A Verbal Collage

**********************A Verbal Collage**********************************

I've spent the last few entires talking about the three characters in “Who Am I, Again?” who are residents at the Crumley House - Larry, Sarah, and Tony.  As part of this, I highlight the three actual residents used as models - using the pseudonyms of “Peter”, “Jessica”, and “James” - but its important to remember the journey of each of the above characters is an amalgamation of stories collected from many residents.  Stories were picked that I felt highlighted common experiences in recovery and have themes that I heard repeated by multiple residents.  The choice to use the specific residents as models came from a sense that - at their stage in recovery, - these residents would be able to present a clear storyline of recovery to an audience that might not be familiar with brain injury.

With that said, I will use the rest of this entry to describe some of the other residents at the Crumley House - the goal being to demonstrate the wide variety of people recovering from brain injury and to emphasize that there can be no “cookie cutter” recovery plan as each situation is dramatically different.  Each resident discussed below will be described using a pseudonym in quotation marks - “name”.

The first person that must be presented is “June”.  “June” is the reason the Crumley House exists - when she was a young adult, “June” went through an accident that caused TBI and her family had the finances and associations to be able to begin the Crumley House Brain Injury Rehabilitation and Living Center.  This center now provides a valuable rehabilitation resource for the region as well as gives a place for “June” to live and develop.

This background presents a beautiful, inspiring, television daytime-drama beginning to “June’s” story, but when getting to know “June”, one can see she is clearly not “Made for TV”.  When I began working with the Crumley House, “June” had already been a resident for more than a decade and she had the characteristics that caused her seem like an over-forty-infant - endless excitement or sorrow immediately wiped away by the next distraction.  Her communication came in one or two word sentences - spoken in an urgent, strained tone - and expressing only necessary thoughts - “Hungry” - “Uh oh” - “I love you”.  She expressed her love to everyone, and while I do think she used this phrase as a tool to get favors from the staff, I also believe she genuinely felt love to every part of the world that showed her kindness.  I also believe that the thoughts coursing through her brain were infinitely more complex than she was able to express, but somewhere in her highway of thought process there was a detour caused by her injury, and the neurons containing more complete ideas got lost in the rambling country roads of her mind. 

Despite her difficult and extended rehabilitation process, during even my relatively short time working with the Crumley House, “June” continued to make clear gains in her recovery - moving from life in a wheel chair to some assisted walking, to taking a few steps on her own - the beginnings of expressing rational for her actions and understanding a cause-effect relationship between actions and results - the recognition of emotions displayed by other people, and seeking to provide comfort or a shared joy.  These are small steps, and I do not know if “June” will ever recover to a point where she can be more fully and independently engaged in the world, but each step is progress.  Always ready to face the long journey and take a few more steps, usually without encouragement or insistence by the staff - “June” would recognize the rehabilitative task set before her and put her energies into completing the challenge to the best of her abilities - this determination became a source of inspiration for everyone around her.  Unfortunately, due to cognitive limitations, I was not able to interview “June” for my storytelling piece, but the experience of life with her clearly helped to color every moment and every story collected at the Crumley House.

Another resident who had difficulty escaping from his wheelchair is “Steve” - an older veteran who’s body was paralyzed in a hunched position.  “Steve” moved through the Crumley House with the authority of aged royalty - he didn’t impose his will on anyone, but all the residents bowed aside so that “Steve” could maintain his routine - everyone knew that when it was time for “Steve” to play Mario Wii Golf - and they could join him in a game, but would never stop him from playing.  “Steve” had trouble speaking - with the damage to his throat and the nerves controlling his mouth limiting his utterances to what at first seemed only grunts and moans - but as I came to know him, I learned parts of his nonverbal language and how to understand his patented personal communication techniques - collecting pieces of his story and sharing in his experience.

“John” was a resident usually found beside “Steve” when he was playing his Wii Golf.  A former military man, “John” had the body type of an NFL linebacker, though years of recovery had formed a layer of pudge that coated the muscles.  Having regained many of his motor skills, “John” could move freely and perform most self-care tasks without assistance, though more complicated procedures might become tangled in his thought process.  “John” employed and enjoyed clear, simple logic that recognized a “right” and “wrong” way of behaving, and this clear bifurcation of his world could ignite impassioned responses if his clear morality was called into question.  Often “John” wondered about the grounds of the Crumley House with a seemingly childish desire for simple pleasures, but when I interviewed him, his persona dipped into an quiet, introspectively innocent wisdom gained through his experiences. 

Yet not all the residents were pleasant to interact with.  “Stella” was a resident who wore a spiked shell at all times - aggressively contradicting anything that didn’t follow her demands.  She was a large woman - by which I mean big and strong, not fat, and every sound and movement she made was forceful - as if she was trying to tear down any wall that might limit what she intended to do.  “Stella” could move moderately fluidly and spoke with clear diction, but she carried a bundle of aggression that seemed to be endlessly boiling over.  At first glance, one might think “Stella” ready for interaction with the outside world, but within a short time of being around her, one would realize her slower cognitive processes as well as regular emotional setting of anger.  Interviewing “Stella”, however, was remarkably easy, and when we spoke she shared surprisingly coherent stories that displayed a range of emotional experiences - it almost seemed as if her public persona of anger was a defense that she clung to, though I leave that as merely a speculation, as I am not qualified to make such a claim.

These descriptions could continue for chapters - dozens of residents lived at the Crumley House during the time I was involved with the facility - some for the full time while others for only a few weeks - and each resident had his or her own unique set of difficulties that came as a result of TBI and methods for adapting to new ability levels while finding inspiration. 

There was “Billy” who cherished all things “coun’ry” and loved horses and the idea of ranch life so much that, despite needing a wheelchair, he found a way to ride and care for horses at least once a month. 

And “Cynthia”, an aging hippie who - if approached while having her cigarette - would recall seeing Janis Joplin or Jefferson Airplane in a smoky rasp that would fade away as words escaped her, but the story played across her eyes. 

And “Ben”, the high school senior star athlete left in a full body cast after a skiing accident  - who couldn’t talk in more than grunts, as he couldn’t move his mouth, but learned to communicate his insistent joy bringing a smile to even the darkest cynic.

And more..

Each resident comes from a his or her set of circumstances and has his or her unique set of difficulties - yet every person is engaged in the process of recovery.  Earlier in this blog (Scene 01-Introduction), I suggest that where the story of recovery begins isn’t important, and I hold by those words - the residents at the Crumley House, a relatively small rehabilitation facility in rural Tennessee, display just a part of the spectrum of attitudes and life situations that can begin a journey of recovery. 

When I perform “Who Am I, Again?” people often ask me, “What actually happened in your accident?” - I understand this curiosity and will share my details in the next posting, but I don’t start with that story, nor do I address it in “Who Am I, Again?”, because I want the reader (you) to recognize that the specifics of an accident are not important - an event will cause TBI and that will likely result in an infinite variety of complications and questions that a survivor must come to understand so he or she can appropriately adapt to his or her situation.  When TBI occurs, everything changes - it’s not the story of where you come from but the story of how you get through it that matters.

Those are my thoughts.  Thanks for reading. 

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