I'm not a doctor, and I'll never claim to be one. But I can only imagine how challening working with patients who have suffered through a TBI can be. The complexity that this injury presents must be mind-boggling, literally. Given that no two brain injuries are the same, no two doctors will draw identical conclusions from a patient, and no two recoveries progress at the same pace, physicians who work in this field of medicine are absolutely, without a doubt, heroes.
For the first 3 weeks after my injury, I lived in a hospital in northern Michigan. While I have zero recollections about this experience, and about the actual car accident, living in the intensive care unit of the hospital for this extended period of time must have been rather torturous for my parents. Upon receiving the initial call in the middle of the night on 12/29/01, they jumped in the car a few hours later to drive the 8 hours to the hospital where I was. Even though I have no memories of being in that hospital in Michigan, knowing that my parents were there with me comforts me greatly.
When my recovery had progressed to the point in which I was ready to move on, I was boarded on a small medical plane with a nurse who accompanied the pilot and I on a flight to Cleveland. My parents, who lived in Cleveland, were thrilled that their home city had such wonderful hospitals that contained such reputable trauma centers. So our headquarters and our home shifted to MetroHealth hospital for the next 8 months. For the initial 6-week stretch in Cleveland, I lived as an inpatient in the hospital. From there, after 9 total weeks of living in hospitals, which seemed to actually last for 9 years, I was able to move home with my parents while we travelled to and from the hospital several times each week.
The First 5 Weeks
Of the 9 weeks living in the hospitals, I have no memories of the initial 5 weeks. This stretch of time does not exist in my brain. I am only able to think back to this period based on what others have told me about these troubling times. The shock value of what I have learned about this period of time is truly unfathomable. To think that I had zero control over the thoughts in my brain as well as the words that were emitted from my mouth are mind boggling.
Jerry Seinfeld's Sister, a.k.a. My Mom
Jerry Seinfeld is someone who I've always appreciated and who can always make me laugh. I've watched his sitcom just as much as anyone, as I think he is an entertaining, funny person. Little did I know that he made such an impact on my life that I felt some type of connection to his sister. For the record, I have absolutely no clue if he even has a sister. But I convinced myself that he had a sister.
My mother tells me about the time that I was convinced that she was Jerry Seinfeld's sister. While she was probably freightened beyond belief that I really did voice my insistence, and my very strong insistence from what I'm told, I can now smile and apologize for this mixup. To this day, she tells me how she was in such a precarious position at this time.
On the one hand, she was so upset that I genuinely was so mixed up and confused that I claimed she was Jerry Seinfeld's sister rather than my mother. But on the other hand, she tells me how frightened she was at that moment. She recalled that our heads were fairly close together when we had this conversation and that I became visibly upset when she denied what I felt so strongly about. When telling me that she was not Seinfeld's sister, my eyes supposedly almost popped out of my head, as I was filling myself with rage and anger. She claims that my sinister look forced her to stand up and move away from me since she was frightened to be that close to me at that particular moment. I've never hit anyone in my entire life, and I'm sure I never will. But my mom insists that the thought went through her mind that I was going to strike her at that moment. Why was she lying to me? How could she suddenly deny that she ws Seinfeld's sister?
To this day, this story is only a memory due to my mom telling me the story. I almost feel like she's telling me a story about someone else. Obviously I believe her and her details from this story, but, for the life of me, I cannot imagine the persistence I demonstrated in this unfathomably heated conversation. The fact that I have zero memory in mind of this exchange really and truly is mind-blowing.
The Really Fun Cruise Ship
While my parents and I were fighting this battle, my sister remained in Chicago with her family. She received regular updates from my parents, but she did not join us in the hospital in northern Michigan. Frankly, as my parents have said, she wouldn't have wanted to see me in the condition I was in. But during the first couple weeks in the hospital in Cleveland, she made the journey from Chicago to visit me.
Not knowing what to expect, she exuberantly walked into the room, as she was so happy to finally see me after everything I'd been through the past few weeks. And, from what I'm told, my jovial reaction to her "how are you" question entailed telling her how much fun I was having on the cruise ship. Upon hearing me tell her some of the details about the wonderful cruise ship we were currently vacationing on, she darted for the hallway, as tears of fear and amazement overpowered her.
Equating being in the hospital after having suffered through a severe traumatic brain injury with being on a cruise ship is, again, absolutely non-sensical and unbelievable. What in my mind could have possibly triggered that response to her question? While we are all able to laugh, somewhat, about this story almost 10 years after the accident, I can only imagine the shock and horror that echoed through her body.
Once Good with Numbers, Always Good with Numbers
While each person's brain is wired differently, my brain has always allowed me to excel when working with numbers. From competing in mental math contests in elementary school to rarely relying on calculators, I have always excelled when working with numbers. While the minds of some people have resulted in them being especially strong in debates and argumentative matters, for example, my mind has always been sharpest when working with numbers.
While in my hospital room in Michigan, my doctor challenged me to count backwards by 7 starting at 100. My parents, doctor, and nurses who were in the room were shocked to hear me rattle of the numbers just like nothing was wrong. Granted, I was in bed in my own little, barely communicable world. But the numbers flew out of my mouth more quickly than they would have for the majority of people who were not recovering from a serious TBI. Everyone's jaws dropped, as they bewilderingly looked at me and were shocked by my mental aptitude for thinking with numbers even though I was in such a sad, sorry state at this point in time.
My competencies with numbers also translated over to my insistence to play the card game Uno with my parents for hours at a time. And some more hours. And maybe a few more. I enjoyed the game so much, as I was able to pay attention and serve as a legitimate opponent for my parents. They were good sports for playing the game with me for so many consecutive hours. And I looked so forward to these games even when we weren't playing. The game allowed me to use the parts of my brain that were still functioning so very well, and I enjoyed the competition, companionship, and the feeling of being "normal."
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