A curious incident, the sequel
...dispatched from bewilderness
My name is J. I used to have a name with more letters, but that was before the accident. I now live in the state of semi-amnesia. And in the state of aphasia. I commute between lives and between states of mind.
In my first life, I skimmed, slimmed, trimmed for media. Compact and concise. That was called freelance writing. Then I was compacted, me and my glasses and cellphone and mind.
I woke from a comma, I mean a coma, and saw someone on a gurney, with my name on her wrist. I mean my name on my wrist. My brain was disconnected. So were my legs and my arms and my feet.
I was lying in a paper gown in a cold white cubicle. A scruffy green angel floating under ceiling lights was looking upside down at me. They flickered and so did I. People in scrubs were tweezing glass from my skin. Zeke, my golden retriever, was also floating overhead.
I was supposed to keep it together. Pieces of everything that ever happened from anywhere I’ve ever been. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I can’t. Too, it was supposed to keep me together.
At the beginning, I was overwhelmed all the time. Then I was only overwhelmed most of the time, which means I’d made progress. Then, just some of the time.
Perseverance is the hard work you do after the hard work you’ve already done. For most of year one, I didn’t remember how to do things or what most things were called.
I said strange things, like “moths are prehistoric trees.” I have no idea why. I also said things like “deciduous wings.” And “scarlet the parlor,” which, as I think of it now, seems somewhat like Gone with the Wind.
If you acquire a brain injury, but had a relatively high IQ to begin with, you don’t lose it. You just can’t use it real well. I tried to focus on small things that stayed the same, like my glasses. I couldn’t wear them on the right side of my head, overlapping my right ear, because the right side hurt even more than the left. It felt like I had been hit by a baseball bat. But it was only a truck.
I don't know how you do it. How you convey so much in so few words. The unmooredness of it all. It's beautiful. I'm so sorry for what happened. And I so appreciate that for all you've lost, you're here, and still a bright light.
A good lesson for everyone is: perseverance is the hard work you do after the hard work you’ve already done. That should be a poster in every school, every gym every business office and every home. Great words today. Thank you.