What happened in the field that day

Here’s what I remember:

I was about 8 years old and I was playing up at a field near my family’s house. I was with my younger sibling. The field lay right between two different neighborhoods, and we never went into the other neighborhood by ourselves. We rarely went there at all, period. We were playing about 50-100 feet from the entrance on our side of the field. The line of garages that flanked the alley on the other side of the field were behind us, and we were facing the direction that our one-way street went.

The field was bounded on the other side by a high (maybe 20-foot) chain link fence, and our side was the only “real” entrance to the area.

My sibling and I were there by ourselves for a little while, then two kids appeared on the other side of the field. They crawled under the bottom edge of the fence, slipping through a depression in the ground and looked over at us.

We looked over at them — I’m not sure if we called over to them and said hello. I’m not sure if we even acknowledged their presence.  I suspect we didn’t. The kids weren’t supposed to be there — they had crawled under a fence that was built to keep them out, after all. As I recall, we decided to mind our own business and keep playing.

The kids called over to us a couple of times, but we ignored them and just kept playing. Then they started yelling at us — calling us names. We didn’t respond, and after a while they started throwing rocks at us.

At first the rocks didn’t fall very close to us. It was a bright afternoon, and we wanted to play. We decided we were going to stay put. My sibling wanted to go home and pulled at me to go back home. But I said we needed to stay. Or maybe I just thought that, and my sibling just went along with me. Our dad was really into standing your ground and not backing down from your position, if you were threatened, and I wanted to make my dad proud of me and not give in to bullies. I remember the thought going through my head, that we needed to stand our ground and not just run away.

Several rocks fell closer and closer to us. I think the other kids threw 3 or 4 rocks before they got close. While they were throwing the rocks at us, I remember them laughing and urging each other to get closer. I remember focusing on just ignoring them and not being intimidated by them. It didn’t occur to me that I could be hurt — or maybe I didn’t care?

After a number of times of trying to hit us, they succeeded. I remember the distant feeling of a rock hitting my head — then everything went dark.

The next thing I remember, was looking up to see my sibling sitting beside me, crying. They hovered over me, tears streaming down their face, looking terrified.

I remember being really dazed and foggy as I came to. But I did finally know we needed to go home. The kids on the other side of the field were laughing and cheering that they’d hit me, and when we left the field they were jeering at us. I remember feeling like I’d failed, like I’d given in to being bullied, and I was really disappointed with myself.

I recall being wobbly and woozy on the way home, and my sibling was very upset and crying the whole way there. I was embarrassed by the display of emotion. I wanted to be stoic and take it like a grown-up. I didn’t want to be injured. I didn’t want to be woozy. I didn’t want to be wobbly. And I certainly didn’t want to cry.

When we got home, I remember my sibling telling our mom and dad what had happened. I was embarrassed that I’d been hurt and needed attention, and I was upset that I worried them. I remember Dad telling me to lie down on the couch, and he looked at my head — I don’t remember bleeding — but I recall that I did have a huge lump on my head.

The bump on my head was above my hairline, which made it difficult for my mom and dad to see where I was hurt. The bump was pretty prominent, and they got some ice to put on it, which hurt, because the edges of the ice cubes were hard and felt sharp. I really just wanted to not attract attention and not be fussed over. I just wanted the whole experience to go away, so  wouldn’t worry everyone. My sibling was so upset and crying, our mom had to take them out of the room and get them away from me.

My parents called a friend of theirs who was a registered nurse, and she told them to get a flashlight and check my eyes for any dilation. I seem to remember something about them not being sure if my pupils were dilated or not, but in any case, they had me lie on my left side, facing the back of the couch, and put ice on the bump.

I remember I was so tired, and I wanted to sleep, but my dad made sure I stayed awake. I remember him looking in my eyes several times to see if I had a concussion, and both my parents discussed whether or not I should go to the hospital. If I remember correctly, my dad said he didn’t think I had a concussion, so they didn’t take me.

Things were very foggy for me, after that. And I recall not being allowed to play much, in the coming days.

It wasn’t long after that, that I noticed that the moon was double, when I looked up at it, at night. When I told my parents this, they were alarmed and took me to the eye doctor.

Wrong doctor, I think…

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Lost to TBI: My Lifelong Love of Reading Fiction

One of the things I have progressively lost over the past several years since my tbi at Thanksgiving, 2004, is something I never, ever thought I’d part with: my love of reading fiction.

I grew up reading and loving to read. My parents were — and still are — avid readers. Especially fiction. My mom leads the way with fiction, but my dad is usually not far behind. He’s more partial to personal accounts of adventure and exploration, but he still goes for fiction at times — preferably with a moral to it. Mom doesn’t care whether there’s a moral or not. So long as it’s a book, she’s happy.

So was I. I always shared my parents’ love of books, especially fiction. I grew up with my nose buried in a book, and I actually learned more about life and language and what it means to be human from books than from real people and events. I adored fantasy fiction. Stories about ordinary people in extra-ordinary conditions. Short stories, long stories… novellas and novels and epics (I used to love James Michener, especially). I would tear through books, when I was kid, like a starving kid with a sack full of Halloween candy. Many of my favorite books I’ve read over and over and over again, not caring if I recognized the plot and knew how it ended. I just loved to read!

Until the past few years, that is. Since my fall down the stairs in 2004, this has changed dramatically.

Now reading just about anything that’s over 10 pages is a chore. It’s difficult for me to do. What was once effortless when I was younger, has become very time-consuming and resource-intensive. I really have to work at following the sentences and words and remembering, from one chapter to the next, what’s happening.

It’s disheartening and frustrating, and it embarrasses me. It didn’t used to be like this. But now it is.

I try to carve out time for reading, but I always seem to get pulled off to something else. I get distracted and I cannot finish what I start. Or, I try to read while my partner is watching t.v.,  but I cannot focus, and I get very upset with myself.

I check out lots of books from the library (on impulse) with every intention of reading them, but I only get part-way into them, before I either get distracted or I get overwhelmed with the information, and I have to step away

I tend to forget I have a certain book on hand, then I’ll remember that I have it and get excited and start to read it… but I won’t finish it, because I get overwhelmed with the details, I lose track of what’s going on, and the disorientation ruins whatever soothing effect the book might have for me.

My friends and family, knowing the old me, give me books for the holidays and my birthday, but I can’t get through them. I feel awful because they really want to give me presents I’ll enjoy, and they want to share their experiences with the books with me, but I can’t manage to finish them, or even read enough to hold a decent conversation with them. I might enjoy having the books they give me, but I often cannot seem to bring myself to read – it’s too frustrating and disheartening. My home and my study are full of books I’ve only partly read.

Nowadays, it’s very seldom that I’ll actually finish a book I start, whether it’s fiction or non-fiction. Every once in a while, I’ll manage to complete a non-fiction book about something that affects me personally. Fiction is pretty much out of the question for me. I become highly agitated by the characters’ experiences and choices, and it’s uncomfortable for me to be subjected to their drama. I become impatient with them and cannot sustain an interest in anything that happens to them. Non-fiction gets my juices flowing, but I often get turned around and can’t keep the facts straight, and I end up confused and frustrated and down on myself. Even topics I used to love and authors I used to read voraciously, hold my attention for only so long.

Because my attention tends to wander (if I lose interest or I lose my “info buzz”), I try to stick with higher level research, since it holds my attention and really stimulates me. I do a lot of research on the internet – medical, especially. With the world wide web, I can bookmark (or save) the pages I’m reading and come back to them later. I can print them, too, for future reference, which is important to me. Although, after I print them out, I often forget that I have them, and I’ll end up printing out multiple copies of the same article that really excited me when I first found it. My hard drive is my saving grace. Having copies on my computer reminds me where I’ve been and what I’ve been reading, and when my bookmarks get to be too much to sort through, I can look at my carefully organized hard drive folders and see what I’ve already got in there. Then I can make a note that I don’t need to save another copy.

I still love to read… some things, anyway. I stick more with magazine articles and research papers and web pages. And even with them, I often need to go back and re-read them. It’s not that I don’t understand them. I do! I just get the facts and figures turned around, and I need to refresh my memory and make sure I understand what’s in them.

This is a huge loss for me. Or, rather, it would be if it still meant something to me. Nowadays, I’m happy just to get through the day without a major catastrophe. Reading — which used to be a necessity I could not survive without — has become a luxury for my leisure time… whenever I have it.

TBI Benefit #27 – An increased refund from the IRS

I got a surprising letter today – actually it came yesterday, but I was napping and resting most of the day, so someone in my household brought the mail in, opened it up, and left it for me on the kitchen counter. Lo and behold, the refund I’d calculated for my 2007 taxes (I filed for an extension and did an estimate, which was conservative — I took all the deductions I could legally take, according to TurboTax, and along the way, when I found some other deductions I was pretty sure I could take, but wasn’t 100% certain, I just didn’t include them. Now the IRS is telling me that they owe me a bigger refund — probably by a couple hundred dollars, since I don’t have my tax returns in front of me.

You don’t hear that every day!

My strategy of claiming less deductions than I suspected I was owed paid off… for now. I actually found some other earnings that I’d completely missed when I filed my estimated taxes, so my refund may actually be lower, but the habit of being more conservative and less hasty worked out for me. Playing it safe, with the understanding that I could be completely wrong in my math, soothes me and gives me something to fall back on. In any case, my thinking about things tends to get fuzzy and I tend to lose my train of thought, so I don’t dwell too intensely on tax anxiety.

I guess my attitude towards taxes is very different from most folks’ — I believe in paying them and paying my fair share. Yes, there are a lot of places my tax monies go that I don’t agree with, but all in all, the tax burden here is far less than in many European countries, PLUS I get a whole lot more freedom here, than anywhere else, so I figure it all evens out. I pay my way. TBI or no, I pay my way.

I like my roads paved and plowed. I like having elected officials. I like the fact that children of poor people have access to milk and cheese and other WIC resources. I’m not one to judge others for “gaming the system” — too many people do it in too many ways for me to get started on that, and it just confuses me. Our governmental system, say what you will, makes it possible for us to live in an amazing country that people are literally dying to get into.

Yes, I pay my taxes.

Paying taxes for me, is actually an important symbolic thing. Sure, I slip up sometimes and have to file for extensions. And sometimes I’ve messed up and even missed the extension deadline. But I do pay up, because being able to participate and contribute to this country is not something I take for granted. I’m a very different person from most folks, and my abilities are varied and my disabilities are often hidden, so the times when I can participate as a “normal” person… pitch in and help out… do my fair share… help make a difference, in however small a way… well, I take that opportunity.

I think a lot of “neurotypical” people take things for granted that mean so much to so many of us who are on the margins — by chance, trick of fate, or horrible accident. I think people tend to take for granted the ability to go out and get a job, the ability to participate in casual conversations, the ability to meet other people and be active in their communities. I think that a lot of regular people just assume that things are done a certain way — you get up in the morning, shower, dress, go off to work, put in your hours, then come home, pay some bills, watch some television, and go to bed… and do it all again, the next day. On the weekends, there are sports games and activities… movies and get-togethers… travel and leisure pastimes that many, many other people are doing… take the boat out on the lake… go skiing or surfing or skateboarding or sailing or hiking or play a ballgame of some kind.

But for someone like me with a history of tbi’s, none of those things are foregone conclusions, and they rarely go as smoothly as regular think they do (or should).

Getting up in the morning can be a challenge, as I’m rarely fully rested, and I tend to wake up either too early (most of the time), or too late. Showering can be a complicated thing, as I often can’t keep track if I’ve soaped up and rinsed off, shampooed my hair, or how long I’ve been under the water. And my lightheadedness and vertigo can make just standing in the shower a really nerve-wracking exercise.

Dressing for work can set me off, because I tend to forget what I’ve worn earlier in the week, and unless I have my clothing all lined up in chronological order, I can easily end up wearing the same thing twice in two days. Plus, if I’m really out of it, with vertigo or sensory issues, I can walk around for most of the morning with my shirt buttoned all wrong or my fly open. (I once went through a whole animated job interview, standing at a whiteboard, sketching out possible solutions to problems posed to me… with my fly open… which is NOT the kind of impression I wanted to make! I still got the job, but jeez, how embarrassing!)

Going to work has its own share of hazards, as bright sunlight is hard for me to handle, and even with sunglasses on, the shifting contrasts of light and shadows play tricks on my eyes. And when I’m tired, there’s always the hazard of road rage… or misjudging a situation. One morning, not long ago, when I was tired and angry while driving to work, I almost ran in to someone who wasn’t obeying the right-of-way rules — just because I refused (on principle) to budge. They were driving right into my path, but I had the right of way, so I motored on like a bull-headed idiot, and I almost got hit — just because “I was in the right” and they weren’t following the rules. On principle, I was correct and I had every right to drive through. But principle won’t pay for car repairs, and I only have one car I can reliably drive to work, so “standing my ground” was a really dumb thing to do. Plus, thinking back, if they had hit me, considering the place that I was in, that morning, I probably would have gotten in a fist fight with them, and I might very well have been arrested.  I was in a really bad place, and I consider myself (and the other person) to have been literally spared by divine grace. If it were up to me, I would have landed in really hot water!

At work, depending on my state of mind and body, I can either have good days or bad days. But it often takes a lot of effort for me to function at a “normal” level. Nobody I work with knows I’ve had TBI’s, and I’m not about to tell them. I hold my own and I do my piece, but it’s a real chore sometimes, just to get going. I have massive issues with initiating, with concentrating, with following through. I have huge interpersonal issues that I do a pretty good job of keeping quiet about — things like rage and hostility and anger and mood swings. On the surface, I try to stay impassive, but under the surface, it’s often a seething swirl of confusion and mixed emotions that are as high as they are varied.

Heading home in the evening, after a long day, I just try to listen to the radio and keep chilled out. I have to work harder at paying attention to traffic when I’m headed home, so that keeps my mind off interpersonal aggressions and whatnot.

At home in the evenings, I’m just so wiped out, so often, I can’t even look at anything that needs to be handled. I’m so exhausted… it’s all I can do, to eat supper and flop down in front of a movie. Now and then, I’ll manage to do things I’m supposed to do, but they often get pushed off till the weekends.

I have to say, in th past, I tended to just push through and not give myself a break and just ignore the fact that I was exhausted all the time. I didn’t pay any attention to myself, and I didn’t take care of myself. I didn’t like the fact that I was tired all the time, so I refused to admit it, and I just pushed through with doing whatever I felt needed to be done.

That was fine for my productivity, but the net result was that I was an impossible person to live with. I was unresponsive, most of the time, moody and volatile to the people closest to me, non-communicative and prone to temper outbursts and meltdowns, and the kind of person whose intense volatility made everyone around me walk on eggshells all day. Yes, I appeared to be productive. Yes, I was getting things done. But I was just a machine — a shell of a person whose only solace was that I was making good money and keeping up appearances. Inside, though, I was wracked with pain and sorrow and exhaustion and hurt and anger and rage and confusion.

Now, I think know I’m much better off. I’m less “productive,” and it takes me forever to get things done or process ideas and conversation, but I’m now communicating with the people who live with me far more than I did in decades… I’m now sleeping more and taking care of myself better than I ever did… and I’m actually aware of what’s going on around me, which is more than I can say for the person I was, just three years ago.

Weekends… well, I won’t even go into them. Mine are very low-key, for the most part, and I do so poorly with crowds and frenetic activity, most popular activities (like the ones I mentioned above) do NOT appeal to me. I spend most of my time gearing up to do basic things – like take the trash to the dump or go food shopping or go to the library or clean something. I spend a lot of time spacing out and not doing much of anything. And by the time Sunday night comes around, I often feel pretty deficient about not having gotten much done.

Daily life for someone with a TBI is often far from simple, and it’s often anything but straightforward. Sometimes it takes a monumental effort, to just approximate “normal.” I accept that as part of my life… just something I need to deal with… and I try not to dwell on it too much, lest it demoralize me and hold me back.

Given all the “normal” things that tend to be so complicated and difficult for me, if there’s something relatively simple and straightforward I can do to participate and contribute to the common good — like pay taxes — I’ll gladly do it.

It’s a small price to pay to be part of something as amazing as the United States of America.

My mission for this blog – and our veterans

Well, Veternan’s Day came and went without my blogging about it, and I regret that.

In truth, I was all caught up in my own pity-pot, feeling sorry for myself and all the difficulties I’ve been having, lately. I’ve been dealing with some unexpected health issues, and I’ve been tired, so I let that get the best of me.

To all the brave wounded warrriors and able-bodied veterans and active soldiers of our great nation, the United States of America, I offer my most sincere apologies.

And I offer you my thanks and deepest gratitude. There are no words to express how much I value your commitment and valor and tireless sense of duty.

I must  — we must all — never forget that no matter what our difficulties in this amazing country of ours, countless committed, courageous individuals have made tremendous sacrifices of life and limb and mind and body and heart and soul to let us all have those difficulties in the protection and safety of a country where we can actually turn things around — both for ourselves and others.

This is America. There is no end to our story.

That being said, I am renewing my commitment to this blog, especially for the sake of our soldiers. In the course of my life, those who have been kindest and most courteous and most helpful to me, have been either active or former members of the armed services. The co-workers who most quickly went to bat for me, when I was down, were former soldiers. The colleagues who held their own the best and worked with me most closely as vital team members, were often from a military background. The most open-hearted and dignified and courteous and considerate co-workers I’ve had, hailed from the Service.

My life has been personally enriched by these individuals, whom I’ve been honored to work with.

Now, as so many return to this civilian life and struggle with the aftermath of blasts and head injuries and other neurological issues that are all too seldom recognized, diagnosed, and properly treated, I must do something. As a long-term multiple TBI survivor. As someone who knows what it’s like to not have anyone understand why you’re having such a hard time at such “simple” things. As someone who knows from personal experience that it is possible to survive hidden injuries, it is possible to live a good life even if your brain doesn’t work right, and it is possible to give and receive love and support in the world and have a future… even if the rest of the world doesn’t believe you do. What do they know, anyway?

I can’t do nearly as much as I’d like, but I can do this thing called, talk about my life. And so I shall. Because the men and women who make the ultimate sacrifice for us, deserve far more than they’re receiving — and that includes information.

So, if you’re an active duty soldier or a veteran or you live with or love someone who is, I offer this blog to you in hopes that you can see past the darkness that may surround you and see there is light ahead. It may be a ways off, and it may not be very visible right now, but it is there.

I wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t.