Ow-Patient
...A dispatch from bewilderness
In my first life, I was a single mom—making dinner and deadlines all over the world, perking up headlines while picking up kids. That was called freelance writing. Then my mind got trashed by a truck.
I was supposed to keep it together. Pieces of everything that ever happened from anywhere I’ve ever been. Too, it was supposed to keep me together. But that’s not what this piece is about. It’s about How to Be Just the Right Amount of Screwed Up.
Post-truck, I was parked in a room with six people who were there and six people who weren’t there, too. The people who weren’t there were the people we used to be. I called this place Ow-Patient Rehab. It was really called Outpatient Rehab but “Ow” seemed more apt to me.
Testers asked questions like, Can you smile for me? Can you stick out your tongue? Can you add 2+2? How about 2+3? Do you know what year it is? Can you say your mother’s name? Can you say your address?
My brain was in the constant state of temporary, which means my scores ranged from very high to very low, somewhere between amoeba and rock. When they were high, they were 9 out of 10, when they were low, they were none out of two.
They pinned our names on big tags on our shirts. Gary always wore a NASCAR cap and liked to wash dishes. Once he said, “My hat got wet, my hat got wet.” Kim asked how it got wet and he said, “From water.”
Kim was in charge of Practice Kitchen. She said most brain damaged people are in beginners’ mind. That sounded nice and seemed to be a Buddhist thing. She taught us how to pour milk in a glass.
If you were too screwed up, they could kick you out of the program. If you weren’t screwed up enough, they could also kick you out of the program. You had to be exactly the right amount of screwed up. Unless you were rich or had really good insurance. Then you could just stay.
I was both too screwed up and not screwed up enough, so I couldn’t stay. Like I said, “Ow” seemed more apt to me. But I kept keeping on.
I especially enjoyed several spots in your essay, J. “Somewhere between an amoeba and a rock” just floored me with its proof of your recovery; another gem was Gary’s answer to Kim’s asking him how his NASCAR hat got wet, “from water”. What a classic sense of humor! He answered her question
but didn’t answer it! This was very revealing to me of the workings of a TBI survivor’s mind. And I love “beginner’s
mind”. Without a beginner’s mind, we can learn nothing. I will think about that line all week. . . .
You may have been kicked out of OW rehab, but a whole lot of things went right, with extreme effort and lots of time, I understand. The post about Einstein and black holes, and God playing dice, proves what went right. And I understand that - two things can be true at once, like with Quantum mechanics. You are under the influence of significant brain damage, scar tissue and trauma, from a drunk in a truck -and - you’re an amazing writer that is capable of writing with the clarity and pure color of a laser beam. I know you are shy of compliments, because you are humble. My words are simply expressing what I experience of your writing, not handing out a compliment like passing out cookies. I don’t comment on things for anyone to agree with me, or to like it. I don’t care if they do or don’t. I’m just speaking my truth and if that happens to be expressing my appreciation for someone’s talent, then that’s my truth.