So this concussion thing is my least favorite thing since… my entire life.
I’m not sure I can write about it yet, I’m still too IN it to do it justice. Tuesday will be three weeks. I feel better about it all, thanks mostly to acupuncture (miracle of miracles) but the previous two weeks have been among the hardest of my life, no hyperbole. Well, maybe a smidge of hyperbole. It all goes down better with some hype.
I’m feeling finally a bit optimistic and positive but to say I haven’t been positive up until a few days ago is a gross understatement. Right now, words aren’t quite coming as easily as normally (which is very easily, so to be 80% of me means I can still scribble things off but of course, I want to be 100% me. Don’t we all?) and I’m not super dizzy, so this is a good day. Most of all, I am scared. I am scared I’m not going to get better soon enough, or soon, or ever. I don’t know why I fear this so much. I think it’s just something about having your own brain feel foreign to you, like I imagine your immune system must feel when it gets a new heart in. The heart may be great in the end, hell, for all you know it may end up an overall win for your life, maybe it’s a way more empathetic and kind and loving heart than that old clunker you just got rid of, but our bodies are kind of used to their parts, you know? They’re fused and the regrowth, the grafting of new feels terrifying, it feels invasive and wrong and sudden, it feels full of grief, even as it also feels weirdly liberating and expansive.
This explains it pretty well:
I sincerely hope I recover sooner than she did, I’d like to run, and be myself, and not be dizzy and be able to take my daughter to see Frozen before it’s out of theaters. That’s my Christmas wish list, to be well by Christmas. I will do whatever I can.
Resting of course is problematic. Mary Poppins the full-time concussion care nurse will not sweep into my chimney but I have a few tools and plans in place and some specialist docs to see this week.
Wish me well! I was very attached to my old noggin, it’s served me well these 32 years. If I can’t get it screwed on quite the same way again, at least I hope I will get a better, upgraded version. Post traumatic growth is the name for it, and weirdly enough I already feel it. I can’t stop being deep and profound all the time. So sorry for more deep and profound. My neural rewiring is just happening this way.
Right now I’m just happy the worst of the emotional fog is lifting. I’ve never been one for fantasy and role-playing games like Jane, the creator of the Concussion Slayer from the video above, but I’m throwing up my hoodie and at least taking posturing selfies. I’m ready to fight this and come back 100% sooner rather than later.