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.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sad Girls Club

I sat in my brown chair, tears trickling down my face. Mounting pressure behind my eyes forced more tears out.

The tears had nothing to do with me. They rarely do. My emotions, or those I have when thinking of estranged family members, usually involve anger, a clenched jaw, not crying.

And the wailing session had nothing to do with Aimee; no friends or family were injured or in danger. I didn't cry for the people in Japan, or because of any local tragedy. Instead the sadness came while watching reality TV. Yes, that's right; a reality TV show.

To make it worse, the show wasn't about addiction, mass murder, or sick kids, or mistreated puppies, it was about some rich guy wanting to donate some of his fortune to charity.

Sure it was touching, but not touching enough to bring about a breakdown.

It was a welcome return to anti-depressants.

My doctor said that it's probably still too early in my recovery to ween them from my system. So, I guess the emotions will are here to stay and I should prepare myself for sob sessions during Survivor, and emotional blathering during Top Chef.


  1. Just please... please tell me you won't go to the Dark Side and shed tears for Snooki when she goes on another embarrassing drinking binge!

  2. I'm new to blogs and have just finished my first week on my own blog. I got curious so I started to click through the 'next blog' button at the top and came across yours. I was intrigued by the first few sentences and then I couldn't stop reading. I went to the beginning and spent the day reading every entry (and doing a little laundry too).
    I feel this overwhelming sadness.
    Not as much about your injury, though I'm sure it was awful for you and your family, but about the frustration you must balance every day. I pray it gets better for you.
    The rest of us forget because the physical signs are no longer flashing in our faces like neon signs, but I'm sure they are front and neon for you.
    My son is adopted. Early in his placement with us he was diagnosed 'fetal alcohol effects', which only means he didn't suffer as much of the damage as one diagnosed with 'fetal alcohol syndrome'. Unfortunately, and you'll understand why I say unfortunately better than most, the damage he didn't suffer was the physical damage.
    The small head and close set eyes are not there. Neither is the smooth upper lip or the flat bridge of the nose. He does have the impulsivity, the anger, the heightened reaction to external stimuli (light, touch, sound), the inability to maintain a consistent level of retention and the list goes on.
    As a result, through all of his school years we/he battled not only the learning deficits that accompanied, but the exhausting and continual effort to convince the teachers and administrators at each school in each grade and every class that it wasn't laziness or rebelliousness.
    While your brain injuries are not similar, the struggles you write about bring those memories back as if they were yesterday and again I find myself angry.
    Your courage, and Aimee's commitment are indeed inspirational. If that were only enough to make all the struggle seem worth it. I'll forever be changed for reading your blog and I wish you continued improvement and increased happiness. Thank You!

  3. You are so inspiring. I also was just browsing blogs instead of doing my homework and I came across yours, and then read your article in the San Diego Reader.

    You and your wife have strength I can't even imagine. And for the record, you're a fantastic writer: your brutal honesty and succinct style are striking.

    I can't put into words what your blog made me feel. Maybe it's hope, maybe it's empathy, maybe a wakeup call to stop complaining. Whatever it is, I appreciate it so much and I wish you all the best.

  4. Thanks, CMH and Lareesa, for the kind words. They mean so much to me.