The Feeding Tube

With so many stronger memories that seem to be riddled with meaning, I’m not sure why this one remains so vivid, but it does bring a smile…

When I first returned to awareness, my mouth was wired shut and I had a tube sticking out of my belly - it was through this tube that I was fed.  I don’t remember not being able to communicate, but I’m sure I was severely limited as I don’t see any reason to feed me directly to my belly unless my mouth was wired. - you can see the feeding in the below pic - but that’s not what I remember.






What I do remember is being fascinated with this piece of medical technology, and being proud of my tube - showing it off in the way a ten year old boy displays the grotesque but harmless scrape scrape he suffered.


I also remember the tube being removed.  As I first returned to awareness, the tube was present, and when it was removed, I remember expecting to need to return to the operating room, or at least go under some sort of anesthesia.  Instead, two of my favorite nurses entered the room, one held me down, the other pulled on the tube, and out it came - accompanied by a satisfying “Pop”.

That was it - even at the time I was flabbergasted by the absurdity and simplicity of the procedure - tug the tub and it pops out.  I still had to drink my meals, but finally there was a sense of taste that came with the eating process.

A strange memory, but one I’m glad to have.

Memory of a Sensation

I’m lying on my side at Magee Rehabilitation Hospital in Philadelphia.  This isn’t long after my memory has started to return, and I’m beginning to recognize there are aspects about my being that have gone through some pretty major changes - short bouts of depression would wash over me.  Confusion was the most consistent emotion, and the fact that this confusion was so prominent was what made the most sense.

Everything had changed.  I didn’t remember it changing, didn’t choose to go through it, couldn’t even really point to the event that caused it - I knew I had been in a car accident, but the accident was completely wiped from my mind.  I just slowly woke over the course of a month, and wasn’t what I worked my life to become.  What’s more, I didn’t have a clear idea of what or who this new self meant.  I was just different - was I even Lethan anymore?

That question hit me hard - was I Lethan?  There were many times when I settled into that question and couldn’t get away from it.


But in this scene, as mentioned above, I’m lying on my side at Magee Rehabilitation Hospital.   This barrage of difficult and painful questions is torturing my mind and my spirit is low.  I’m ready to give up.  I’m just tired, and I’m ready.

And I sense something come into my room.  Though the window.  I’m on the 5th floor, and the windows barred, so I know nothing is actually coming in, but something comes in, moves over to my back, reaches out, touches me - its not a physical hand touching, but it is physical - a physical nothing.  And I sense this essence move into my body, filling me like river filling an empty quarry - and I feel…

Love?

Hope?

A future?


That’s it, a future, a next step - not a solution, but directions to a path that I’ve been called on to travel.

Just like that I feel this thing remove itself from my body - I feel a physical departure and it seeps out through my fingers, and that sense of direction is gone, but the memory of it remains.  And I remember that moment, so I didn’t give up.


I discuss this moment in storytelling, and I think its an important moment to return to because of that profound memory of feeling a sense of direction which kept me going.


What was it that touched me?  I won’t rattle on about my philosophies here - there are other entries for that.  All I will say is that it was an event, and I do remember it, and I’m still trying to pick out the right path that was suggested in that moment…its just a memory of a sensation, so the details are tricky to pick out, but knowing that path exists motivates me to keep searching.

Reunion with Friends

A short memory - the summer before my accident, I attended a select artistic camp called Pennsylvania’s Governor’s School for the Arts.  The experience was wonderful, and I formed dozens of friendships that we swore would never end, but all eventually dissolved as the inevitable reality of growing up occurred.  At the time of my accident, however, the friendships were still strong and the friends connected from various spots in Pennsylvania and made a trip to see me in Philadelphia.


What I remember most is the pure joy at seeing everyone.  My life had changed, but that didn’t mean everything from the past was lost.  Seeing my friends from Governor’s School helped me to realize that.  They came to visit me in the hospital, and I remember filling the lounge where we gathered with laughter and smiles.  They all felt sad for my situation, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t bask in the joy of reunion.


What i take from this memory is the refusal to be depressed.  I did have depression at many times in my recovery, but I’m a performer so I didn’t want to show this - a sort of “fake it till you make it” philosophy.  While some of my positive attitude was falsely put on, by saying I was doing okay helped to convince my body that I was okay.

I don’t mean to sound overly optimistic or to belittle pain, but with this entry I want to encourage a smile.  As I write this, I am torn because these words do seem trite or cliché, but I also remember that by saying I’m getting better and I’m going to work through this, I made those statements a reality.  A positive attitude and insistence on smiling exploded any luck I had into an even fuller recovery.

Change

This entry takes a slight departure from the usual posting in that I’m going to write a little about what’s going on now in my life, as opposed to the past, yet the topic is still relevant when talking about TBI.


We are looking at change.

I have been living and working in South Korea for the past several years, and I am fortunate to be in a relationship with an amazing Russian woman, Anna, who I met here.  We have lived together for the past year, but recently (last Sunday) she had to return to Russia for financial reasons.  Our relationship has stayed strong and we will reunite and teach in China after I finish my current contract, but this situation has caused a big change.  I recognize this change is not terribly drastic - there are countless changes that have a far deeper effect on a person - but I find it interesting how this change makes me think on my time in early recovery from Brain Injury.

As we tumble like a rock through the avalanche of existence, we are inevitably going to be chipped and scratched along the way - events that change our surface, our very shape - yet we retain the essence of self.  As events hit, they can have a monumental effect on how one lives his or her life, and often these impacts seem negative, but by holding onto the essential truth of self-identity, one can change what begins as a negative experience and make it positive.


Before my accident, I had my life plan - I was going to be an actor.  I was good, probably not as good as I thought I was, but I had experience and was eager to learn more.  In my all the communities I was a part of, I was “Lethan the Actor”.  After my accident, however, I fell out of the theatre - my passion was drained and my self-criticism was rampant.  This twisted me in some weird ways - I remembered who I had been as an actor, and I wanted the consistency in self-identity, but I also wasn’t feeling committed to the stage.

This struggle with identity, though usually quiet, continued for years - my mind trying to squeeze back into the actor’s outfit, but never finding the right fit.  I knew I wanted something to do with performing, but was also learning that being an actor wasn’t the right path.  To deal with this dilemma, I pushed myself to open up my options, exploring Anthropology, Political Science, Music Theory, Creative Writing, Philosophy - and eventually discovering Storytelling.  Some may say that Storytelling is just like acting - that I never really left the stage - but I disagree.  Both are performance arts, but there is a significant difference in the delivery and composition and I could outline these differences in an essay, but I really don’t think that’s important here.  What is important is that I left myself open to change, and I’m grateful that the change has been in my life.  If I hadn’t had my brain injury, its possible that I would have remained on the actor’s path and may have even been successful - at times I still regret not feeling drawn to that path - but the life I remained open to gives me pride as a storyteller and I am thrilled to be exploring this less known art and seeing what I can make of it.

Bringing it back to my current change, life has caused my girlfriend and I to live a few countries apart.  This is not an easy separation and I am eager to be with her again, but my goal is to make the most out of this change.  The situation has changed, now its my job is to discover how I can make the most out of it.  That is the goal with any change - recognizing and embracing changes in situation that make us stronger and allow us to reach our fullest potential.  The accident disrupted my world, and I will never say the accident was a good thing, but by accepting change a unknown world opened up to me, and I am grateful for the life that came to me.

Now with pictures

As you can see from the top of this page, I have been fortunate to have some pictures from my recovery that I am able to upload.  I will share these pics gradually as I am able to meditate and reflect on the memories and emotions they bring up.  Already these pictures have hit me in some unexpected ways, and I will be interested to hear your thoughts.

The on picture I have uploaded so far - the picture at the top of the page - is my sister comforting me in Geisinger Medical Center, the first hospital I recovered in.  More thoughts to come.

Flirtatious Romance

There was a strange romance while I was in the hospital - or at least a hint of a romance that was not actually in the hospital, but it occurred while I was there.  It began prior to my accident, I had been hanging out - casually dating - a girl at the school in the district next to mine - an innocent flirtation more than anything.


As it happened, her mother was one of my nurses at my first hospital - though I don’t remember this part of my recovery - and once I was in Magee Rehabilitation, I don’t remember who initiated it, but the flirtation continued and we would talk on the phone almost every night.  I remember having feelings for her, but at the same time not caring - I think I thought of her as my girlfriend, though we never proclaimed it as such, and I felt no real attachment.

As I returned from the hospital, I remember her coming to my house, sitting next to me on my futon bed as we just sat there and talked - the bedroom doors open for a chaperoned visit.  Still in my neck brace and my face stuck in a confused clown’s smile, I tried to hold her hand, and she wasn’t sure about that, so she pulled her hand away, and that was okay.


And its a strange memory because I don’t remember any more than that - I think she left my house soon after - but that image is in my mind, like i’m watching it through the open kitchen door - sitting on the red futon, me smiling, she uncomfortable, music playing, an uncertain laugh from both of us.

After that, she disappears from any memory - I don’t know her thoughts or how she felt, and I sometimes wonder what they were.  The strange thing is that I never recall feeling any loss as she disappeared.  There were a few moments in my mind when I recall wondering about her, wishing we could be a couple, but those were just momentary slight depressions, quickly dissipating when something else caused a distraction.  I think, more than anything, I juts wanted to be a normal teenage boy, and having a girlfriend seemed something that would be normal.

Despite her quickly vanishing from my life when I returned from the hospital, our romance was a boon in my recovery.  While it existed, being able to talk and share in a coquettish, fantasy romance granted a hint of normalcy as I healed.

She and I didn’t stay in touch - we attended the same university, and I remember passing her as I left a class, a quick “Hey…” and moving on.  I have no idea where she is now, but I wish her all the best, wherever she may be.  Life moves on, and though she was but a glimpse in mine, I appreciate having that time as a memory.

For me, this brings to light the importance of every interaction.  While by no means monumental in my recovery, she was a positive part of it, and its little bits like this might be the nudge that encourages one to ignore the statistics, defy the odds, and just get better.

That’s my memory, but do you have any memories of small interactions that have been a positive nudge in your life?  Please share in the comments.

My Job in Recovery

I remember being afraid of failing to get better.  What I think is interesting about the memory is that it wasn’t so much a fear of not getting better but a fear of failing - failing to get better.

From the beginning, my recovery surpassed expectations - my healing and commitment to the process was widely praised.  The pressure to get better was on - I was expected to continue this unusually fast recovery or else I would fail the people around me.  It’s important to note that absolutely nobody intentionally put that pressure on me - I received the perfunctory better health encouragements - that I’d be “better in no time” or “back to my old self”, and I’m sure they were not intended to make anything more stressful, but I felt the stress of expectations.  It was my job - or even my duty - to heal and make these motivational comments reality.


Simultaneously, the mediocrity of the tasks that got praise was frustrating - looking back I recognize that the mental repairs and adaptations my brain was making were remarkable, but at the time if felt like mocking praise.  I remember questioning, “Is this all I can do now?  This is what’s getting applause?  I used to do really great things!  Now I’m reduced to…eating with a spoon on my own…working through elementary math calculations…putting one foot in front of the other.  Why are my ‘great achievements’ so damnably trite.”  Reflecting on this attitude from the present time, I feel those thoughts were somewhat pretentious - many survivors have difficulty with such tasks, yet I was able to do all these relatively quickly.  That is amazing, and I know that now.  Fortune or the Fates or Love (see a previous entry) or what have you allowed me to move ahead in my recovery, yet still I cursed the praise while urning for more.  This is a part of recovery that many survivors may not experience, or maybe people do feel the same thing or some variation of this.  Please share below (comments).

What ever the case, I pushed my body - insisted that I would not accept what I was “supposed to do” as an applaudable accomplishment. I had a job - to recover - and damnit, I was going to do it, whatever that meant.  Do I think it was good to have this attitude?  I really don’t know.  It might have convinced my mind and body to heal, but I know it brought out a lot of self-anger.  A truth of me is that I’m never fully happy where I am - always want more of myself and more recognition.  That truth was present as I recovered, and it may have pushed me to do more than I was expected to do.  Again, please share your thoughts on this.


The other side of this situation is that I’ve often heard that happiness if found by being at peace with where you are.  Being at peace with who you are.  Happiness is striving to achieve what is possible, but finding contentment wherever that takes you.  My discontent brought a lot of pain to myself and those around me.  It was only because I am fortunate to be surrounded by such love that most of these relationships have remained.


Were my self-expectations good for my recovery or bad for my social interactions?  Were they both?  How?  I would appreciate your thoughts on the topic - share some of your own stories about your own self-expectations.