I Don't Know Who I Am

I don't know who I am. That is how I felt after the car accident. That is what I would say to myself in response to my actions. Quite rapidly, remembering how I used to be, how I would respond to life,  faded. I tried to hold onto to it, but couldn't. Who was I now? I couldn't trust myself. I didn't have the history of past actions to refer back to. It was like being an adult but as fresh as a baby. I lost my reference point. I had no guide. I couldn't predict my own actions. I had become an observer of my own life watching a replacement actor stand in for me.

"Frontal Lobe (behind the forehead) An injury to this part of the brain can cause changes in emotional control, initiation, motivation, and inhibition. An intolerance for frustration and easily provoked aggressive behavior are typical. Promiscuity and lethargy may also result."

I chatted up the young woman at the MRI center's front desk. For those of you that are introverts, you understand how out of character this is. I stood outside of myself watching and listening to the repartee. I wasn't uncomfortable at all! This was actually easy! Who the hell am I?

There were other problems, though, that didn't have such a happy result. My short term memory was shot. I couldn't hold onto conversations. Sometimes I couldn't remember I even had one! I would be sitting at my desk at work struggling to focus. My mind was all jumbled up and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make it calculate at the speed and efficiency I had always known. Frustration mounted. It was like living in a room filled with cobwebs, batting at them trying to pull them down but not being able to clear them out. 

There was one time when I was sitting at my desk at work trying to recall what the current task was. I looked at my computer screen and then looked down at the piece of paper lying on my keyboard. Oh, yes. I printed that out and here it is. In front of me. But, I have no memory of pushing the print button, getting up, walking to the printer, retrieving the job, and then sitting back down. Inside I was screaming, "My mind! What am I going to do if this is permanent? I know I am going to get fired." Then I would do some self-talking. "Hang on, Nancy. Calm down. Stop panicking." 

The doc treating me after the car accident said I needed to take time off from work to heal. My brain needed to heal and in order for that to happen it needed to not be stressed. While I suffered from a constant bad headache and back and neck pain, it was the head injury that was debilitating. I was told to sleep as much as I could. To be forgiving towards myself. Yes, I was frustrated but I had to be patient and kind with myself.

When folks see someone with a broken leg, they understand the injured person's limitations. You can't see a head injury. My suffering was invisible to others. One acquaintance of mine told me to just push through. I fought with him trying to make him understand. This wasn't something I could make better by willing it to be.

To make matters worse, I now suffered from Aphasia. This is "...a communication disorder that results from damage or injury to language parts of the brain."

"Aphasia gets in the way of a person's ability to use or understand words. Aphasia does not impair the person's intelligence. People who have aphasia may have difficulty speaking and finding the "right" words to complete their thoughts. They may also have problems understanding conversation, reading and comprehending written words, writing words, and using numbers."

Specifically, I was dealing with Anomic aphasia. "...the person has word-finding difficulties. This is called anomia. Because of the difficulties, the person struggles to find the right words for speaking and writing."

I found myself relying on others to fill in the blanks when I couldn't bring up the word I needed. I used words that were close to what I meant, but still were wrong. Right church, wrong pew. I had to stop conversations in mid sentence and attempt to describe the definition of the word I needed. I would hold my head with both hands grinding in frustration wishing I was not like this. For someone like me, a writer, this was devastating. 
 
I couldn't take time off from work, as advised. My employer didn't provide disability insurance and I couldn't afford it without it. No one paid my bills but me. My doctor said he could write a note for six weeks off, but then he knew I needed to work. His work around was telling me to take breaks throughout the day. Find somewhere to take a nap during lunchtime.

I love looking at the stars on a clear night. Don't you?