Twenty Years

Twenty years ago a car came into our lane and nearly killed me and injured my daughter. Twenty years ago is when the Traumatic Brain Injury came to stay. I am still making breakthroughs. I am still putting one foot in front of the other and kickin' butt along the way. And it feels grrrreat!!!!!!!!!

This day almost came and went without me even thinking about it. Twenty years.  

 Without realizing it I did wind up celebrating life all day. I thought about something really cool and shared it with my cousins and my sister/friend and shared it with my daughter and wrote and this afternoon I painted at the library and I had a food coupon for a free sandwich so I had that for dinner. My niece bought me some wine at a garage sale and all that time I still didn't realize what day it was. And when I did I thought I should celebrate. I called Portillo's and asked them how much a piece of chocolate cake was, including tax. I had enough change to get a piece and that is exactly what I did. This is a big day that I was never supposed to see. And I enjoyed seeing it all day. Pretty cool.

And Then I Could

Ok, I'm going to try to put into words what happened at Physical Therapy today. I shared that I have a Traumatic Brain Injury but not many specifics. When I am home, with light textured curtains that let the light in but no glares I function pretty well. If I move too fast or turn around too fast I get dizzy. Its like an optical illusion my brain sends me. It is like being in water and trying to see. Everything is wavy. Even the ground. I can feel my body if I touch it but when I am walking there are puzzle pieces that are missing. So the visual part of my brain has compensated. Once when I was out in the pole barn, working on a painting I didn't realize it had gotten dark. So I turned out the light, turned around and I was in darkness. I fell to the ground and was terrified. There was a light on inside the house so I crawled back to the house. I could not tell where the ground was. It was like being in a dark, wavy pool.

I crawled from that long pole barn up to the house in the dark.

The insurance company made it really hard to get help. Just dealing with bills and all of that got to be too much for me and I'd turn my back on the whole thing. And with the help of my kids, and their love and encouragement, I found a way to live a meaningful life.

Forward twenty years. I have a case worker now and she takes care of the billing stuff so I am finally getting to good doctors. And getting Physical Therapy. My therapist said she was going to help me. I was going to get better. I would not get everything back. But I could do better. I had been so unwilling to be a victim and worked so hard that I couldn't imagine there was anything that could get better. But I had hope. For the first time I had hope.

We have been working on walking and sitting and standing and found that there are areas of my body that I don't have any sense of. Like below my knees. Unless my legs are touching a chair or wall or even each other, I have no sense of them. When things got challenging, like sudden light coming in through a window? My toes would ball up in my shoes and I stopped breathing and my hands went out in front of me. Involuntarily. But I have been working on standing and walking and telling my toes to be flat. And breathing. And we have been focusing on a ball. A brightly colored foam ball that fits in my hand.

I have been doing these exercises where I keep my focus on this ball while moving. While sitting to standing, walking and finding something to focus on, looking up and down, left and right.... little things really. We found that if I looked at my feet I could feel them and make them move but if I didn't look at them they hardly moved. They explained how my brain was reading what my eyes were seeing out of sync when I was moving. That was why I did better holding onto a shopping cart or onto Coco. Because my brain was getting good information from my hands.

The Therapist and assistant and I were talking about what I could feel where and when the dizziness came on I was describing it. And I was very woozy after walking side to side focusing on this ball. I was going slowly and remembering to breathe and to talk to my toes and when I sat down the place was like being under water in a room. So she kept reminding me to focus on the ball. And I did. And we are talking and I said, when I was out, it had to be yesterday, bright sun came in a doorway when I was leaving the store and normally I would have been temporarily blinded. I mean everything turns white blinded. Which is one of the big reasons I need Coco so much. And then something new happened. I remembered to focus on something. I turned my eyes away and focused on something else. I think it was red, maybe even my own car. Whatever it was, I told my self to breathe and I felt better. Now this is the good part. I was telling them this and all of the sudden it hit me. For the first time some thing I thought I was powerless to overcome, I could stop while it was happening and tell myself to focus and to breathe. And I started crying. A joyful kind of crying. And we all cried together. I could not have imagined that this could happen, one way or another. They gave me back the ability to do something when I feel completely helpless and vulnerable.

I have been doing my exercises at home. They promised to do their best and I promised to do mine too. But I had no idea a simple foam ball would do so much good. Keeping my eyes on this ball I can move my torso sideways where before I had no sense of where it was. Soon, they are going to help me do yoga again. No wonder I couldn't continue doing yoga after the accident. I have felt so bad that I couldn't do yoga when I have the time to do it. Now I understand.

I am so grateful. I'm writing this to share with you this break through moment. And so I can look back and see when this happened and feel this great feeling again. Never imagine that you don't have an impact on someone's life when you see the potential and you have hope and you encourage someone else because you never know when your hope and your faith will touch someone's heart in a profound way. These people gave me a moment. A moment when I could...
I thought I could
and I could...
pretty cool.

Until Tuesday: A Wouned Warrior and the Golden Retriever Who Saved Him ~ Review

“Until Tuesday,” is the story of Capt. Luis Carlos Montalván, who served in the Army for seventeen years and who was deployed in Iraq during that time.  The way he expresses his thoughts about life, the military, Iraq, being wounded, survival and recovery are honest and truly compelling.  His sheer determination to live a meaningful life is remarkable.  Learning how to navigate this some times crazy world with a Traumatic Brain Injury and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder ain’t no easy task.  Luis is a survivor and a remarkable human being.  And his relationship with Tuesday, who gave him back his heart, is awesome.

“Until Tuesday,” should be required reading for anyone who works with people with a TBI or PTSD.  This book would be a great comfort to anyone who is struggling with their own recovery and it would help those who love and care for them as well. I think anyone with a heart or even a broken heart would be glad they picked this book up and read it.  I didn’t want to put the book down.  And I didn’t want to read it too fast either because I didn’t want it to end.  I highly recommend, “Until Tuesday.” 

 

Amazon Book Link for Until Tuesday

I really enjoyed reading this book because it was well written and honest.  And I also enjoyed it because so many of my own experiences were mirrored in what Luis shared.  Though my TBI and PTSD were caused by a serious head on car crash and not the battlefield; still, the anxieties, fears and endless compensations and avoidances were the same. It was easy for me to attribute my difficulty being a passenger in a car, especially the passenger front seat position, to PTSD.  But what I realized was that in my case, symptoms crept in whenever and wherever I felt vulnerable.  Often having nothing to do with being in or even near a car.  The scars that were left by the people who were supposed to be looking out for me when I was at my most vulnerable, who took advantage of my inability to think is what damaged me the most.  

And to understand that some times the scars that are the deepest have nothing to do with the ones that can be seen was a realization that really hit me when I was reading, "Until Tuesday."  I found a tremendous comfort in this.  In the way Luis shared this.  And I realized, I'm not alone.

I was talking with my sister about this and explained PTSD like this, before the accident, before the terror of seeing a car coming around the bend, speeding and hitting us head on in a couple of seconds, I could assess life.  I was alert but not alarmed.  Thinking clearly but not protectively.  Protectively being different than paranoid.  Since the accident I am more at a state of alertness going straight to alarm.  An actual threat does not have to be happening, just the possibility of a threat needs to be on the horizon and my heart is racing.  I find it more challenging to process what is happening around me.  I often decide to change my direction and do something different because talking myself through what I perceive to be a potential threat takes too much talking! 

I am most productive in the quiet of my own home and prefer not to interact with people, unless I know them and feel safe with them.  Then I'm fine.  I had two Akitas before Coco, my service dog and I felt safe at home.  But leaving the house was a real problem.  Even to empty the garbage or check the mailbox I did at times of the day when I wouldn't see anybody.  Unless I needed to go to the grocery store or there was something I needed to buy I didn't like to leave the house.  And it got even worse after my second Akita died.  With Coco we go anywhere and I'm okay.  And the added bonus that I never considered was how friendly people are.  Most of the time I stop and if they want to pet her I release Coco to greet them and we have a nice visit.  I have met so many nice people that I never would have talked with had it not been for Coco.  It was this part of Luis's story that also intrigued me.  Reading about how his relationship with Tuesday developed was really beautiful.

So yeah, I really enjoyed this book.  But you don't have to have a brain injury to like this book.  It is a beautiful story of dedication, commitment and love that will touch anyone's heart.  It just happened to touch mine in a very personal way and I'm really grateful for that.

Life With My Akita Service Dog Coco

The other day Coco and I were waiting in line and she was leaning into me, creating a little buffer zone on the back of my legs. She does this on my sides or in front of me to make sure that I have room to walk and to give me stability if I'm dizzy. A man said, "That's amazing. She's really got your back." And I said, "Yes, at all times."

And I got to thinking about how life used to be. After the crash I was terrified of everything. Going out. Staying in. Going to sleep. Protecting my family and not being able to do enough. Feeling unsafe in the car, in the house, outside, around people, alone. When we got our first Akita that started to change. My second Akita also made me feel safe and secure. But I knew I was going to need to go on the list for a service dog and would probably not be able to have an Akita any more.

And then an Akita breeder donated Coco to me to be my service dog. And with the help of several trainers her first year of socializing and obedience training went great. And thanks to a neighbor of my sister, we got into a service dog training school. I knew there was a chance I couldn't continue to isolate myself because I had this book being published and would need to do book signings and gallery exhibits of my artwork and to do those things, I had to leave my house and be in situations I couldn't anticipate or control. Coco has taken care of me so beautifully. And she has become an ambassador for the Akita. She is gentle and sweet and has amazing impulse control and she does what Akitas do best, she figures things out all on her own and helps me everyday.

I just want to write that with Coco I can sleep at night. I can walk outside and function okay. Its not like it was before the Traumatic Brain Injury or PTSD but its as good as it gets and that is pretty good these days. This is my girl and me out and about. And that face, I get to look at that face everyday. I am so grateful.

Such is Life

The summer has been so hot I've found myself distinguishing an especially wonderful day to walk in the park by the hues of green round the base of the trees and how gently the breeze flutters through its leaves.  Today the sky isn't a striking blue which lays bare the earth to the sun's blistering rays but today, is a comforting robin's egg blue with large cumulus clouds billowing afore this serene backdrop like a sea of great sails taken to flight.

A pair of lovers enjoyed ice cream cones and talked in whispers.  Looking into each other's eyes directly as each one spoke.  Waiting to hear attentively, what the other said in return.  While they noticed the children playing and the men on the tennis and and basketball courts, their attention to each other was delightfully intent.  I could identify the feeling and was happy for them.

Coco and I walked on the trails that meandered through the park. I breathed in the moist cool air under each patch of shade that covered the path with exaltation.  I was grateful to see the wide open spaces turning green again.  The crippling heat withdrew so much moisture out of the ground by the end of June that it left wide cracks in its dry, parched earth.  The parks and lawns were brown and the leaves began to fall in the early part of July; not from a chill in the air that would come in autumn but rather from a thirst that would not be quenched.  It had been an exhausting summer for every living thing.  Even the birds left for most of the summer, only returning to the yard and bird bath recently.

Children were chasing each other through the wide open spaces and around the young Ash trees, spaced throughout the park. One lovely young girl ran and three younger boys followed her.  Pausing only to announce something they'd seen or declare their direction was about to change. 

Coco, my Akita service dog and I were relaxing beneath one of the Ash shade trees.  Usually we take our walk and then we go home.  But today I decided it would be nice to linger for awhile in the busy park.   I have been in so much pain lately.  I've even taken too imagining what life would be like if both of my feet were amputated.  Taking one more step on them had become unthinkable.  Listening to the laughter and and ball players chiding each other in an Asian tongue lightened my heart.  Resting there was a welcome relief to another movement of any kind.

For quite a few minutes Coco stood over my lap.  She was positioning herself so I could reach around her while she braced and held there firmly while I lifted myself up.  Once she realized I was not in need of her to help me to stand she too relaxed and laid beside me. 

The children playing in the open field took an interest in Coco.  They came over and I said to Coco, gentle greet girl.  I don't think I needed to say anything though.  She was so sweet when the children came over to say hello.  They asked all kinds of questions.  They asked about Coco's guide dog vest and if I was blind and how she helped me.  And as I told them about my brain injury and peripheral blindness and explained how Coco helped me so I didn't walk out in front of cars and how she helped me up and down stairs they listened.  And as they listened they petted Coco.  She had a huge smile on her face and she clearly loved every bit of the attention.

One of the boys picked up a stick.  Will she fetch?

Well, yes but she is an Akita.  So she plays differently.  She goes and gets the stick or ball and then she comes back and lays down.  Then she chews on the stick or chews on a ball and then pops it out of her mouth with a toss and throws it so you can take your turn. I reassured them that she would not bite.  And every time they took a stick from her they'd shriek and then laugh.  The young girl remembered she had seen a tennis ball on the ground and went to retrieve it. 

Coco was on her 33 foot leash so she could move about freely.  The first time she started to run I could see she was going to trip up a couple of the children. So I used my foot to brace the leash and told the kids to look out. Then I told Coco to slow down.  One of the children fell and all were laughing. She then figured out how to play the game. She didn't run far when she played ball and she came back to me and laid down with her ball and then chewed it and popped it out of her mouth and the kids got it and tossed it back to her. She was so gentle with them. As often as they threw the ball she would get it and bring it back and then throw the ball away from the reach of her lovely long legs.  Then one of the children started bouncing the ball on the ground and Coco caught it in her mouth.  This was an amazing trick and occupied all of them for quite awhile.

One of the adults they knew started to setup a net for playing volleyball and so the children went over to see what he was doing.  I smiled at the mama's and said good-bye and they smiled back and waved.  Then I reached for Coco and there she stood, strong, enabling me to stand and we went to the car and I drove home. 

I can drive during the day on small roads.  I can see just fine when I look straight ahead.  I have a hard time with words because I always have double vision.  There is always a shadow line just beneath each line of print.  And my eyes are extremely sensitive to light, even now, after nearly twenty years since my traumatic brain injury.  I am temporarily blinded when Coco and I leave a store and the sun is bright outside or when I am walking into the sun, even with my polarized sun glasses (which help tremendously). Closing my eyes is the only thing that eases the pain of it.  During these times at the park or when Coco and I are out walking in the neighborhood, I close my eyes and Coco leads me.  She has gotten so good at it I can tell her to take mama to the car and she does.  Even if the lot is full she takes me right to our car.  In the car I can pull the visors down and allow the tint from my glasses and the windshield to adjust the direct sunlight enough to make it home okay.  When I wear a cap it is much better.  But some times I forget to take one with me when we leave the house.

In many ways this trauma has been relentless.  In many ways it pulls me back and away from the moment into an abyss of pain and disjointed movement and the ability to process any sort of challenge.  But in the same moment, I have also found a way to enjoy a wonderful day in the park.  This is survival.  This is appreciating how precious and fleeting each moment is and focusing on the beauty of it instead of the pain.  This is the power of taking the next step even when I know it will be excruciating.  This is life.  And though it contains pain and a sense of sorrow when I think about the way it used to be before this pain took a hold of my body; still, the pain diminishes when I allow for joy and mutual kindnesses to touch my heart.

Just wanted to add a little note.  A few hours later my kids and their buds came over and we had a delicious dinner together.  We had homemade chicken soup with veggies from the garden and sangria and salad with fresh veggies and cucumber and herbs from the garden and Italian bread broiled with real butter and garlic and oregano from the garden too. 

The kids played instruments and we all talked and laughed and had a really good time together.  These are the times when I think, I'm so glad I didn't give up because I would have missed this beautiful evening with my children and the people they love.  I carry that with me all day, everyday.  I don't want to miss a thing.  Because every minute is so precious.  And I never know when something special is going to happen.  When I'm going to see those beautiful little yellow and black birds land on my bird bath or hear by son's voice who is far away.  And laugh together about something in life we get a kick out of.  There are certainly moments when life is rough.  But not all of them.  Not all of them.  That's for sure.