our headbangers ball

March 1st, 2002, the day of the car accident was pretty much the worst day of my life, or so I thought. There was another one  eight years around the corner.  A day that brought it all up and out into the open again.  I guess if you don’t deal with things the first time, it will rear its ugly head till it gets attention. This time I chopped its head off.

A couple of years after the  accident, we were living in Utah, and Dan and I felt I was doing well enough to go back to work. I would never be the same after my accident and some odd things still hung around but for the most part we thought it was time for life to go on. We thought that it would be good for me and was our answer to get out me out of bed and out of the house. Time to quit eating Bon Bon’s and watching soap opera’s. (Ya, those of you who know me well know I would NEVER watch a soap. Even if you held a knife to my throat.). The Dr. I was seeing at the time agreed and said I could try part-time and see how I did.   I started out  filling in at a Dentist office for a couple of years and seemed to do pretty well. I had to have a lot of help remembering things and was very tired after work. I was still sleeping a lot during my days off and dealing with some pain that just wouldn’t go away and I had these incredible daily headaches.  But I just kept going.  Other than that, things seemed to go fine. My Boss even bought me a special assistant chair to help me with my back pain.  I was excited to be moving forward again.

Soon I was working full-time and it was only a few months later that things started to fall apart again. I went to a few Dr.’s trying to figure out what was wrong. Why couldn’t I handle a normal working day like everyone else? They all said that I just needed an antidepressant and things would be fine. Oh, how I would like to tell them where to shove those pills. Nothing like covering up your symptoms with another pill. They even offered me morphine once. So, now they wanted to cover up my symptoms and make me addicted and unaware of my days. A wife and mom and health care worker in a morphine fog was just what we all needed! No thanks!

Things went from bad to worse. Working was such an overload for my brain that most days I did not remember driving home the 20 miles it took to do my commute. When I did get home I rarely ate and usually went straight to bed. Dan was the mom, wife and dad. He went to work every day, then cooked and did homework and handled the kids because I couldn’t. I was at major break down point. How did it get this bad? I have no idea. I never realized how bad things actually were until recently.  As Dan and I look back, we both wonder why I kept working. I guess because we had bills and kids going to college and it’s just what you do. In the back of our minds we did wonder how long I would last.  Why didn’t I just quit you ask? Because I am NOT a quitter! So we just ignored it, you know, avoid the inevitable. Silly us. Thank goodness Dan had the smarts to pay off all of our debt with my paychecks so that when the day came we would not have to much of a lifestyle change.

I got thru my days on autopilot. I was generally in so much pain that I swallowed 800mg ibuprofen every 4 hours. Unfortunately they didn’t even begin to numb the pain.  I couldn’t sit down on any chairs because it hurt to bad. I had a big round exercise ball that I would sit on at home. I would rock back and forth all the way home from work because my back and head hurt. I was incredibly tired all the time. I had the hardest time completing the simplest tasks and it took me a long time to accomplish them. My head felt like it was spinning all the time. I could not follow instructions or conversations. I would walk away in the middle of talking to co-workers or my boss, and family, usually with an angry expression on my face because I was so overloaded and confused. They all thought I was mad all the time. Not a good way to make friends and keep relationships was it. Conversations were mostly just annoying to me. Nothing was making sense any longer. I had a really hard time getting along with my family, co-workers and friends. I quit going places and pushed away anyone who tried to get close.  That was and sometimes still is, a very hard, big piece of me to swallow.  I was also dealing with an incredible amount of anxiety and post traumatic stress syndrome. Most nights I would lay in bed exhausted but my anxiety wouldn’t let me sleep. I would lay awake and my whole body trembled and shook uncontrollably. Visions of death and destruction always in my head. When I finally fell asleep, I would wake with a start in terror of something bad happening. In the morning I would wake up dizzy and nauseated and rush to work where I would run to the bathroom and try not to throw up. I gave up trying to eat anything at all for breakfast. To top it all off, my happy was broken. I hadn’t felt a single, simple, glimmer of happiness inside in, what felt like to me, forever.  Really, how long could I go on this way without crashing. I wasn’t far. Obvious to all but me I guess. I didn’t want to go on like this, I couldn’t. 

I finally realized that nobody was magically going to help me. duh! So I started calling around and interviewing Dr.’s and their staff about how they would help me. Please help me. I was finished with Dr’s that just wanted to give me pills. I had been given lots of cocktails of pills and when I didn’t feel they would work I would just flush them all down the toilet and give up, much to the Dr.’s and Dan’s frustration. I never want to go that direction again. After about six months I found a Dr. , one that seemed capable of treating someone who had been through what I had been. He agreed with me that Morphine and antidepressants werent the answer. I instantly liked this guy! He was very knowledgeable with car accident survivors and symptoms they had afterwards. Within three months Dr. Taylor had sent me to a couple of specialists and we had a diagnosis. Finally! Eight years  late, but at least we were finally getting somewhere. We were on the right path now. Dr. Taylor literally saved my life. He was an answer to my prayers. I told him so. He did something many other Dr.s couldn’t. But I was the one who finally took charge of my health care to get some answers and that’s when we got the right ones. After all, Dr.’s are human right?  Well most of them. I have five that rate really high in my book now. You sure can find out quick who loves their job and who doesn’t.

Now its January of 2009.   All the reports were in from the specialists. The neuropsychologist tested me for two days and $2000! The Hearing and Balance Center tested me for a whole day, plus therapy appointments. We spent 3 hours in the Thoracic Surgeons office.  After being poked, prodded, examined, x-rayed, MRI-ed, CT-scanned, spun around, goggled, tested and turned inside out, I was finally diagnosed with; Chronic Fatigue. Severe Chronic Pain. I guessed that one.  A Moderate/Severe Traumatic Brain injury, this one took me totally off guard, a paralyzed diaphragm on the right side, ah hah! We also discovered nerve damage in my eye/brain, not sure wich, that caused constant nausea, dizziness and a feeling like I was on a rollercoaster even when I wasn’t, I was very surprised by this one too, but it made a lot of sense, and yes, sometimes I walk like I’m drunk and run into walls.  I was severely depressed and had very high anxiety and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Eight years after my car accident I was officially figured out. I thought that’s what I wanted. Boy, was I wrong. Never mind. Take it back please. I don’t like what I got, can I trade it in for something else? Where’s that damn receipt?

It was time to discuss all this with Dr. Taylor, my general physician. We went over all the results. He gave me my final Diagnosis. It was a day that would change my life forever, again. Oh, really! Not again. Here is was. The worst day of my life,  all over again.  Somebody wake me up. This is the worst nightmare yet. Here it comes……   The Dr. and Dan and I went over all the reports and he looked at me and said. “well, you’re done. You’re done working, you can no longer do your job”. I was officially disabled. What! There is that word. Disabled. Just so you know, I hated that word and would not use it to ever describe me. Why did it feel like a death sentence? Oh, because to me, it was.  

Recovery again. So with an order to quit work and go directly to therapy, do not pass go and do not collect $200, I sat down with Dan to make a plan of action. I would quit work immediatly and follow the Dr.s orders. My co-workers and boss were really not dealing well with any of this or the mandatory breaks one Dr. insisted I took every hour to give my brain a break. No body else was able to take over. It caused a lot of extra work for everyone else. Plus, to add to the fun, I was accused of taking advantage of my breaks and people whispered about me. Like I wouldn’t know. I figured they would be happy I was quitting. So I did. Just like the Dr. told me too. What choice did I have. The end, finished, done. No more career for me. I was actually numb about all this. I did cry a lot though, wow, really a lot. My last day at work, after everyone left, I sat down in one of the patient chairs, brought my knees to my chest and cried harder than I have ever cried before. I cried for over a full miserable hour. I cried until there was nothing left. Empty. Finally, I got up, grabbed my things and shut off the lights and locked the door for the last time. I was good at this, really good.  What was I going to do now. I don’t remember the drive home. The days that followed were such a blur. This was the lowest point in my life.  I was done. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was seriously considering taking my own life. So much so, that I had my Psychologist on speed dial and there were many days that Dan had to stay home and watch me so I didn’t complete the dirty deed. Never thought I would see myself at that point. I never could understand how people got to the point of not wanting to go on.  Now I do.  I really, really do.  Not really sure what kept me going.  I am not and never will be ashamed of talking/writing about depression. It needs to be out in the open more.  Screw the status quo! 

I remember begging God to bring that happiness back into my life. I couldn’t get through all this without it. The same God that promised me I would get through this, well, I hated him now. Because, I wasn’t getting through this.  Some one once told me that when you are buried so deeply by depression and anxiety that even God can’t hear your screams for help. I didn’t believe that for a second. But now I do. I felt like I was on my own. I had to dig myself out of this hole that I found myself in after not taking care of myself and not being correctly diagnosed, so he could hear me. I had to let him in again. I had to reach deep inside and find that teeny, tiny glimmer of hope and faith I had left and make it grow. Nobody was going to make this better for me. I would have lots of support from family and friends but I had to make the first move. One incredibly hard step at a time. I remember my feet feeling like they were planted in cement blocks for months, and on really bad days, feeling like my whole body was. At least I was finally, correctly diagnosed and on the right path, but I had to hit total, dark, end of my rope, no faith or hope in site, my life is over, only functioning on autopilot , rock hard bottom, to get it all figured out. Sounds like a ball huh. Our headbangers ball.

What now? I had just been sucked into the life of a disabled person, ready or not. Here I am. I was feeling very sorry for myself. Not exactly part of our hopes and dreams now is it? I sank into my bed and only came out to go to therapy because I knew eventually, hopefully, it would help. I hope. Bed, therapy, depression and pain.  All my therapy was going to cost around $800 a month, plus we were still paying for all the testing and I just had to quit my job. This was way beyond overwhelming for me. I had no idea how I was going to accomplish all I needed too. That’s all I was for most of 2009.  A disabled blob of existence. Ya, I know, I hear you. Yes, I was feeling very sorry for myself, thank you very much. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else.

Slowly, and very slowly I started to feel a little better. I filled my days with taking care of my self. Rebuilding the relationships that had been damaged and put on hold. I had to learn to manage my new life with a Traumatic Brain Injury along with a few other additions like the chronic pain, anxiety and depression.  

First on my list was going to Cognitive therapy. I had to get a grip around my depression. I had to rebuild new pathways of thinking in my brain and go around the ones that were broken. I also had to deal with my anxiety and Post Traumatic Stress disorder. I am very happy to say that there are NO antidepressants in my life anymore. My therapist taught me to deal with it on my own. By my own choice. Because I don’t like how they make me feel. Hard, yes, a very hard amazing journey, but I did it! I had to retrain myself to have happy thoughts. It’s a common problem among TBI survivors. It’s amazing what you can teach the brain to do. 

Another was Balance therapy, I had to build new pathways of balance in my brain so I didn’t feel dizzy and nauseated. This almost immediately took away the morning sickness I had from the beginning and took away that rollercoaster ride feeling I got whenever I rode in a car. (Dan was especially happy about this one because I quit freaking out in the car and taking all the spare oxygen hyperventilating!) There is now oxygen to spare, most of the time. Ok……still working on this one.

Speech and Hearing therapy was one of my favorites because it helped me to understand and be involved with conversations, plan my day, shop, read and understand books and following the plot in movies. It was like a curtain had been lifted and I could be involved in a normal life again. I could understand what people were saying to me and what I was reading! 

Physical therapy I did on my own at home by walking or using my total gym. It was physically and mentall very hard to push myself out of bed. I made myself exercise everyday that I could. First it was just walking a couple of miles and a light workout on my total gym. Now I can bike 6 miles on my dirt road. Work out for a full hour and a half on my Total Gym. I still don’t look anything like Chuck Norris or Christie Brinkley, but I’m trying. I can golf almost a nine holes without stopping and can hike my ass off for about 10 miles at a time. The hiking has been an amazing accomplishment for me. You see, when I begin to go up any incline at all I instantly feel like I can’t breathe due to my paralyzed diaphragm.  No therapy for this one. It’s not changing. I also have to concentrate extra hard on where I put my feet due to my balance problems and fight off dizziness that gets worse the closer I get to the top. So I stop after only a few feet. People would hike past us and get to the top and see us still going up on their way back. But that doesn’t discourage me.  I topped Mt. Naomi late last summer. I cried again. I am really a big baby now days. It was an emotional moment to say the least. Even tough old Dan had tears in his eyes. We were all very proud of my accomplishments.

I even changed my diet to a more brain healthy one and lost 20 lbs. No more caffiene, salt, alcohol or fat for me. Well….almost. Of course I am human and I screw that one up quite often.

I also started going to Vocational Rehab, they would pay for me to go back to school after a lot of red tape  to get the ball rolling. K, I was doing better. Maybe I can get through this. Even when the Dr. thwarted my efforts of going back to school by saying I wasn’t ready yet. It didn’t even phase me, well, maybe it did a little, but I didn’t let it stop the momentum I had going. I can put that one on hold for a while.

So I guess this was my second recovery. It’s been one hell of a ride. Here it is February and I can look back and know I worked my ass off to be who I am today, and I’m not done yet. It has taken me two full years just to get feeling better and functioning much better. I refuse to stay in bed and on the couch for the rest of my life.  Instead of going to school, I am now involved with advocate groups for TBI and am getting involved more with the disabled/TBI community and not hating that word so much. I also volunteer at our local Food Pantry every week.

I fought to get my happy back and you will often see me with a smile now. Not only on my face, but in my heart. I still fight with pain and the demons of depression, I still sleep alot, I will always struggle with the effects of my TBI and still need lots of rest and meditative breaks but not as often.  My work is not finished and as soon as I slack off my therapy or taking good care of myself I pay for it dearly. I have learned to manage my health and deal with what I have been given, most importantly embracing the new me. I think I am better than I was before. I am a work in progress and just very thankful I am still here to enjoy the ride.

This all reminds me of something Martin Luther wrote:

This life therefore, is not righteous, but growth in righteousness.

Not health, but healing. 

 Not being, but becoming.

Not rest, but exercise.

We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it.

The process is not yet finished, but it is going on.

This is not the end, but it is the road.

All does not yet gleam in glory, 

but all is being purified.

 -Martin Luther

So that is my story of Non salutem, Sed medicinalem, non autem decet- not health, but healing, not being, but becoming.

As I climbed into bed last night and pulled the covers over my shoulders, I breathed deep and inhaled the clean smell of my bed. A sweet mixture of laundry detergent, softener, lavender and me, and let out a big sigh and thought to myself  “what a good day!”  Something only a short time ago I could not do. I used to lay in bed trembling in a fearful, pain and anxiety filled state, unable to relax, sleep or even wonder at the day that was ending or the one to come. So for a time I lay in my bed and enjoyed the moment. Relishing in the fact that my happy was back, I fell promptly to sleep.

~ by gonefishindd5 on February 11, 2011.

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