Confessions of a Concussed Cyclist: a new year, a new reflection

December 31, 2016

It’s inevitable, as the year draws to a close, you look back and think of the good, the bad, and the ugly.

My 2016 started off wonderful; it began with seeing a guy that I really liked.  A guy that understood what my rattled head needed and was happy to accommodate. A guy that said and did all the right things.  Of course, within a few months our time together ended. Around the same time as this relationship bust, my Nana passed away. My grandmother was a huge part of my life and months later, I still cannot think about her without regret and tears.  Also in this time frame one of my best friends moved away. He was my interpreter, my brain-injury-guru, my cycling companion. Three loses in a short amount of time.

A few mellow months passed and led us into summer.  Over the course of a short amount of time, I lost two friendships; one I would claim to be my “best friend”.  Both “friends” informed me that it was too hard being my friend now. They no longer knew what to say to me and they felt they could not offer the type of friendship I required.  To have two close friends of yours, in a short amount of time, walk away from you because they could no longer be your friend, makes you feel incredibly un-loveable (and high-maintenance…which is something I pride myself on NOT being).

At the end of the summer my great-grandmother passed away and I lost my job.  My rattled head and I were yet again, too much for people to deal with and I was cut loose to find a new path…a path I am still searching for.  Since the age of 8 I knew I wanted to be a special education teacher. Right after the accident and the reality of how severe it was kicked in, I began to worry that the day would come that I would not be able to teach.  I always assumed it would be the doctors removing me from the field, not my superiors kicking me off it.

A harsh reality began to set in as I wondered “what next?”  I had emotionally painful conversations with my medical team, where words like “permanent” and “disability” were thrown around.  This was a pill I was not ready to swallow.

Enter fall.  A friend of mine passed away while out riding his mountain bike. Seeing his name or passing a Jeep that looks like his, still feels like a punch in the stomach.

It’s now December.  Brain injury is a lonely world.  It’s lonelier when people no longer want to be around you.  It’s lonely when you isolate yourself because you’re on holiday-overload and need a break.  It’s exhausting when you are five months with no post-concussion-migraine-relief (and 28 months with daily severe headaches/migraines).

I learned a lesson this year.  From the day of the accident I tried very hard to cover up how I felt, to downplay it.  I only spoke to a select group of people about the full-extent of my head injury…to the many others, I hid it.  This attempt to appear “normal” and to hide my “new reality” came to bite me many times this year. “What is your problem?” “I’ve told you four times already…don’t you listen?” “T-T-T-today!”  “Aren’t you a teacher? You should speak better english than that!” “You’re fine…you just need to get out more.” “You’re not making any sense…think about what you’re saying.” “This will make you feel better.”  I get hurt by these comments, but I can’t be mad…the people that made them didn’t know what was really going on (and I’d lost my interpreter back in the spring, to get me out of these situations, so I could no longer hide from them.  It was time to come clean). I’ve always answered any questions people had, I just didn’t offer up information freely. I’m now trying to be more upfront about it but I still feel it’s on a need to know basis…to a point. Complete strangers do not need to know about my rattled head.  I’ve truly been in situations before where my injury has been thrown around, like my favorite color. “She’s wearing ear-plugs because it’s loud here…and she has a head injury!” “Can we stop the lights from flashing? It’s bothering Jen’s head. She has a head injury!” “Bartender! Could you please turn the music down?  My friend here has a head injury.” I always feel like a child when I hear those statements.

So, 2016…I wish I could say you’ve been a great year…but my parents taught me to never lie.  A lot of loss and heartache this year. A lot of being alone, confused, and lost. I bid you adieu.  Here’s to finding my way in ‘17 and to feeling more loveable.