Confessions of a Concussed Cyclist: letting go is hard to do

June 3, 2017

I’ve never considered myself a high maintenance person or a materialistic person.  I’m happier sitting around a campfire than I am with a fancy dinner out. I’m happier wearing jeans than I am in high heels.  I’d rather you bring me a coffee how I drink it, versus a dozen roses. I think you get where I’m heading with this. Since the ripe ol’ age of…how ever old you are when you start thinking about life as an adult…there have only been a few things I wanted.  I wanted to be a special education teacher (I’ve known this was my passion since the age of 8). I wanted the husband to laugh and grow old with. I wanted a couple of children (here is a separate confession for you: since I was a teen, I’ve thought of boys and girls names that I would like for my unborn children).  I wanted the dog that’s outside playing in the yard with the kids. I never cared what kind of house we all lived in (yes that cabin by the lake would be beautiful, but it could also be a double-wide trailer for all I cared…what mattered was the happiness inside the house) or the kind of car we drove (if it got us from point A to point B and the children didn’t fall through holes in the floorboards, the rest didn’t matter to me).  As I grew older, these dreams morphed slightly, showing me some specifics of what I wanted and what I did not want. For instance, my ideal husband became someone athletic so we could hike, bike, and/or ski together.

My point being to all that is that I’ve never wanted much.

Since August 19, 2014, I have slowly had to let dreams go.  These simple dreams of mine no longer aligned with a rattled head.  Kids? How in the world do you have kids when you sleep so much and noise overwhelms you?  I think people have misunderstood me when I’ve said this in the past. It’s not just an infant that seems out of the question, it’s a small human being that would depend on me.  Eight years old or eight months old, me sleeping 10-12 hours a night would be out of the question. Me having a “bad rattled head day” and staying on the couch would no longer be an option.  The stress, the noise, the stimulation of a child are all things I try to limit or avoid on a daily basis because they are triggers for me. So tell me how that could work?

Perhaps being a wife is still an option (I’ll leave out the fact that the dating pool in this area is shallow and filled with deformed fish!) but it’s hard to become a wife when dating with a head injury presents its own challenges.  It’s a rare gift to find someone tolerate of your “new” life. Someone who understands your need for sleep and quiet. Someone who doesn’t hold a grudge for cancelling last minute. Someone who’s okay with lots of nights in because restaurants can be a nightmare.  How do you talk about your head injury and be open and honest about it, without scaring away the guy? It’s hard to be comfortable enough to let your guard down and show them what a mess you are, because pretending you’re okay 24/7 is exhausting. Call me crazy, but I no longer see this happening for me either.

From day one working as a special education teacher with a head injury, I struggled.  I did my job (but it cost me) and I’ll even go so far as to say I was still a good teacher, but I wasn’t as good as I used to be.  I gave my all while at work but there was nothing left after. I’d crawl in the door after a day of teaching, eat a bowl of cereal, and go to bed.  My brain was done! That was no life, yet I so badly wanted to stay teaching. Teaching is natural to me; it comes easy to me. I’ve spent my life preparing for it.  I did not want a head injury to prevent me from doing what I loved. But it did. In the end, the head injury cost me my job. I had pushed so hard for two years post-accident, that when I finally stopped, when I finally allowed myself a break, I crashed! I crashed hard!  I knew continuing to teach after the accident was taking a toll on me, I just didn’t realize how much of a toll it was, until I was forced to stop. I still hope to return to it. But even now, ten months of not teaching and giving my head a break, as soon as the going gets tough, as soon as my stress level rises or my day is too busy, or even if I’m just too tired, my brain shuts down.  Nothing has changed in ten months.

The last thing I always dreamed about having, that I have now had to cross off my list, is a dog.  Theoretically, this should have been the easiest thing on the list, but it was still too hard for my broken brain.  Everyone had their input on this (in this day in age, everyone has something to say to everything, without always knowing the full story) and many sold me short in the long-run.  “Dogs are easy”, “just find one that doesn’t have medical needs”, etc. The overall problem I found by fostering a dog, and I learned this lesson quickly, was she consumed my thoughts: does she need to go out?  Is it time for her to eat? She needs her insulin shot in 20 minutes. Check her for ticks! Even when I was exhausted and needed to rest, she was wanting love, attention, a walk, etc. None of that sounds like much, but it all takes mental energy (something extra taxing for a rattled brain).  I was feeling bad because I couldn’t keep my foster pup and I felt pretty weak that even having a tiny, easy-go-lucky dog was too much for me, when I spoke to one of my favorite people about how I was wearing down and he said “Of course you are!  Dogs are a lot of work. They take up a lot of mental energy and this would be even worse on you.” I can always count on him to understand. I’m allergic to cats, so although they are pretty low-maintenance, they are out of the question. Perhaps I’m destined to only own a goldfish.

Every time I’ve had to cross off something on my “wish list of life”; every time I’ve had to let go of a dream, it hurts.  It’s like a death, I need time to mourn it. Everything just comes crashing back down on me: the anger, the hurt, the frustration, about that awful August day.  It’s a lot to deal with. It’s a lot to process and accept. Some days I process and accept it better than others.

I’ve never once written a Confession looking for sympathy.  I write them as a form of coping for myself and to inform those around me.  It’s impossible to put into words what it’s like living with a brain injury and it’s equally impossible to put into words how it has affected me (and how it continues to affect me).

So, if you’ve made it this far in the Confession, do me a favor.  Hug your spouse and be thankful for their love every single day. Tell your kids how thankful you are for them and never forget it.  Get on the floor and rub your dogs stomach until your arms ache. And go to work on Monday, thankful to be doing a job you love.