Dear Beverly

I saw you today.  I saw you shift around in your seat looking anywhere but in my direction.  I know you saw me too.  I've thought about you over the years.  Do you remember the last time we ran into each other?  Do you remember what you said?  Because I sure do.

I was in the mall.  You were there with some of the old crew that I used to work with.  I used to work with you too actually.  The accident finished all of that for me.  You looked me in the face and told me that I don't have a brain injury.  I was astonished.  After all, Beverly, I was tested at the rehab by a neuropsych doc.  An expert. 

I had a personality change after my accident.  Even my taste in reading changed, when I was able to read again.  I slept a lot.  I told raunchy jokes--to everyone-- even to my eighty year old mother-in-law.  I cursed worse than I ever had before.  I had visual changes.  I have a list of things that I've been diagnosed with, all secondary to my traumatic brain injury.  

But you, in your infinite knowledge denial concluded that the experts were wrong.  You weren't there in my bedroom during the first few months when I slept for 22 hours a day.  I got up only to go to some doctor or other and to eat.  You weren't there when I insisted with tears that the classical music station be left on at night.  You weren't there the time that I smelled the non-existent chocolate chip cookies burning in the oven.  Or when the neurodoc stuck six needles in the back of my head on three separate occasions in an attempt to stop the constant headaches.  Those needles in my skull felt good.  That is how much pain I was in.  You weren't there when the first eye doctor informed the assistant "post-head trauma" and walked out of the room.  You weren't there when I looked those words up on the Internet and found out why all these things were happening to me.  You weren't there for the delivery of my TENS unit, my c-pap machine, my cane that I needed to steady me because I no longer know where I am in space.  I fall a lot.  To my right side.  The constant vertigo makes the room spin to the left. You weren't there.

I want you to know that I was hurt by your denial.  I live with my brain damage every day.  I am very glad to be alive.  During the accident I thought to myself, "This is it.  I'm dead."  I had no attachment to those words.  Time stopped.  When it started again, I was alive.  Once I escaped, I knew immediately that I no longer understood the world.  You have the luxury of denial.  I don't.

 I am not contagious Beverly.  You won't catch my brain damage if you were to stop and say hello, have a conversation.  I don't really understand that fear.  I can't relate to it.  I will not live my life in fear.  But some people have to.  I used to think that a traumatic injury was one of the worst things that could happen to a human being.  I don't anymore.  The worst thing is ignorance, living one's life in fear.  That is the worst thing.  


It's been eight years now since my accident.  We don't travel in the same circles.  I've gone on to other things.  And so have you.    So go ahead.  Ignore me when I see you in public next time.  Pretend that brain damage cannot happen to your boss, your co-worker, your son, your friend, you.  Pretend that you don't see me.  It's alright Beverly.  I understand more than I ever wanted to. 


I hope you never have to.

sapphoq healing t.b.i.

Drunken Principal Principles 1/12/07

An Indiana school principal, Scott Syverson, was stopped on December 22, 2007 by an officer. Dr. Syverson was drunk. The police officer was told to use his discretion, so he elected to have the principal driven home rather than arresting him. A prosecutor later fixed that by filing charges. The principal is currently on administrative leave until sometime in February when the school board will meet.

Of note particularly is this letter written by Lorrie Bjornstad about what could have happened:
http://www.indystar.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080112/OPINION01/801120386/-1/LOCAL17
but didn't. Well, it did happen to her daughter. Although Principal Scott Syverson was not the cause of her daughter's traumatic brain injury, he could have been. The driver who did was also intoxicated and also drove that way after a party celebrating the beginning of Christmas/Winter vacation.

(The school board member who had hosted the party that Dr. Syverson attended has said that he did not appear to be impaired upon leaving her home-- self-serving interest? perhaps. The official trouble was that he and two other buddies had gone on to a pub and stayed there for two more hours. Regardless of where he was when his blood alcohol level rose above what is allowed by the State of Indiana, the point remains. Dude was drunk. Dude could have gifted Lorrie Bjorstad's daughter with her t.b.i.)

Dr. Scott Syverson should suffer the consequences of his actions legally; and professionally depending upon the policies of the school board. Additionally, he should be required to get treatment before resuming any duties at any school in the state in any capacity. There should be no extra punishment or no lesser punishment than that afforded to anyone else caught driving drunk.

Having the "disease" of alcoholism or any other addiction-- sorry disease concept fans. I am an old diehard who maintains that it is a condition-- should not be used to excuse bad behavior, period. I fully support Drug Court because there are specific stringent requirements which must be met there and participants have a real chance of turning their lives around. I hope that the principal winds up in a drug court program after serving some jail time and I hope that his being a prominent public figure in his town will not interfere with any consequences of his actions.

Active addiction sucks. Having to live with a traumatic brain injury also sucks.

It's "nice" I suppose that some students are circulating a petition in support of their principal. My sympathies are not with the principal. My sympathies lie with every victim of every driver who has gotten behind the wheel of any transport vehicle while drunk or high or both. Some of us live. Some of us die. Some of us live and our lives and brains are forever changed.

sapphoq healing t.b.i.