The hurt of the hidden wound

Got a tip about this article today. Good reading – check it out.

It was July 4, 2009 when Lieutenant Colonel Stewart Hill had his independence taken away from him. But he doesn’t remember much of what happened on that hot, dusty Saturday, and has no recollection at all of the moment the lights went out on his former life for ever.

His last memory was of a Chinook helicopter rising from a ploughed Afghan field. It carried the lifeless body of 18-year-old Private Robert Laws and other injured men of the Light Dragoons and 2 Mercian, victims of an attack with rocket-propelled grenades by the Taliban. After that, the gaps have to be filled in by others.

Read the rest here >>

Author: brokenbrilliant

I am a long-term multiple (mild) Traumatic Brain Injury (mTBI or TBI) survivor who experienced assaults, falls, car accidents, sports-related injuries in the 1960s, '70s, '80s, and '90s. My last mild TBI was in 2004, but it was definitely the worst of the lot. I never received medical treatment for my injuries, some of which were sports injuries (and you have to get back in the game!), but I have been living very successfully with cognitive/behavioral (social, emotional, functional) symptoms and complications since I was a young kid. I’ve done it so well, in fact, that virtually nobody knows that I sustained those injuries… and the folks who do know, haven’t fully realized just how it’s impacted my life. It has impacted my life, however. In serious and debilitating ways. I’m coming out from behind the shields I’ve put up, in hopes of successfully addressing my own (invisible) challenges and helping others to see that sustaining a TBI is not the end of the world, and they can, in fact, live happy, fulfilled, productive lives in spite of it all.

8 thoughts on “The hurt of the hidden wound”

  1. It is so interesting that many of us TBI survivors are so different than others.

    I have my senses of taste and smell unchanged from before the TBI.

    I lost eight weeks of my life. My last memory is about 10 minutes before the accident. My next memory was Father’s day. My VP stopped by for a visit and I remember one comment he made. I am told all five of my stepchildren were there…I remember nothing. I was flown from Albuquerque, NM to Denver, CO in a private ambulance plane. I have pictures of me being loaded onto a gourney, then into an ablulance and then nothing. Two weeks after Father’s day I got an NP to let me go home. Today I don’t think that was such a good idea…but how was I to know?

    Like Stewart Hill, I believe who I was before the accident/TBI died that day. My challege today is to come to understand who I am now and how to preserve my family and some semblance of who I was.

    The very best to Stewart, Melissa and their children!!!

    Stuart

    Like

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