I had the brain injury in April, 2018. Before then I could walk and type on the computer; I could hand in jobs as fast as my clients expected me to do; I could juggle multiple jobs; and I could manage the household money. Then disaster fell upon us. You have to get used to the idea that your life has changed, Eric told me. No, that’s not true, I thought. Someday I will heal, and my abilities will be restored to me: I’ll be able to walk (not to dance, but it didn’t matter) and work (not as fast, but it didn’t matter either). I will no longer need the wheelchair because the cane will replace it. The past won’t come back, but some (distorted) version of it will.
Now, five years later, things have changed but only slightly. I have to keep exercising. I still swallow with an effort and will start coughing if I drink water too fast. And when I’m tired, my muscles can’t function normally. So, after five years, I remember Eric’s words and have to agree with him – the wisdom of hindsight, as they say. I’m a different person from the past “me”: I can’t juggle jobs or type fast or even translate and interpret fast – especially if I’m tired. I can’t walk, not even with a cane. And I don’t know if I will ever be able to set aside the wheelchair, or talk loudly without slurring my voice or twisting my tongue.
I receive the Brain Pickings newsletter on my email every week. Its editor, Maria Popova, picks a topic and comments and chooses quotes around it. In reading Brain Pickings, I came across Katherine May’s book Wintering. The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. Some of the passages resonated with me. May says that misfortunes happen to everybody, including ourselves; chance is unpredictable. But we can learn from our special mode of disaster – of winter.
I’m trying to learn from our winter (it isn’t mine alone: it is Eric’s and Nathan’s). I’m learning to get past the fights, and listen to Eric and share my fears with him. I’m learning to slow down and watch him; to keep quiet and hear him; and appreciate who he is. I’m learning to listen to Nathan, and am trying to help him whenever he needs my help (I have plenty of time to chat!). I’m learning that I have to create an opportunity for us to be together; I enjoy our chats (when I don’t feel annoyed) and discovering who he is in the bottom of his mind.
Spending most of my time in bed can help me get closer to them and take pleasure in knowing who they are.
Now, five years later, things have changed but only slightly. I have to keep exercising. I still swallow with an effort and will start coughing if I drink water too fast. And when I’m tired, my muscles can’t function normally. So, after five years, I remember Eric’s words and have to agree with him – the wisdom of hindsight, as they say. I’m a different person from the past “me”: I can’t juggle jobs or type fast or even translate and interpret fast – especially if I’m tired. I can’t walk, not even with a cane. And I don’t know if I will ever be able to set aside the wheelchair, or talk loudly without slurring my voice or twisting my tongue.
I receive the Brain Pickings newsletter on my email every week. Its editor, Maria Popova, picks a topic and comments and chooses quotes around it. In reading Brain Pickings, I came across Katherine May’s book Wintering. The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. Some of the passages resonated with me. May says that misfortunes happen to everybody, including ourselves; chance is unpredictable. But we can learn from our special mode of disaster – of winter.
I’m trying to learn from our winter (it isn’t mine alone: it is Eric’s and Nathan’s). I’m learning to get past the fights, and listen to Eric and share my fears with him. I’m learning to slow down and watch him; to keep quiet and hear him; and appreciate who he is. I’m learning to listen to Nathan, and am trying to help him whenever he needs my help (I have plenty of time to chat!). I’m learning that I have to create an opportunity for us to be together; I enjoy our chats (when I don’t feel annoyed) and discovering who he is in the bottom of his mind.
Spending most of my time in bed can help me get closer to them and take pleasure in knowing who they are.
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