parents often start a conversation with me with the sentence, “Do you remember ________?”

Disaster at Sea – My ill-fated encounter with “Life of Pi”

Some years back, my parents gave me the book Life of Pi for a present. It’s the story about a guy from India whose ship goes down at sea, and he ends up in a lifeboat at sea with a bunch of wild animals (that had been on the ship) with him in the boat, and how he manages to survive the voyage with a tiger on board. I guess my folks thought I would enjoy it, since I work in technology and I have a lot of dealings with folks from India on a regular basis. Plus, it was full of interesting facts about animals and zoos and …  I’m not sure what else, because I couldn’t finish the book. Bottom line is, it was just the kind of book I loved as a kid, and they seemed to think I’d really get a kick out of it.

In retrospect, some Benadryl would have done me more good in improving the quality of my life. I know my folks were only trying to help me entertain myself, but my attempt at reading the book — about a year after my fall in 2004 — was so ill-fated, it stands as an excellent example of what TBI has done to my thought process and memory… and how that affects my ability to read, remember, and make progress with written material. It also highlights how TBI has utterly stripped me of one of the great joys of my past life — engrossing, fact-filled fiction that educates as well as entertains.

If you’ve read Life of Pi, you know that it is rich in detail and the action is pretty cerebral — it’s perfect for my parents, who are very heady types and love to noodle around with ideas that intrigue them. It used to be perfect for me, too, but from my very first attempt at reading the book, it became pretty clear that something was different with me. I started reading and got pulled into the backstory… the early years of the protagonist in India, his upbringing, his experiences, and how he ended up on a ship with a bunch of animals on it.

I did prett well for the first 20 pages or so, but I found that the farther into the book I got, the more turned around I got. I thought I was following, but things were starting to not make much sense. There’s a lot of information in there about animals and India and zoos, and the action switches between a lifeboat at sea and a house in — I think — Toronto, Canada. And the more information that was packed into the storyline… the more references there were to past info that I “should have” remembered… the more confused and frustrated I got.

Once upon a time, I would have really thrived on this sort of writing. It read like a wave of accumulating detail, each page building on past pages of information, insight, cross-reference, and so on. Talk about a recipe for TBI disaster! Before long, I was totally lost. I couldn’t keep track of who was doing/saying what… which animals were in the boat… what the main character was talking about… if it was in the present or the past, or wherever. It was the supreme WTF?! reading experience for me, and I had to keep back-tracking to refresh my memory about who was who and what they were doing and why they were doing it. Here’s a picture of how my reading experience went:

It was really very frustrating. There I was, with this book in hand that my parents were sure I would just love — and just a few years before, I probably would have. But I kept getting so confused and so turned around by the details and losing my place and running out of steam and not being able to concentrate and not being sure what was happening and why I should care… it took me months and months just to move a few pages ahead, and even when I was making good progress, I would have to retrace my steps, check details earlier in the story, and then slog on through, trying to pick up where I’d left off.

Eventually I just gave up and left the book on my bedside stand.

My intention was to pick it up again and finish reading it, but time passed, I lost track of even more details about the story, and ultimately I had to hide the book — out of sight, out of mind — that danged reminder/hint that something was wrong with my brain.

The wild thing was, it didn’t even occur to me that I might be having genuine cognitive problems reading and comprehending and remembering. I thought that the book was the problem. “It just didn’t hold my attention,” I told myself. “It was obscure. Obtuse. Disconnected.” Or somesuch. I didn’t stop to think that it was my brain that was having the problem — it was the book… all about the book. Oh, no – the problem couldn’t possibly be with me!

I spent the next year or so dodging questions from my folks about how I liked the book. I gave them some vague answer — like I have done my entire life, when they’ve asked me about things or tried to talk to me about things that I was foggy or confused about. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I couldn’t finish it. I couldn’t tell them that I’d become hopelessly lost, a quarter of the way into it, and I just didn’t have the stamina or the patience to slog through the ordeal of  — from the way they described it — a pleasant and entertaining read. I didn’t want them to feel badly — for me, or for themselves. They had been so sure I would love the book, and in a former incarnation, I’m sure I would have. But that kid they once knew was gone, and in their place was this overtired, cranky, easily confused, easily provoked wild person with a hair-trigger temper.

Crazy. Just crazy.

Eventually, I gave the book away — I almost made the mistake of giving it back to them for a holiday present. Thank heavens I at least remembered where the book came from, so I didn’t have to dig myself out of that embarrassing situation. It’s bad enough losing something that meant so much to me once upon a time — my love of fiction — but having to explain it to people who don’t perceive or understand that loss is a recipe for despair. And I’m not going there, if I don’t have to.

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TBI and Fibromyalgia

I just found this blog talking about Fibromyalgia and TBI — Fibromyalgia Haven. This is of real interest to me, as this may be an issue for me, as well. I’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff over the years, including debilitating, chronic pain, but I never seriously dug into the fibromyalgia piece of it. I was provisionally diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder, back in 1987, after I started having a skin rash and intense joint pain, confusion, and various problems. It was also after a car accident that scrambled my thinking (I couldn’t understand what people were saying to me — I was intensely confused), and I ended up quitting my job so I could devote myself to drinking full-time.

Over the years, I have coped with the pain in various ways, primarily through what I call “analgesic stress,” and it’s been more or less effective. I just tend to block out the pain, now, after never getting any substantive help from doctors for my problems. I know folks with “fibro” but I never really considered it might be a factor with me — until I recently came across info about skin rashes coming with fibro. That rash that wouldn’t respond to ointments was what led doctors to diagnose me with that other condition — which was never substantiated by any of the many (and I mean many) blood tests I took over the years.

I don’t have time to go into this now, but I did want to link to the blog, for your reading enjoyment.