"You have a brain injury," he said.

I thought for sure I had written this post before but after obsessive searching I couldn't find it, so maybe I only wrote it in my head, a distinct possibility. Anyway, for all the downfalls of social media, it does have a few benefits. I have met, prayed for, and tried to encourage fellow survivors on their journey that I may not have otherwise met because of location and lack of other connection. Recently, I have been sharing a journey of a young man who fell 30 feet while hiking. There was bleeding on his brain and doctors had no hope of his survival. I have been in contact with his mom, trying to give her insight from my experience as a survivor. This young man did live and is currently in rehab and very discouraged. I thought I would go back to my blog and send her the post about rehab, but I couldn't find it. It may very well exist, but I'm writing it again since I can't find it. 

 Scene: February 2005, a rehabilitation hospital. A massive stroke caused by a ruptured brain aneurysm had left me with no use of my left arm, a drooling stroke face and the absence of balance. But, on the bright side, my long term memory is pretty well intact and an enormous amount of denial about my condition was protecting me temporarily. My Self awareness was at an all-time low!

Neuropsychological Evaluation Day 1: I am terrified they are going to try to get me to remember my rupture and subsequent accident. I didn't want to remember, and I was convinced they could trigger that horrific scene. I think I took too much psychology in college. Also, the last course I had taken for my Master's was a Psychology course, so it must have been a hot topic in my mind. The therapist came to get me, and I was wheeled in my handy wheelchair to his office. I was surprised that he spoke very little to me and explained that they were just going to do this test on me to see what part of my brain had been damaged. He administered the test, and I was mentally done after probably 10 minutes. It became obvious we would have to do it in several short visits. I remember also being very agitated and humiliated that they were giving me "special ed tests." These were similar to tests that we used in teaching to create IEPs for students with learning and other disabilities. "But I can remember all these things, certainly I'm fine," was my response to what I considered unnecessary, silly tests; I didn't have a disability.  I probably told them that "if they just let me out of this hospital I could go back to finishing my Master's degree, so I could keep my teaching certification, it was very important to me. 

 The day the tests were over: The therapist sets the abhorred timer down and looks at me. Yup, the girl with the little stream of drool running down the left side of her face with a curled, useless left hand and arm. I think my shoulder was even kinesio taped back together because the atrophy was separating my arm from my shoulder. The therapist looked at me and abruptly and matter of factually said, "You have a brain injury." Now, if you know me at all, you know this is not a form of communication I appreciate on a good day. So tears begin streaming down my face. I'm thinking that I can't have a brain injury. I mean, I had done so well on those tests. If I had a brain injury, life would be over. Plowing forward, the therapist reviewed the test with me. I had a fifth grade reading level (lower than I was certified to teach.) My brain didn't recognize the presence of a left side or the objects that existed in it. I lost executive function and was deficient at sequencing anything. At some point, he took mercy on me and told me that was enough for one day. 

  Waiting room: My dad was waiting for me to come out. There may have been others in my entourage, but I don't remember. He took one look at my face and knew. This was a game changer. So I asked him to pinch me and wake me up from this nightmare. I was fully convinced this couldn't be real, and I just needed to wake up. "I really wish I could honey, I wish I could take this all for you, but I can't." At least there was the compassion I was used to.  When you are so exhausted that you can't even imagine that chewing your food wouldn't be a struggle, it is nearly impossible to believe things will ever actually get better. The denial that was trying to protect me wanted to believe that if everyone would just let me go home and stop testing me, it would all go back to the way it was. I truly believed it would just go away if I could just go home.  But that terrified me too. Home was no longer familiar. Hospitals and nurses and therapists were a crutch. It at least held some feeling of being, "safe." But right then, we just sat and the words BRAIN INJURY sunk in. Never before or after this have, I ever felt hopeless. I mean true, life devoid of hope. It was the worst thing I remember experiencing. Because brain injury to me meant acting ditsy or being seen as stupid. It meant no permanent teaching certification, which was my "safety net" in life. It meant being rude and filter-less without considering other people's feelings. I had a little experience with brain injury and I did not want that to be me. That was not me at all. But I serve a great God who took all of that, and I was reminded I was alive, and I had a purpose. I was desperate to find that. Perhaps I did carry it around for a while as a burden instead of a gift. Always, looking for what that purpose might be. Fearing that I might miss it somehow. And possibly thinking it would be too big for me to handle, this purpose of mine. 

And now? Recently, this quiet voice in me has been saying, "just be there." Just be. And as it should have always been, I know God will take care of me even without a Master's degree and a permanent teaching certification, although I still wish I had the opportunity to keep it and use it professionally!