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You help a lot, even when you help a little. |
A Survivor’s Story
by
Martin E. Millard © 2000
“Hey what’s wrong with you,
did you get smacked in the head or something?” “Yes. As a matter of fact I
did. Thanks for noticing.”
Two years ago, when I was 18
years old, I tripped and fell on a sidewalk and hit the front part of my head on
a cinder block wall. My memory of the events is sketchy and that’s also one of
the symptoms of ABI. What I do remember is walking down the sidewalk and being
hit in the face with a low tree branch and at the same time tripping on an
uplifted portion of sidewalk. I remember being thrown violently forward into the
wall. I then apparently blacked out for a period of several minutes to a half
hour. I’m not sure. My next memory which I see, even today, as though in a fog
or dream, was of sitting up where I had fallen and not being able to see
anything at all. Everything was totally black. I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe
there was a cloth over them. When I did so, I could feel something sticky on my
forehead and face. I later learned that this was blood that had come from a
massive goose egg on my forehead. After a few minutes my eyesight slowly faded
back in from black to gray and then to increasing light until I could see again.
I remember looking around and I knew where I was, then I must have blacked out
again, because I don’t remember anything until I was in the emergency room of
the hospital. What I surmised later was that I had apparently somehow managed to
walk the couple of blocks to my house where my father found me slumped at the
front door. It was my father who took me to the hospital, I later learned.
Now, about that goose egg. When I
say that it was massive, that’s exactly what I mean. The center of my forehead
above the bridge of my nose looked like a very large goose egg. I know this,
because I have photos taken the day after the fall. I was like a human unicorn.
The doctors at the hospital dressed my wounds and were going to admit me, but
they then decided it would be okay to release me to my father so long as my
father watched me all night, to be sure I didn’t bleed from the ears (which is
apparently not a good thing with head injuries). I got through the night okay
and was supposed to start my summer job as a ticket taker at the local county
fair the next day, and while I wanted to go in, my father had me stay home so he
could be sure I wasn’t bleeding from the ears or showing any signs that he
should take me back to the hospital. However, when I called in to my work they
told me that they really needed me, so I did go in the following day. I still
had a headache and the goose egg was still there, but my boss gave me an easy
gate to work at. I thought I’d be able to just shake off the injury. After
all, most of us will fall down or get hit in the head at sometime or other in
life and life just goes on with no problem. Oh, I was getting almost daily
headaches, but I figured that they’d eventually go away. The odd thing,
though, was that when I’d be in bright light I’d feel an increasing warmth
on my forehead and then the headaches. I figured I must be imagining this and
just kept taking Tylenol for the headaches. Apparently, I was also moody after
the fall, and I couldn’t take any type of psychological pressure. Sometimes
I’d cry when under pressure, sometimes I’d get angry.
As the weeks went on, however, my
parents started noticing that I was sleeping all day long. I’d go to bed at,
say, 7:00 pm and then I wouldn’t wake up until someone woke me up which was
sometimes at 6:00 the following night. I think I would have just kept sleeping
if no one woke me up. At first, my parents didn’t associate this sleeping with
the fall, and took me to the doctor to be checked for mono and thyroid problems.
All the tests came back negative, but then one doctor noticed that my left eye
wasn’t tracking properly and she sent me to an ophthalmologist who discovered
a visual field problem. A CT scan followed that came back negative.
Next there was a visit to a
neurologist and the realization that I had lost my sense of smell and that I
couldn’t figure out things such as “A stitch in time saves nine.” It was
also noted that my speech was excruciatingly slow and labored, and that I had a
flat emotionless way of speaking. As to my speech, I have a problem because I
just can’t get the words out and sometimes use inappropriate words or simply
accept the words put into my mouth by others who get tired of waiting for me to
speak and fill in the gaps for me. It’s frustrating when I try to say
something intelligent or witty and nothing comes out. It’s as though at those
times, there’s no connection between my brain which is thinking the words and
my speech muscles. Sometimes I get words out but they’re just the opposite of
what I mean to say. Say “Good Morning” to me and I may say “Good
Evening,” even if it’s early in the day.
Another difference is in my sense
of humor. I now think slap stick humor is extremely funny and before the fall I
didn’t. Hmmm. Since Jerry Lewis is so popular in France, I wonder if maybe the
French have all fallen on their heads. Never mind.
A visit to another neurologist
confirmed the ABI (acquired brain injury) indicated by the first, but he had no
suggestions about what I could do about the symptoms, including my almost daily
headaches. Then I went to another doctor and by luck this one had been a combat
doctor in Viet Nam who had treated Marines who had combat related head injuries.
He said that he’d seen many similar cases and that the problem with the
headaches was that there was probably too much light entering one or both eyes.
In my case, because of the left eye flutter and because the headaches seemed to
be mostly on that side, it seemed logical to assume that the problem was the
left eye. He suggested that I wear an eye patch or dark glasses when I was in
bright light. I took his advice and the headaches did seem to lessen when I did
block most of the light from the left eye. My parents also started noticing that
I was moodier and more passive than before. The way they’d describe it was
that I looked like a 90-year-old man in a deck chair on a ship, because I’d
sit before the computer with a blanket covering me.
Another odd result of the fall
was that I started pronouncing my last name differently than other members of
the family. They all pronounce it MillARD, while I now pronounce it MillERD. I
just can’t seem to get MillARD out.
That’s the way it is with ABI.
There are often some major things that one notices and links up to the fall once
one is aware of the condition but there are also lots of little or subtle things
that are also different. Some of these differences I noticed by myself, but it
took others to notice some of the others. I was somehow a different person after
the fall. The problem was connecting up the dots, and figuring out that all
these odd things were directly related to the fall. Anyway, I started doing some
research on ABI, and soon discovered that I had symptoms that weren’t
uncommon. Eventually, my parents learned of an ABI clinic in our city, and I was
tested and taken into the program, where I’m learning to compensate for
whatever it is I’ve lost as a result of the ABI.
Much of the retraining has to do
with the memory. I now have what’s called Swiss-cheese
memory. I can remember my social security number, but I can’t tell you what I
just wrote three sentences ago, unless I reread it. I may remember what I saw on
TV last night, but not what I ate. Thanks to the clinic, and being around the 80
or so other people at the clinic, I’ve started to realize that the various
symptoms I have are not some sort of congenital personal flaw but can all be
traced back to the fall.
One of these problems I have is
in my junior college classes. When a professor writes something on the
blackboard I have to look up after each letter of each word when I try to write
it in my notes. This takes a lot of time and I never seem to be able to get all
the notes down.
Before the fall, I wasn’t a
great student and since the fall, I’m not a great student either, but I did
manage to get two A’s
in computer classes after the fall. Some who are aware of my fall and
condition have said “Two A’s? We should all be so lucky to fall on our
heads.” The truth is that ABI doesn’t make one dumber nor smarter than one
was before the fall, it just often changes things such as mental speed and the
way we process information as well as the other symptoms I’ve mentioned. In my
case, I think I appear dumb to others because it usually takes me a while to
answer when someone speaks to me and as already mentioned I often can’t get
the right words out even when I finally do answer.
One particularly mortifying
incident happened in one of my college classes. The professor told the class
that anyone who gave a speech in front of the class would get an automatic 20
points added to their final grade, no matter how good or bad the speech was.
However, after I gave my speech, the professor told me, in front of the whole
class, that I wouldn’t get the 20 points because my speech was so halting and
bad that I didn’t deserve the points. I then told him that I thought he was
aware of my brain injury. He apparently wasn’t, so he apologized and did give
me the 20 points. Of course I was so embarrassed by this incident that I could
have dug a hole and crawled into it.
There are other things as well
that are different now in addition to the speech problems, the headaches, the
loss of my sense of smell, the long sleeping hours and on and on. One thing is
that I can’t stand some sounds. One of these sounds that drives me up the wall
is an alarm clock. Oh, I know, you’re probably saying that drives you up the
wall too, but I mean it really, really, really drives me up the wall and if an
alarm clock goes off in my presence, my day is over. I have to go to bed for the
rest of the day, I’m so jangled by the sound.
Thanks to the clinic and with the
help of my family, I’m learning to live with my ABI. I’ll probably never be
the same as before the fall, but I should be able to live a fairly normal life
with some adjustments. After junior college I hope to go to law school and then
to specialize in computer law.
Perhaps my story will help others
to understand the silent epidemic of Acquired Brain Injury.
Martin E. Millard
