Cognitive Fatigue

The road to recovery from recent brain surgery continues, bumpy as ever. Yesterday, after a failed attempt at beginning Yoga which resulted in a throbbing, debilitating headache, I took a walk through the neighborhood and to the store to get my prescriptions filled. Along the way I felt great. Several neighbors stopped me and welcomed me back home. We laughed about my maroon, hospital-issued helmet I'm now forced to wear. While waiting for my prescriptions I went outside. Fatigue started to take over. I sat near the door and rubbed the side of my head.

"Helmet Head. Hey Helmet man." I looked up and noticed a young Asian guy putting his hand over his mouth and yelling as he looked in my direction.

"Yeah, get lost in a coma for a month and see what you come back wearing," I responded. He didn't say anything but went inside one of the stores and never came back outside.

When my prescription was filled I started the trek back to the house. A few steps into it my body started to seize up. Soreness stretched from my lower back to the tips of my toes. Each step felt like my bones were about to snap, like my legs were immovable tree trunks. Halfway home on my half mile journey I wanted to sit down and call someone to pick me up. I could barely move. I grew irritable, tired, and sick. Despite the pain, I trekked on.

A half-hour later I finally made it home. All night my body hurt, my head throbbed, I was asleep by 8pm.

Today I went to the doctor's office and asked about my walk. She called it "cognitive fatigue" and said it is something I'll feel during the length of my recovery. Apparently the brain gets so fatigued, the body begins to shut down. I looked at my doctor, her smile disappeared, her crooked yellow teeth fell behind her wrinkled mouth.

"Cool. Another thing to look forward to," I said.

I See A Darkness

Now that I'm home the genius of those at Camp Alvarado Rehab is beginning to shine. At first Dr. Lance Stone and his battle with mid-life crisis -the one he appears to be losing to- ruled the day. His poor bedside manner, the way he ignored my demands for early discharge, the way he treated me like an unruly teenager, all pointed to a failing program.

Now, a day after coming home; when no nurse appeared at my bedside to give me applesauce with crushed anti-depressants I see something else; darkness; similar to the darkness I had seen throughout my life.

The weight of seeing the fragility of the human condition; the realization that a quick ride on the skateboard with the dog could result in a three and a half week nap on death's doorstep.

And during my hospital stay, friends, family, acquaintances all said they had saved their prayers for me. In the hospital, my new doctor asked if I was a Christian. I was grateful; appreciative, until now.

Now I see that a minor accident can nearly take my life; can drive my aging father crazy, terrify my mother, tear my wife away from her life, make my brother stop smoking weed.

My life, all of our lives are weak, feeble, delicate, and they dangle close to the brink of death. I realized when I was in hospice, under the poor supervision of Dr. Lance Stone, as he was busy trimming his overgrown nose hairs in hopes of impressing the Filipino nurses, that nothing can strenghten this fragility; that prayers, positive thinking does as much good as a beer, a smoke and a rip of weed.

As quick as I was to say this experience, the experience of brain surgery, a month-long coma, tracheotomy, Stridor, Craniectomy, would change my life in a positive manner, now I believe I'm as flimsy and shaky as I was before the accident, and so are my friends and loved ones.

So, now when you call, or, when you write, be prepared for a new darkness because the kind of thoughts that now come easy aren't the easiest to respond to.

Shady Grove

Another day for a recent victim of a brain injury. Today, however, was unlike any other day since I woke up from my coma in early October after a skateboard accident. We met up with friends for a few hours at our house in University Heights. Being the first time since seeing them, naturally, we went through the experience- the fall, the vomit, the tracheotomy, the coma, the craniectomy, the brain surgery, and now this feeble attempt at rehab. They called me Rocky Dennis because of my mishaped head. We laughed- some cried. They asked for me to break my board in half.

One thing that came from the conversation was the fact that this health care system is lacking in so many ways and I am now a first hand witness of it. This isn't just about my middle aged doctor, Dr. Lance Stone, who seemed to be too busy battling his mid-life crisis by gelling his hair and looking for new slick black leather shoes, or about the speech therapist whose insecurity outweighs her patient's needs to learn about their injury. This is about being a number, a policy number. This is about being nothing more than a bed-filler at night. So for those of you out there that are fighting the supposed attempts at health care reform, come to the hospital, stay a night, get a tracheotomy tube ripped from your throat, and then start bitching about government inefficiency, socialism, and any other complaints you might have. And if you really want to test yourself, come to Alvarado Hospital, request Dr. Stone and just try and leave a better person.

Devaluation

For a person that has spent the last three and a half weeks in a coma, I awoke today feeling refreshed. I was quick witted and perceptive. The swelling in my brain had subsided.

The whole day was spent in this condition. During Speech Therapy, where I was told I had been given a 2 out of 7 on my level of "Insight," by an older volunteeer in a white lab coat, the news didn't have much impact.

During Physical therapy when I was unable to balance in beginning Yoga positiions, my mind didn't waiver.

Things did change, however, when Aimee called the hospital to request an overnight pass as I sat motionless in my home during a visit, watching the baseball playoffs with my older brother and mom. Aimee thought staying at home would be easier and more enjoyable for me. She was right.

Naturally, the Filipino nurse immediatley rejected our request.

"The docor will not issue an overnight pass," said the nurse in thick accent.

The same doctor that since becoming my doctor, four days prior, had visited me once briefly, for just over ten minutes. The same doctor that didn't know my name, my occupation, nor my medical condition.

The incident was further evidence of the bureaucracy at Alvarado Hospital. Since admittance, I have not been properly evaluated, nor have I been given instructions on my injury, a prognosis, nothing. Money and insurance rules this place. So much so, the patient is only an obstacle, and a nag. Well this patient is much more...

Hole In The Throat- Fist in the Back...

Today has been a trying day for this recent victim of a brain injury. After a full night's sleep, I went to a park to throw the balll for my puppy; was yelled at by my wife when I removed the plastic helmet from my head and yelled at my mom who constantly had her fist in my back as I walked from the car. I tried to explain to my family that this was my battle. That walking from the car; to the toilet, were things I needed to relearn and perform with confidence. They told me that I needed to remember that they went through this with me, that they spent the last three weeks crying by my bedside, hoping things would turn out. I told them I agreed, but the focus needs to stay on me, on my rehabilitation, on the fact that I was the one in the coma, with the skull missing and the mishapen head. IT was my rehabiliatation that matters most. They didn't seem to agree. My mom wouldn't listen; my brother repeated that he had spent sleepness nights at my bed wiating for my to wake up and my wife told me she went through the same thing. Throw this on top of Doctor Lance Stone's unkind bedside manner and this rehab is taking its toll.

Doc Awck

The problems I'd been having with Doctor Stone culminated today.
"What is it you want," he asked while searching through his front coat pocket for a sliver of paper.
"I want some recognition, some evaluation about my progress. I want to to go home instead of spending my nights with "sitters" and idle nurses. Ever since my brain injury, these nurses and this doctor has been unwilling to rethink the arrangement.

"How do you propose doing such a thing," he asked.

"I think I can come in during the week, and the days I can spend my time writing and doing the things that I love doing."

"I can't do that," Doc Awck said. "It's not our policy."

"Well, I want out then," I said. I don't want to be a part of this anymore. I have a life I want to live."

I told the doctor I no longer wanted his services. The bureaucracy created by health care, from frontal head injuries is massive, swelling, and mind numbing. This is no longer a system set up for the patients. It's no longer a system I feel a willingness to fight for. After a brief discussion, Doc Awk, left the room, agreed to sign off as my doctor. I agreed to a departure date of October 20.

Coming up, a departure date of learning to live with a brain injury, luckily without the help of Doc Stone.

Fall Lazy

It had been three days since I had arrived at Camp Alvaradao Rehab, the three strangeset set of days in my 32 years of life. I had been in a coma, had a tracheotomoy performed. And now I was on resassignement, under the supervisionon of Dr. Lance Stone at Alvarado- a slick grey haired army docto with slenderer black leather shoese. I t didn't take long for Dr. Stone's disdaiin to culminate. By the beginninging of my third day at Camp Alvaradao, while his clinicincians would deliver priase for my prhysical prowess, Stone would questiuon my everery move. And two days later, when I asked whteher Stone would transfer me from Alvaradado, our relationship deteriorated even more.

"Why would I want to do that?" Asked Stone, in smug medical doctor dememanor.

"I FEEL LIKE I'M APART OF THE BEUERACRACY HERE, "I RESPONDEDED.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I RECEIVEED A CALL FROM MY FATHER.

"YOU BETTER STAY AND LISTEN TO DOC STONE," SAID MY DAD. "I F YOU DIDN't you
d be responsible for the money. "YOU'D owe almost $400,000 if you didn't listeen to him. You'd better fucking listen to him, we don"t have that kind of moiney lying around."

The phone call to my father pissed me off. What is it about some older dudes that find joy out of calling out the younger geberation. I wasn'nt threateneed by Stone, though he was clearly threatened by me?

The next day Stone sent his spokesperson over to out hotel room asking if how our relationship had developed. I told her that a phone call to my father the day before bafled me. She appeared surprised.

I saw Stone the next next morning, he said nothing to me. Our relationship was officially over.