When I was a toddler, I jumped head first into a set of concrete stairs. Hello stitches.
At 10, I walked my skull into a full swing of a baseball bat. Wrong place, wrong time. Pay attention kiddies!!!
22 years old, snowmobiling accident. First documented concussion.
I can’t blame doctors for what they didn’t know for certain. This was long before concussions were taken seriously. Sure, the medical world was aware of them, but the recovery was simple. Don’t let a concussed person sleep!!! Okie dokie. No sleep for me. At 22, pain is easily forgotten. Pushed aside. Neglected. What brain injury?!?!
23, extreme water tubing accident resulting in an elbow to my head. Instant egg sized bump, neck jerked violently. Had me seeing stars.
25, my love for bungy jumping strikes again. Who doesn’t love a little whiplash?!?!
They didn’t know and so I didn’t know. They didn’t care and so, why should I have?!?!
Fast forward, 30 years old. Family vacation to Montreal. 24 hour stomach bugs all around. I was the last one standing, until that night. 3am, I awoke to severe nausea. It was going to come out, one way or the other, I wasn’t sure yet. I quietly snuck into the bathroom without waking my husband or my kids. I don’t remember much after that. I woke up, the top half of my body was in the bathtub, the bottom was out. I mumbled as loudly as I could, so confused. My neck hurt. I didn’t know at the time that I had soiled myself, so confused. Where was I? How the hell did I get there? I called out again for my husband. It could have been seconds but it felt like hours before he found me. I remember him sitting me on the toilet and then I fell onto the sink. I passed out 3 more times before the ambulance arrived. I have never been so afraid in my life. Everything was foggy, dreamlike, still so confusing. They rushed me to the hospital, alone. My husband had to stay with the kids, who miraculously slept through the traumatic event. I was in another province, away from everything and everyone I knew, alone. I don’t remember getting to the hospital. I told them my neck hurt. I said it to everyone I encountered but no one could hear me. Finally, they did, and everything became that much more of an emergency. I remember yelling as they strapped me to a board. Screaming in pain as they violently struggled to insert a catheter inside me. 15 terrifying hours, multiple tests and scans later, I was with my family again. My blood pressure was finally stabilized and I was discharged with a simple diagnosis. Concussion. No further explanation could be given. Concussion. I could leave the province and report to my doctor immediately after getting home. Concussion. That word meant more to me this time. The following week was excruciating. The migraines, the light sensitivity, the pain had me in curled up in a ball on my bed in tears. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I forgot how to spell. I couldn’t remember what I was doing, or talking about, or anything. Back to the hospital I went. The next words, I didn’t know it at the time, would change the rest of my life. Post-Concussion Syndrome. Me? What the hell does that mean for me? The world had just watched Sydney Crosby, a hockey player at the top of his game, suffer through the same thing. What he did for concussions was game changing. Suddenly, the medical world took notice. Things were different now. It was all over the news. I knew exactly what it meant for me. It meant that everything I had ever known was about to change. They told me it could take months, years or forever to get back to where I was. Seriously. That’s what they said. Just like that. Sorry lady, but welcome to never knowing or understanding your brain again. Well fuck that and fuck you. I’ll show them. Or so I thought. Eager to get back to the Sandra I knew and loved, I took a solid 3 weeks off work. Against all orders from every doctor and my family, I rushed to get back there. I didn’t listen. I never was very good at listening anyway. By the end of the first day, I knew it was bad. I knew but I didn’t care. The second day would be better. That’s what I told myself. I made it a week before my symptoms went back to the way they were that day in the hospital. The doctor told me what I desperately did not want to hear, that every bit of recovery I had made was completely erased by my idiotic decision to return to work. I spent the next 3 months off work. Resting. Slowly, VERY slowly, becoming myself again. There were days when I didn’t think I would make it. I lost so much of myself, I didn’t know who I was anymore. Spending that time with those I loved, helped the healing. I took the experience as a message to slow down. To appreciate the things I did have. As I got healthier and grew stronger, I wasn’t the same person, I was better. By the time I returned to work, I was well on my way to healing. I was able to exercise and be active again. My memory was becoming more clear. Physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually, I was in a great place.
Just before my 32rd birthday, my family and I were having a leisurely skate. A little boy was recklessly skating around the rink. I didn’t even see him coming. He skated full speed into the back of both my legs. They were lifted off the ice and I had no where to go but down. My head hit so violently that I couldn’t see. I immediately began to cry. I cried not for the pain, but because I knew exactly what this meant for me. When you’ve had a traumatic brain injury, even the slightest hit could be severely damaging. This was exactly that. I was taken to the hospital immediately. The doctor didn’t even have to say it, I was in tears before the word came out of his mouth. I knew that look. Concussion. I went back and forth from “Sandra, you’ve done this before and you can do it again” to “Sandra, you’ve done this before and you can’t do it again.” I knew what to prepare for. Pain. Migraines. Memory loss. Fogginess. I thought I knew. But then something happened. Something I didn’t expect. Post-Concussion Syndrome again. I was prepared for the long term. For the weeks, months, years or never. What I wasn’t prepared for was the insomnia. A symptom I had never had before. Insomnia. I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed all night, nothing. Wide awake. Nothing. When I say I thought I was losing my mind, please don’t take it lightly. I truly thought I was losing my mind. I tried everything. I could NOT sleep. This was further complicated by my former drug abuse. Sleeping pills are highly addictive and in the state I was in, I did NOT want to play with fire. THIS was worse than anything I had felt before. I was off work for 3 months with an additional 3 month modified schedule. I had never been so serious about recovery in my life. I did everything I had to do to get better. I took a sleeping pill and finally got some sleep. I set guidelines with myself and my husband about how often I would take them. I surrounded myself with nothing but love and support. There was nothing negative allowed into my personal bubble. It was a game I HAD to win. My memory took a beating this time around. I made more lists. The family relied on my to keep schedules, pay bills, make appointments. I asked for help. I slowly added more and more physical activity, finally able to return to most of my non-contact sports. I was able to get some naps during the day. Melatonin helped at night. In 6 months, I allowed myself to take 15 sleeping pills. I laughed. I loved. I, once again, was grateful for all the amazing things I had in my life.
4 months after returning to work full time, my blood pressure drops rapidly in the shower. I wake up on the bathroom floor, my husband sitting over me. Yes, I hit my head on the way down. I hit the area of the brain that affects memory. My memory was affected. Badly. The word Concussion doesn’t carry the same power over me anymore. The potential risks for my future, I am aware of those. What I’ve learned is that nothing is stronger than my will to survive. To fight. To be me.
Some call it bad luck. Some joke that I should live in a bubble. The last few years have been the most challenging years of my life. I’m not the same person I was. In some ways, that’s a good thing. In other ways, not so good. All I know is that I hit my head…and then my life was changed.
And miles to go before I sleep 