Brain Injury is a Catastrophic Journey

And the Piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,

The door in the mountainside shut fast. Did I say all? No!
One was lame and could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame his sadness, he was used to say

It’s dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can’t forget that I’m bereft of all the pleasant sights they see,

Which the Piper also promised me.”

TBI – a loaded initialism. People react to the term Traumatic Brain Injury the way Harry Potter characters reacted to the name Voldemort. Once my body injuries were on the mend, it was time to return my focus to my brain.  New brain, unfiltered. I forget things, simple things, recent things, dated things. I can remember who played bass for Streetheart, but I have no idea what time my wife said she would be home this evening… I remember having a mad crush on Lesley in grade 6, but I cannot remember marrying her. I remember the birth of one of our boys, not so much the other. It’s like someone skewered my grey matter, poking holes in my archives.

When in control, I like my new brain. I enjoy wandering the corridors, opportunities behind every door. Behind each door is papers in piles, unopened envelopes, small boxes filled with trinkets and baubles.  When my brain is not in control, the corridors are filled with shadows, locked doors, windows painted over and painted shut. Occasionally a door opens, leading to another door and another, and another, and another, and I wonder how I will find my way back.  Then I don’t find my way back.

Trapped in a Vicious Circle

Sometimes lucidity. Other times aberration. Most often monomania. One day I can write a whole chapter in an afternoon, the next day it takes the whole afternoon just to write one email. Trapped. In a vicious circle. Like Groundhog Day.  When it’s mild, it’s a weapon. When it’s bad, it’s crippling, unrelenting, like a hang nail, like an itch inside a cast.

I get picayunish, bent out of shape over the smallest things, the slightest slight. I fixate on something, talking ad nauseum with (omg how did she get so patient) Lesley. I can see it as it’s happening. I can see it, and I cannot stop it. I can’t get away from it.  I’ve been tested and it appears that I am just as smart or stupid as I was before the catastrophe. Visual puzzles, word problems, math, language, all of it is just as it was before, for better or worse. However, two things seem to have changed.

• Executive functions, as I understand, include planning ahead, learning from the past, and managing time for the completion of a task. This is the first issue.
• I can complete every task, just not in a timely manner. It’s as though I’m swimming in jello. All the effort is there but the results are… like when you run away from something in your dreams. Slow.

In my youth, around 10, 11, 12… I had a hockey coach who called me ‘snowshoes’.  This was his commentary on my speed and agility. He said it a lot, on the bench and in the dressing room–in front of teammates and parents. Times have changed. This probably wouldn’t happen today, but I honestly didn’t care at the time. I brought a couple of other skills to the arena (played a bit rough…), so I played at a fairly competitive level and got my fair share of ice-time. All that said, I was sloooow.

My Slowness Knew No Bounds

I was slow on the ice, I was slow on almost any field of play – rugby pitches, football fields, baseball diamonds… my slowness knew no bounds. I was slow, but relentless. In my 30’s I ran 10K’s, half-marathons, marathons, triathlons. Never won, not even close.  But I finished them all.  I was slow, but I didn’t feel slow. I didn’t know the difference.  I did see the comparison to others, but…I didn’t feel slow because I had never been fast. Ever.

The hardest part of learning to walk again, is that I remember how I used to walk.
The hardest part of learning to write again, is that I remember how I used to write.
The hardest part of learning how to eat, shave, dress myself, BBQ a steak…
And I took all of that in stride.
But the hardest part of learning to think again, is that I remember how I used to think.
And I am struggling to take that in stride.
I’m not claiming I was a genius, far from it.
But I liked my brain. I liked the way it worked.
I hear myself reach for words. I feel the grind. Like a train beginning a journey.

It’s all there, it’s just…I want to say rusted, but that implies it will get better.
I don’t know if that is true. I hope it is true. I hope it is.

“Cause when that morning sun comes beating down
You’re going to wake up in your town
But we’ll be scheduled to appear
A thousand miles away from here”

The Load-Out by Jackson Browne. Perfect. Just so perfect.

I don’t want to go, but like Jackson Browne sang, ‘the band is on the bus’… and life goes on. Tomorrow I will rise, and I will still have only one leg, one eye, one normal hand… But I will still have a wonderful family. I will still have the most amazing partner.  Strong, patient, loving. Inspiring.  I will do my therapy, go to my appointments, workout, walk… I will be fitter, stronger. I will walk, cycle, row. I will write. I will overcome.  And I will be happy.  And I will no longer write about what happened to me – enough of that.

Time to write about life after trauma, returning to sport, music, milestones and shortfalls.  Enough of surviving, on to living.

This article is also featured in our 2022 Winter Issue of Sharing our Recovery

Andrew Lawlor is a motorcycle crash survivor. Since July, 2018 he has drawn on the love and support of his family and his community, working to repair body, mind and soul. Andrew knows everyone’s journey is unique, and hopes that fellow survivors might find a new perspective, or encouragement in the stories he tells. The Crash Support Network is thrilled to announce a collaboration with Andrew as he shares his journey through ongoing contributions to our Crash Survivor Blog.

The Crash Support Network is a unique one-of-a-kind website consisting of an online support group, a crash survivor blog, a quarterly newsletter, “Sharing Our Recovery” as well as highly informative articles. Our website is based on relationship-building and puts the needs of survivors first by creating a helpful resource for victims and survivors of motor vehicle crashes.