Scene 17, Part 1 - The Job Ahead

************Scene 17, Part 1 - The Job Ahead***************

But more pictures begin to stick,
And I remember faces, voices, events…

and I remember it was hard, and,
Frustrating.

Embarrassing

I mean, here I was, a seventeen year old boy,
having to be retaught how to Do things I knew I should Know how to do…
like,
Like Walking -
Walking Technique…

heel, toe, heel, toe, heel toe…

But I wasn’t doing it right, so I had to keep practicing…

Heel, toe,
heel…

******************************************************

Recovery from brain injury means going through the motions of recovery - facing the reality of one’s situation and learning/remembering how to do everything you already know - again.

I remember a strange disconnect in my brain - a personal and social recognition that I should be able to do these things, and thus I attempted to complete the trials presented to me by therapists with a dismissive ease - but I couldn’t realistically complete these tasks with such ease - many could only be completed with concentrated effort and assisted focus - a plodding process.  And I felt shame when my achievement of some menial task received vigorous applause - here I was, a youth on the cusp of adulthood and my rehabilitation therapists are celebrating when I complete physical and cognitive tests suitable for a toddler.  My mind translated their praise into mockery.

In retrospect, I recognize that I was fortunate to have had such an encouraging team of therapists and supporters surrounding me and offering praise - an alternative could have been criticism toward my slow pace of recovery, demeaning my progress - I recognize this now, but at the time it didn’t matter because I was ashamed of my struggles.

These emotions are not unique.  In my interviews I spoke with several other survivors who told me about similar embarrassment or shame, and this feeling makes sense - a survivor is discovering his or her new abilities, and these abilities are changing every day, especially during early recovery - meanwhile there is a cognitive attempt to connect the story of the past person to the person the survivor is now.  In tandem with this, a survivor often hears stories of the past shared by supporters - these are stories that hold a subjective “truth” for the supporter sharing the story, but this “truth” may not coincide with the survivor’s current - or previous - self-image, and while attempting to rediscover/redefine personal identity the survivor needs to navigate this barrage of narratives seeking some more genuine personal truth while continuing to be unsure of his or her ability - all of which easily leads to the monologue:

“What did I do before?  Why can’t I remember what they tell me?  Was I better before?  Am I okay now?  If I’m okay, why the Fuck is everything so hard.”

At least, that’s the monologue I remember playing in my head.

If this monologue exists, it cannot be soothed with trite phrases encouragement - “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay” - “You just need to keep trying” - seems false.  I recognize that sayings such as this are important - they should be heard and repeated, but they don’t change the reality of the situation.  The process of recovery and rediscovery after TBI is hellacious drudgery, and all you can do is continue, some abilities and personality characteristics you will find again while other attributes have changed, and always the survivor must continue - one step at a time - heel, toe, heel, toe…

But there is a way to beat this - a way to win in the struggle with depressing monotony - very simply, to win is to not lose, and to lose is give up - to succumb to angst and depression - to stop. 

Don’t stop.

Again -

Don’t stop.

This does not mean “Things will get better with time”, or “You’ll get through this one day” - things might and you might, but a survivor cannot rely on statements such as these - what I promise is that quitting on recovery guarantees that a fuller recovery will never happen.

Don’t stop.  Win by not losing.

When I began this article, I wanted to write a script of motivational phrases and encouragements for survivors currently wading through a pool of tests and trials, but as I considered what I feel is true, I recognized that such sayings would be false.  Instead, I wish to be candid in my comments to survivors - your body may never fully recover and there will likely be some difficulties that will always hamper you, but recognize that as a survivor you are ALIVE and that life is open to infinite possibility.  In previous entries (Scene 6 - “God’s Lap” and Scene 12 - “It’s Not Your Time”), we have looked at the decision a survivor must make after brain injury - whether to accept the reality of the new situation after TBI or not - and, simply put, the dispiriting drudgery of recovery is part of this reality.

I do not intend this entry to be depressing - monotony is, to some extent, a part of nearly any life path - the farmer harvesting crops, the factor worker beginning a shift, the teacher grading exams - its part of human experience and, as a survivor, one must endure this in order to appreciate the glory of moments - moments that can exist for everyone - forgetting time while conversing with a new friend, becoming lost in the rhythm and harmonies of a favorite song, watching a sunset kiss the world goodnight.  These are rewards that can be found when a survivor makes the choice to win - and remember - to win is to not lose. 

Don’t stop.

To win is to keep the gates of endless possibility - of infinite variation open - to lose is to give up.

To lose is finite.

Win.

Don’t stop.

This was a hard one to write - please share your thoughts below.