I wanted to change accountants, and my friend had strongly recommended this one, so Eric and I decided to contact them. I called them up and we set a date for a meeting. Eric asked if the building was wheelchair-accessible because I’d had a brain injury, and they suggested an office that met the requirements. Finally, we had a date and an address. We showed up at the office, I in the wheelchair, and Eric pushing me. Then we sat down to discuss IRS and taxes. As the conversation progressed, I had to ask for an explanation. Eric offered it, but I didn’t understand. He tried again, but I still didn’t understand. The accountant’s expression was sympathetic. “Poor woman,” their eyes seemed to say. So, I decided to shut up. We went back to earnings and deductions. Some days later I learned that I’d missed a fragment of the conversation, and that was the reason for my lack of understanding.
When I first woke up from my coma, my brain was still full of blood. I was very confused and had episodes of persecutory delusions. As the blood slowly reabsorbed, my confusion and delusions disappeared, but I couldn’t situate myself in a specific time; I couldn’t understand instructions; and I thought I’d heard people say something they’d never said. In short, my cognitive ability hadn’t been restored. So far. Now when I wake up, I know on what day in the month we are; I remember what people have said to me; I can maintain conversations and make appropriate remarks and I understand instructions. Does that mean I’ve recovered my cognitive ability? I don’t know. But it does mean that when people learn I had a brain injury, they shouldn’t infer that I can’t understand what I’m told, or that I need a keeper. And I should remember this admonition as well. We should treat a new person in our lives as though we hadn’t known them before, no matter their previous history. All human beings deserve respect, whatever the cause of their disability.
When I first woke up from my coma, my brain was still full of blood. I was very confused and had episodes of persecutory delusions. As the blood slowly reabsorbed, my confusion and delusions disappeared, but I couldn’t situate myself in a specific time; I couldn’t understand instructions; and I thought I’d heard people say something they’d never said. In short, my cognitive ability hadn’t been restored. So far. Now when I wake up, I know on what day in the month we are; I remember what people have said to me; I can maintain conversations and make appropriate remarks and I understand instructions. Does that mean I’ve recovered my cognitive ability? I don’t know. But it does mean that when people learn I had a brain injury, they shouldn’t infer that I can’t understand what I’m told, or that I need a keeper. And I should remember this admonition as well. We should treat a new person in our lives as though we hadn’t known them before, no matter their previous history. All human beings deserve respect, whatever the cause of their disability.
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