By Dr. Gregory Player

No where man

“All he said is Eddie Garland?” ask the man working ski patrol.

 “Yeah, that’s it. He has no idea where he is and has no ID on him.” The two ski patrol workers discuss what to do with the wandering man.

He had been lying bewildered on his back in the hard packed snow less than thirty minutes ago. After being transported down the base of the mountain on a portable stretcher he is now the responsibility of the Aspen Ski Patrol. A burly man with a black and white goatee enters the infirmary. “Do you think we need to call an ambulance?” one of the workers asks the bearded man. The man strokes his goatee in thought.

“What did you get out of him?”

“All he said was Eddie Garland. I guess that could be his name,” he answers.

“Wait, I know Eddie Garland. He’s one of the snow board instructors.”

“So do you think we should get an ambulance?” the patrol worker asks again.

“I think we should get Eddie Garland down here.”

Twenty minutes go by waiting for Eddie Garland and the ski patrol learns no more information. They are all relieved to see the smiling freckled face and long auburn hair of Eddie enter the room.  “You know this man? Because all he seems to know is your name?”

Eddie answers, “Yeah. Hey man, you ok?” Silence.

“We haven’t been able to get anything out of him.”

Eddie laughs but stops quickly when he realizes it’s not a prank. His face sobers and he says, “I’ll take him to the ER.”

At the hospital

In Aspen Valley Hospital I lay listening to the hum of a CT scanner. The date is March 14, 1995. The CT searches for any abnormality from my head being catapulted from six feet onto the ice and snow. Snowboarders call it “catching an edge”, an unfortunate event whereby a side of the board digs into the snow and thrust the rider towards that side with alarming speed. A haggard but friendly neurologist reviews the images and comes out to discuss them.

He has curly hair and a crooked smile. “It looks as if there is no real damage done. A contusion. Shaken not stirred,” he jokes. “You should get your memory back slowly,” he tells me. He looks at my friend Eddie, “Eddie is it?” He nods his head and the doctor motions to watch him. “You see how his pupils constrict to this light. That’s called a pupillary reflex. If there is swelling in the brain this reflex is absent. You need to do this every four hours for the next two days. Any visual changes, nausea, trouble walking, worsening confusion, you let me know.”

With that paucity of information I am discharged to the care of my old college roommate and best friend, Eddie Garland. My memory is completely wiped clean. Not only is my memory gone, I have what is also known as anterograde amnesia: the inability to form new memories, at least for a time.

Who am I?

Eddie, his girlfriend Francis and their roommate, Chrissie, patiently answer my questions. But when the same questions keep coming only minutes apart, their patience begins to wane. An information sheet is produced in an attempt to end the badgering. A purple sheet of lined paper with sentences in blue ink: the only link to my past. Written down in succinct phrases are the basics of my present existence. My name is Greg Player. I live in Athens. I am here on break visiting my best friend Eddie. I am studying to get into medical school but first have to get my grades up and take some extra courses. I drive a Toyota Camry. I quit my job selling life insurance. The last bit leads to a repeated exclamation, “Whoa, what’s this, I sell life insurance? Is that lame?” They would all laugh, at least the first couple of times they hear the question. Then the follow-up question, “What does Eddie do?”

“Eddie is a snow-board instructor,” is the repeated answer.

Then, “Cool, that sounds cool,” I say. This went on for hours, days- the peppering of questions and the canned responses. “What I’m a doing here? Do I have a girlfriend? and finally does Chrissie have a boyfriend?”

In unison they yell, “Greg, look at your information sheet!”

“How I’m I supposed to be a doctor now?” I ask. But I’m not really concerned. Despite my head trauma I am surprisingly at peace. I’m surrounded by unadulterated beauty. I can appreciate the beauty in a way like never before. Like a newborn I see everything for the first time, and it is untainted. I view in wonder the awesome snow covered mountain peaks, the Aspen trees, the pure rivers and the open sky.  

My mind is precariously perched on a known reality and the unknown. I hover on the edge of conscious thought. But the unknown is not frightening, more like a fatherly embrace. Ironically, though my mind is disrupted it allows me to view the perfect pattern of God’s work. Like never before I have an awareness and appreciation of nature’s stable harmony. And as the perfectly formed snow flakes fall on the mountainous landscape around me, so do the pieces of my brain settle perfectly into place.

Perhaps the oddest experience of losing my memory is viewing an unknown face in the mirror. It is if I have been reading a book for days and have a clear idea on what the main character should look like. Only the movie comes out and he is cast completely different. I step full of curiosity to the mirror above the bathroom sink. For the first time, or maybe the first I remember, I see the face of the man staring back at me. He is darker than I would have anticipated, even ethnic in appearance. And more rugged, I would have suspected a softer face.

I enjoy the world in awe for days. Everything is new and I accept it all: the taste of a cheeseburger, the rush of a Jacuzzi in the frigid cold, even the shock of tobacco smoke filling my lungs.

As my days in Aspen march on, more and more of my memory returns. I am filled with abounding energy, so much that Eddie finally relents and decides he can not keep up with me hourly. He lets me go out, but only after posting a sign on my back that reads ‘If found return to Eddie Garland’.

With the return of my memory come the familiar problems that have been temporarily forgotten. They come back slowly like a black cloud entrenching on a clear day. Those familiar ruts worked deep in my brain that I curse gradually return. I am no longer free from self-doubt, self-consciousness or cynicism.

I try to cling to the untouched and unqualified beauty around me. So much so that I quickly write down my thoughts before they change back completely. The phrases are simple but powerful. I must enjoy the small and simple things in life. Fight against all that is cynical and evil. Keep things pure.

But I can not match the familiar habits and I slowly lose the ability to accept anything without analysis. I become once again a judge: of others and worst of all myself. I yearn for the time when I appreciate all the simple beauty the world has to offer. A time when my mind is blank and I see the world without critique. The time of tabula rasa. 

By Jeffrey Therrien

Underlying Obstacles

Different obstacles seem to have an affect on one another. I discovered that the inability to connect things matched up with a short-term memory problem often has me believing the hill is too hard to climb. Although frustrating, the first step is to redefine myself post-injury. On May 1^st 2008 I fell seventeen feet through a commercial roof top onto concrete. I broke seven ribs, tore my right rotator cuff, and yes, my head met the floor as well. 

One example I can share to dissipate confusion is hockey. I love the game of hockey for many reasons, I have been playing since I could walk and I have two older brothers and a mother who shared their passion with me. One year after the accident I tried to get back on the ice with some great friends of mine to have a little fun and get some exercise. I told myself going in that I did not have to go full bore, and came to discover 110% is the only way I know how to play. Two things happened as a result.

I discovered I had a short temper that was far out of character for me. So short that by the time I realized I was angry, I was way beyond the line we all know we shouldn’t cross. As far as the details of the incident, lets just say a few unnecessary words were spoken and perhaps a hockey punch or two. This came to no surprise to anyone as the rules change on the ice; players have come to accept it as un-chartered territory. The point I’m trying to make was although no one seemed upset, I knew internally I had reached a point where I was completely out of control and only had access to the fight or flight part of my brain. As tough as it was to walk away, knowing it was the only solution for now, I did exactly that.

Unexpected Fatigue

The second problem I encountered was debilitating fatigue in the days that followed. I walked off of the ice feeling relaxed and well, only to find myself unable to think straight in the coming days. One of the tougher things to handle with a brain injury is that when exhaustion hits, it takes about two weeks to feel like oneself again. I’ve caught myself over the edge many times with feelings of anxiety and depression simply due to an exhausted brain. I had many ways to inspire myself to take action before my accident. Books, music, movie clips, a short walk or even talking to an old friend. These no longer work. I’m just now on the tail end of a weariness spell. The only solution I’ve come up with is to warn myself ahead of time. I still feel odd telling myself to let go of my aspirations for the next two weeks after one bad night’s rest. If I don’t relax, I will push myself harder and harder only to end up feeding the beast and inviting it in for an extended stay.

Learning to avoid fatigue and rage is an important part of healing my brain and my life. Apparently I need to continue to learn and relearn some lessons more than others. I completely forgot my first hockey experience and two months later, when another friend asked me to play, I said Yes. All I thought of from my previous experience was being tired after playing, so I assumed that my body and mind had healed and changed since then. I figured this time I will have more energy and be all set to play without issues. I did not remember the moment of complete anger and lack of access to my logical self until about ten minutes after history repeated itself again. “Oh yeah” I thought to myself, “I can’t play this game; someone may get hurt.”

A Lesson Learned

Now for round three, only this time in a floor hockey league. Towards the end of a game the slightest provocation switched me into the warrior mentality of life or death, fight or flight. I had failed to remember the important lessons I learned in my previous two hockey adventures until a few minutes after an altercation. Hockey and I were forced to split ways again.

The reason I’m writing this entry is to force myself to understand and remember that playing hockey is not in my best interest right now. As for the reader seeking to understand a little bit about brain injuries, imagine a life where highly emotional moments have a way of escaping the memory until being placed back into that intensified flash. To speak of and be told of the severity of my emotions on the ice isn’t enough to make me remember, nor is an invite to play again…it simply isn’t enough. I had to repeat the experience to relearn the lessons, and then write this entry to remember to say “no” to hockey.

The Tough Good-Bye

One of the toughest decisions I’ve made over the past two years was to stop playing my favorite sport, and I had to make it three times. I love the game, yet I pray this is my last good- bye.

By Stephen Terrell

Brain Injury is a new dimension

My brain injury made me a survivor but it changed my life.  I’ve made progress but I still need help.  But I’m learning how to be more independent and rebuild my life with determination, help from caregivers, and goals for my future.

To quote Rod Serling’s Tagline: “You’re traveling through another dimension. A dimension, not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination.”

For those who remember the series, we only thought of it as a weekly Sci-fi show that focused on ordinary people who suddenly found themselves experiencing the unexpected. This is something we, as Brain Injury Survivors have been through. We experienced the unexpected. This is the story of my journey into “The Twilight Zone”.

The plot

I’m a man who once lived independently. I drove myself wherever I wanted to go. I had a job. I was and still am Boston Celtics #1 fan, but other than continuing to be a fan, the rest of who I was came to a stop Sept. of 2005 when I became a Brain Injury Survivor. I was at my mother’s home the day I became a survivor. She had asked me to take something upstairs for her, but on my way up I tripped and somersaulted backwards down 18 steps. I was lucky my mother and 1 of my sisters were there to do what I couldn’t do at that moment. They called EMS for me.

I was unconscious for a short while, but came to while awaiting the arrival of EMS. When I woke up I was seeing stars. I tried to stand but felt dizzy and off-balance. I could hear the sirens of the ambulance and see the lights spinning. I felt as if I had just entered my own episode of “The Twilight Zone” because of the stars and colors I was seeing, as well as the pain I was feeling. I didn’t realize this was just the beginning of my journey. I just knew my head, neck, right shoulder and arm hurt. Someone in the ambulance or at the hospital told me my fingers were even twitching.

When I arrived at the hospital, there seemed to be people everywhere I looked. There were Doctors, Nurses, and people who worked in all different areas of the hospital there. I felt like a lab rat in a way as they each approached me to do their job. I wasn’t entirely certain as to what was happening. I just know I felt I was beginning the next leg of my journey into my “Twilight Zone” as the fear and uncertainty I felt grew.

I have only a few memories of what occurred when I arrived at the hospital. Other than a routine blood draw, some woman drawing x’s on my head, and being wheeled into the X-Ray Dept. only to be placed on an ice cold table, then entering big tunnel there isn’t much else. I know the tunnel was for a CT Scan or MRI to check for injuries. But the x’s on my head were confusing until another member of the Brain Injury Survivors Clubhouse I belong to explained. The x’s were placed so that a Radiology Tech. would know where to attach lead wires to monitor brain wave activity, a test that would help to describe my brain’s injury and function as it recorded the activity.

The doctors

After all the tests a doctor came in to tell me what was found. There was an increase in fluid putting pressure on my brain. There was some damage to the right frontal and temporal lobes of my brain. There were no broken bones, but there must have been pressure on 1 of the trigeminal nerves causing the pain to radiate down through my neck, right shoulder, right arm, and causing my fingers to twitch. But I was lucky too. Pain or no pain, I hadn’t broken my neck.

Following all the tests I underwent a successful brain surgery. The fluid pressure was relieved, and damaged tissue removed from the affected right frontal and temporal lobes. But what is strange to me is that I don’t feel I experienced much memory loss when I fell. I think I was scared more than anything then. But I do now have problems with memory and comprehension at times. My friend explained to me that each area of the brain is responsible for different functions. Apparently the small areas I lost were responsible for how we remember and understand, but that’s ok, I can try to learn again. I just need the help of others to do so from people such as the staff and other members at the clubhouse, my family, friends, church members, and the couple I now live with.

Conclusion

I can’t live independently at the moment. Right now I am living with a couple who act as my care-givers. They provide me with a safe home, meals, and encourage me to try to do what I can on my own. I’m afraid to drive or go to any type of carnival with rides. I’m afraid of receiving another head injury or worse. Since I don’t drive I rely on Handi-Ride Services, the couple I stay with, and others to take me where I need to go. My journey into “The Twilight Zone” has produced a fear I didn’t have before.

I’m trying to find a way to leave some of that fear behind me. The best thing I did to begin that journey was to become a member of this Brain Injury Survivors Clubhouse where I’m with other people who understand. I’m a member of the Communications Unit here. I’m learning computer skills I didn’t have before. I’m learning how to research on-line. I participate in the Meals on Wheels Program, and enjoy participating in the Social Program with other members each month. Of course someone else drives for us since the majority of the members are no longer able to drive.

I recently graduated from the VCVTP Job Club. (Virginia Vocational Transitions Program) where I learned that with time I can fend for myself again. I may eventually reach the end of my journey into “The Twilight Zone”, however, in the meantime, no matter what, I will continue to be the Celtics #1 fan.

Denbigh House, located in Virginia, is a clubhouse for people with brain injuries. You may contact them via email at denbighhouse@gmail.com