Life In The Slow Lane...
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San Diego, CA, United States
This is a commentary about the slow lane, about the slowing of time since I suffered a severe brain injury while skateboarding with my dog. This is a blog about recovery; about our '82 VW Westfalia. It's about writing, surfing, camping, married life, bleeding ulcers that make you feel old at 32; about family, friends, and my dog Artie; it's about cruising in fourth gear, getting passed by every car and learning to appreciate every second of it.

Monday, November 29, 2010

The Lab Rat

I've mentioned my affinity for pleasing people in previous blog posts. I've always beern quick to make plans with both friends and acquaintances. But now that my filter allows things to slide through with ease, my schedule is full, my weekends busy.

After days and weeks of running around, I become overwhelmed and tired. The fatigue is cognitive before it turns physical. The bulge on the side of my head where coiled tendons gathered begins to swell. It's the first sign of a crash. And while not nearly as bad as before, the crashes force me to the chair with blurry and teary eyes and a numb mind.

My neurologist suggested that I not agree to anything on the spot. She told me to respond by telling people that I need to look at my calendar, or, need to think more about it more before agreeing to anything.

She asked me to keep track of all of the plans and commitments that are asked of me. She said for me to write down what the invitation was, my response, and the outcome.

I started last week. It's kind of funny; I feel like a laboratory researcher and the lab rat at the same time. Judging by my commitment chart, this rat is a slow learner.

1 comment:

  1. Just stumbled on your blog and have been lost in it for the last two hours (don't tell my boss). My dad had a series of strokes from the time I was 16 until his death when I was 29. They were all cerebral hemorrhages, and during a time when we knew nothing about treatment for brain swelling. Three years ago my sister (a self-employed stained glass artisan) had a massive cerebral hemorrahage and it is amazing to witness her gradual and determined recovery. Nothing short of miraculous, she is still working at her art, struggling, but still doing the work.
    Thank you Dorian, for your candor and willingness to share this perilous journey. As a former caretaker myself (my darling husband died of parncreatic cancer after a 18 month fight, several years ago) please give your wife a long hug for me. She is equally brave, and yes, you do not smell of old mold because of her love.
    Get those darling idiot kids to wear a freakin' helmets.I cringe when I see beautiful young oblivious skaters and bikers weave in and out of traffic as though they are invincible.
    My late husband was also a surfer (sadly, I am a "Beach Weinie") - and I know for sure the ocean kept him alive much longer then I thought possible.
    Thank you. May your courage keep you going.

    my best wishes, and kindest thoughts,
    glynn brannan