Poems on Coma and Survival after Traumatic Brain Injury

by Angela Machovec

 “Time is the best censor, and patience a most excellent teacher. Simplicity is the highest goal, achievable when you have overcome all difficulties.” ~~F. Chopin

Hi, my name is Angela Marie Cecilia Machovec, or just Angie, which is what most people call me… except for my father and my doctor.

I sustained a traumatic brain injury on May 30, 2000… it was actually my last day of high school. I was 17 at the time, and I was struck by a car when I crossed the street to go back home. I can’t stress enough how it was like any other day, the same time I went jogging, and the same path I took.

But my world completely changed at that moment, and so did everyone in it.
I was in a coma for about a month and spent 3 weeks in rehab. I left the hospital on July 17, 2000. Then I spent until Christmas in outpatient rehab.

I wrote these poems in the summer of 2002 over a creative writing course I took… and these just came out. It truly helped in my rehabilitation and acceptance of what had happened.

I began going to UNC Chapel Hill in the summer of 2001. Adjusting to life is still hard at times, but with each month it’s getting better and better. The thing about brain injuries is that nobody can really predict what will happen and how long it will take. Most people thought I was going to die, including the medic at the scene; if not die, then have serious cognitive problems. Yet, here I am today, with none of the significant problems people said I would have.

If you have faith and believe the way my parents do, along with excellent care, I think anything is possible.

I hope my writing helps people to deal with their problems, or that it can express others’ own feelings, not only mine. People who have suffered TBI or have family members who suffered TBI need to form a community to support each other. Good luck in everything that comes your way, and never forget to have faith!

 While I Was Sleeping  

vomit projecting everywhere
brain pressures are too high
blood transfusions
lung punctured
tibia fractured twice
right arm dead
no left kidney
eyes bruised,
bulging,
discolored…
left side laceration
split spleen
blood clot
morphine

beep
beep
beep
beep

erase her memory of all this

Thanks for trying,
but it didn’t work.

she might need a vena cava filter
she might need a tracheostomy
she might not remember anyone,
or anything at all.
she might be paralyzed
she might be retarded
she might not wake up
she might die

No, I won’t.

I’m going to win this, you’ll see.

  And I’ll be fine.
After 

 As she lays here, she admits to herself-
she doesn’t understand a lot of things in life.
She doesn’t understand why she had to leave others behind,
why she had to live to see what she could have become, yet was privileged enough to skip away from the pain.

She’s not afraid to make these mistakes,
She’s not afraid to be wrong.
She’s not afraid of dying (and knows he’ll be there).

So what exactly is she afraid of?
I’m not even sure of that part.
Maybe she’s afraid of dreams that don’t make sense,
or letting herself believe stories that fit between the crisp pages of a book.
Maybe she’s afraid of letting them know what she wants,
or not wanting anything at all.
Maybe she is afraid of letting go of these dreams,
miracles she spent countless nights imagining,
winding and rewinding them.

She’s afraid of people crying.
She’s afraid to be normal.
She’s afraid of falling into someone’s permanent outline,
never escaping the known.
She’s afraid of stumbling into someone’s footsteps and never making her own.

Was she ever really here?

I don’t want to be a silhouette.

There are many nights I sit here,
wondering how I ever made it to this place.
But I don’t cry,
no.

I can’t cry.

 Net Bed 

Wow-
look at all these people here.
I’m not like them at all.

I’m no different than before, I don’t have any problems.
I’m not like them.
I mean, just look at these people- I can’t believe they think I need to be here.
The man next door is missing one leg, others are missing eyes,
then there’s the one kid who doesn’t even talk to anybody.
And also that guy…
he’s retarded I think,
and I don’t know for sure, but,

he scares me sometimes.

That woman over there,
I bet all the machines she’s hooked up to weigh more than she does.
OK, so what, I’m in a wheelchair like everybody else.
And yeah,
sometimes my words don’t make any sense.
I’m only missing a little hair, and I have this stupid tube attached to me.
Hey, at least I still have my leg, and it will work again.

As soon as I get outta here I will run forever.

Oh my God

I just have to get out of this place.

(net bed – a tool used by hospitals to ensure the safety of a patient in case the patient would attempt to get out of bed unattended)

  The Other Side 

Brian was speeding.
He hit me.
He panicked,
and thought I was gone.

John was keeping me alive.
He said, “It’s a shame,”
and thought I would be gone soon enough.

Most people, actually, thought the same thing.
But, I was not allowed to make my big exit,
not just yet.

It is forever changing my life.
I can’t look at people the way I used to,
I see them now through older eyes of experience.
I can’t feel things the way I used to,
life gives me such a bittersweet taste.
I can’t hear things the way I used to,
now that I have heard the echo of a higher realm –
it has a much stronger pull than anything on this Earth.

It is forever changing my life.

Well, nobody knows why it happened,
and they can’t understand what I’ve discovered –
how amazing it is to know I am alive.
And how wonderful it is that I can see the sun rise and set,
knowing I can watch it all again tomorrow.
They don’t understand what I have seen beyond.

I wish people could feel it,
I wish they could understand,
they don’t.

But the reason, I guess,
is pretty simple.

They’ve never experienced the warmth on the other side.

 Butcher Holler  

To ever wish that I hadn’t returned
is a horrible wish that I know too well.
A lesson to value life (that is rarely learned)
was brought to light when this angel fell.
Fights with best friends brought me bitter dead-ends,
so I wondered why I struggled for life.
On no one at all could I rely or depend,
and I questioned God, could this really be right?
But then I spent some time in Van Lear,
and I learned the reasons why I came back.
The people there have a piece of me forever,
they gave me reasons to cry and reasons to laugh.
To know they’re why I passed the biggest test,
the answers uncovered make me know I am blessed.

  Drifting  

I had a dream last night that Mom took me to the store;
it was always the same, and never changing.

I don’t understand what they expected of me:
to always stay the same, never changing.

So many nights I spent alone, on my own;
time had no meaning because nothing was changing.

I couldn’t wait to leave and be alone,
not hearing comments on “how she’s changing.”

My “friends” don’t know me as well as they thought, Angela’s life is built around changing.

 Responsibility 

May 30th around 5:30 p.m.
I braked as soon as I could.
Glass shattered like
a spilled box of needles.
She took my mirror with her.
When I looked at her
she was lying
in the gutter,
smashed and split.
I sat
in the grass,
tail tucked between my legs.

The police traced her
using bright pink chalk,
screeching against resistant concrete.

*Note from the author…
I wrote this from the point of view of the young driver. It put a different spin on my view of what happened and it put me into his mind, which gives everything involved a completely different meaning.

  Between Preludes and Nocturnes 

When I come home I see the new lines on your face,
and more streaks of silver in your hair than before;
I know I caused them.
When I hear you talking to mom, the neighbors,
or just to yourself,
I notice that your voice has gone from lion to lamb.
I have no idea
what happened between preludes and nocturnes.
You could say that I am a clear glass of water and
on the edge,
or that I’m simply a mirror to your mistakes.
But I do know,
whatever happened between preludes and nocturnes,
became our cornerstone that was never in place.

*Note from the author…
This poem is about the relationship with my father after my hospitalization and first year of college. It’s about the change in our relationship and the change I saw in him.

Communication or Tongue Tied after My Traumatic Brain Injury

By: Katherine Kimes

 Tedious exercises

arranged in a folder

lie on the coffee table –

breathless air passes between

my lips. I strain

to elevate my tongue

visualizing

the accuracy of the implosive

connection. But only an

inconstant fricative form follows.

Syllables

fumble towards

perfecting the pattern,

dah, dee, du, dau, separate

then as a series.

A sequenced variation of

consonants unfolds

as the combination continues,

this mechanical process

routine.

Repetitive sounds

customize and

carefully combine into

precise words: day: die: do: due

–quietly as

my mind reminisces

of the subtext beneath

the printed sounds

not found on the pages resting

before me.

Poems by Mary Wheeler on Loss, Hope and Change after Brain Injury

The White Dove Searching

By Mary M. Wheeler

Our dreams of life are stopped for a brief time as we have floated in the heavens and searched for our dreams.

Our lives have meanings that we do not understand; we are the people who struggle and face many obstacles!

The White Dove opens its wings to fly in searching of answers – why me?

We are the special people who had our moments with the White Dove and the Holy Ghost fighting for a second chance with life.

We are still the same person but our outcomes are so different. We have to change our dreams because we cannot have what we want in life, but we have something that other people do not have – the White Dove flying with us to protect and to seek our goals, with the heavens’ spirit of love for people like us!

The White Dove notices the love we share for people and how we share our ideas on helping each other as we go on in life!

We will make something of ourselves because we never give up on our struggles. I know the White Dove will always fly over my head to guide me through the obstacles of life!

It’s not an easy road, but we are fighters who had to fight for hours, minutes, seconds.

And the white dove opened up his wings from heaven, from the father above, to show us we have our goals set to help people who have to struggle to make it … and may we help each one to open his or her wings TO GO BEYOND THE GALAXY OF SURVIVAL.

Copyright ©2000-2002 by author.
All rights reserved by author.

 HOPE

By Mary M. Wheeler

Hope is a word that means we can make a new Life with help.

A dream that shows us we can live with our problems and people can share a part in our lives while showing us a new path.

To move on with our strengths and weaknesses and to belong in the pathway of life!

We need to be able to share our hopes and to be a part of something. Let us move on into the world of sharing our feelings. We need to have friends who have the same problems as ourselves.

Brain Injury is hard to face, with its heartaches and pain. We feel trapped and endure many agonies of failures and depression. We feel a loss of a part of life we cannot recover, but many of us go on day after day trying to struggle in order to discover some new ways to cope with every day living.

We change every day with small steps of success and torments of pain. We give encouragement to others as we fight for a chance in the real world, but brain injuries do not always show since we can look as normal as the next person.

I have struggled the last couple of years to help people and advocate for change of the feelings of employers. Yet the “regular” world does not understand our hopes and meanings of what we are trying to explain – or they do not see us as regular. “THEY SEE US AS NOT IN THE NORMS OF LIFE!”

I think we could teach people that we do have a lot of qualities they do not posses regarding caring about people, and we do!

My hope is that we can show people we can learn in new ways, show our strength and to understand WE CAN LEARN NEW THINGS, BUT IN DIFFERENT WAYS!

H=HELPING
O=OTHERS
P=POSITIVE THINKING
E=EQUAL OPPORTUNITIES

About Mary Wheeler

I am an individual who, in 1968, had a Brain Injury due to Acute Spinal Meningitis. I was in a coma for over 56 hours and found out about Brain Injury three years ago! I was upset about this and decided to write poems to express myself and my inner emotions. Writing poetry has helped to relieve the anger from inside me.

I used the “White Dove” symbol because I have a lot of high spirits and want to share my feelings with people. I want to let them know not to give up, but get involved with our communities so people are aware there are ways to cope with Brain Injury.

I did write a little poetry before the Brain Injury, but not as much as I do now. It is a new goal that I have made in the last few months and at times it is hard to find words. People with Brain Injury do forget some words and we have to use other words for meaning.

Many of us want to be our old selves again but Brain Injury will not let us! We have encouragement and many things we can share with others with Brain Injury. We should care for and support each other because we need to have friends that are going through tough times with physical and emotional situations that go with Brain Injury.

Brain Injury is a fairly new thing. Medical technology now can earlier detect more, which is good, but in the past, for me, was never detected. I just want to say we can make changes in our lives and help others who have Brain Injury.

My goal is to make my community aware of the resources for the Brain Injured and help set up a resource library for the center in my community.

Sincerely yours,
Mary M Wheeler

More poems about persons with brain injuries can be found on Mary’s website at http://www.poetrypoem.com/poetry1000

I Lived

 By Jason Ferguson

Everyday is beautiful; some are dreary and others are pretty,
I love them all and you would too if you were me.
To see that wonderful sunrise brings a smile to my heart,
Reminding every day; it’s a brand new start.
Then to see the marvelous sunset in the west,
It is there reminding us all that we are truly blessed.
To realize that I took so much for granted makes me want to cry,
I am so thankful that I did not die.

So many people do not get the same opportunity,
That is why I need to be the best person that I can be.
It does not matter what it is; everything happens for a reason,
Unexplainable events will happen everyday and there will be a lot more to come.
Some are to never be figured out; just because you can’t does not mean that you are dumb.
Take a second and admire the world around you and be thankful you are still here.
Make it a habit, day after day, year after year.
Peace 3.22.04

Surrender

 By Vicki Sue Parker

What I want to know
Is this:
If I walked towards
A mirage long enough
Will it grow weary?
If I stand a
Decent chance
Of survival,
I will stop declaring defeat.
I will arm my young soldiers
With the edged shards
Of my image,
And hunt down
My identity,
With the glint of my sword.
Scraping along the floor
Of subsistence,
The enemy of my life
Waits to be conquered.

The Cast of My Brain

By Vicki Sue Parker

 Today I will wear
My injury
Like a broken bone,
So everyone can
See my brain
Limp.
Hobbling around,
Unwrapping my pain,
I will wear
The crutches
Of their compassion;
My wound will
Answer for itself,
And no one need guess
What is wrong.

Today I will
Wear my injury
Like a tired cloak;
Sheltering unknowns,
I huddle my fears
Under a soft shawl,
And shield myself
Against the elements
Of my life:
Clutching the corner
Of my shadow,
I lift up
Just enough light
To look at
What I cannot face.

Today I will
Wear my injury
Tucked under all one
Believes they can hide.
A mask parading
The streets of Mardi Gras,
I will become a deception
Blending into a crowd
Of normality;
I can be New Orleans
Before sunrise,
Just to own what is average:
I have earned the right
To be unworthy
Of a second glance.

Today I will
Wear my injury
Like a crown;
Gathering up the threads
Of what I still am,
I will weave myself
Into a Mosaic.
I am a tall pile
Of jewels,
Using the wealth
Of my Soul
To inlay the path
Of my survival:
I am a pinnacle
Reached.

Today I will wear
My injury
As a wound:

Eliciting an earned sympathy,
Sinking under its own weight,
Not subjected to a stare,
Serving as a city conquered.

7/18/2004

Recommendation for more information 

The Get Well Soon Balloon by Vicki Sue Parker

Story book helps children understand their emotions and reactions when a parent has a brain injury. Describes coma, rehabilitation, coming home, and therapy from a child’s perspective. Recommended for families of injured veterans and service members.

It Is Time

By Vicki Sue Parker

January 28, 1999:

It is time to go.
My wedding ring swirls around its new home,
Our storage boxes standing half-empty,
Even our house was not yet used to our footsteps.
Still, it is time to go.
I danced through my last day,
As I should have, I suppose:
Having lunch with a friend,
Giggling as I talked about an old teacher,
Rushing back home to unpack,
Decorating our new marriage,
I was a bride unwrapping our future;
My happiness already stacked up high
Around me.

And then it came:
The moment where I hear
The sound of my husband’s truck,
Its engine grinding down the end of its day.
I hurry to the window,
Pulling apart two slates of our wooden blinds,
Looking down,
I see his truck pulling up to the curb.
Is that the way it works?
I took one last glance
At my old life,
Without even so much as a pause.
Why did I not slow down?
What I needed to tell my husband
could have waited.
Oh, the things you think about later.

No, I hardly took the time
To gather a hastened breath:
Snapping the blinds back into place,
Pivoting around,
I ran down the stairs,
Out the front door,
Onto the street:
I race towards
the end of my life.
What a cruel trick:
To be forced to welcome
My fatal wound,
Falling fast into my collapse,
I drown.

January 28, 1999.

It is time to go.

Date unknown:
It is time to wake up.
The house still half-done,
Our future yet to be un-wrapped,
My husband twists his wedding ring.
Still, it time to wake up.

I drag through my days,
Silence surrounding me,
My thoughts lay sleeping,
I dream of nothing.

And then it came:
The moment he hears
The sound of my new life:
Sluggish and leery,
Slowly, it starts.
My husband has so much to hope for:
He wants to look,
But is too scared.
He takes the time to pause,
To hesitate;
Quietly, he lurks at the edge of my life.

Our vows still fresh,
Untying the smooth ribbon binding our future,
I walk into my beginning:
Welcoming my second chance,
I tend to my injury,
And breathe in new air.

Date unknown:
It is time to wake up.

8/1/2004

I Am

By Vicki Sue Parker

 I am a reason,
An excuse,
An easy target
To blame.
I am the imposter,
The thief
Wearing her bones;
Rattling the chains
Of her ghost.
I am their mirror
That is empty of reflection;
I stole her spirit,
And put myself
In her place.
I am the arrow that
Pierces their hearts;
A clone,
Not created.
I am the native,
That speaks a foreign tongue
They can not understand.
I am the state of suspension,
Hanging over
The lake of my life.
I am absence,
A visitor in my own house;
Watching them wait
For me to come home.
I am a cancer,
Consuming myself,
Devouring my definition,
Becoming an adjective unknown.

I am the brain that bled,
I am the soul that cried,
I am the one who slept
For a very long time.
I am the one who awoke
In a bed
That was not mine.

I am.
I am.
I am.

I am not my fault.

7/5/2004

Waking Dreams

By Ashley Byblow

Eyes that see
Eyes that shine
Eyes reflecting
an active mind
A mind that reels
A mind that flies
A mind that stretches
across the skies

You hurdle fences
You break through walls
you accomplish miracles
both large and small

The spirit reaches
The spirit strives
The spirit cries out
“I am ALIVE!”

Yet silence continues
Yet silence screams
Yet silence pervades
comatose dreams

Though in a coma
I am not asleep
My mind continues
to hear them weep

I want to wipe
my mother’s tears
I want to assuage
my brother’s fears

I can hear you
I can cope
I can refuse
to give up hope

You must stay with me
You must be here
You must remember
I hold you dear

One day soon
I will awake
So don’t give up
My life’s at stake.

By Vaughn Stone

 Word

Can I have a word with you?

For one or two words will have

to do, the place of words unspoken

in the quiet anguish of aphasia.

I try to fire on a target

only to discover it replaced by

multiple targets in the conversations of others.

People offer many alternatives,

because they can, and in their discomfort, must.

Silence is apparently too much to bear,

especially silence wasted on finding the

right word among painfully close,

but inappropriate choices.

Besides, who wants to talk to a 6-year-old

inhabiting the mind of a 60-year-old man?

To do so requires great courage,

thinking of yourself as vulnerable,

that it could be you instead.

If you have such courage,

can I have a word with you?

02/15/04 © Vaughn Stone 2004

Man of Few Words

I’m a man of few words.

Even Calvin Coolidge was generous

compared to me, but he was acting by choice,

not forced on him by an accident

over which he had no control.

I was a man of words before the accident –

a Speech major until my last year of college,

a Psychologist and a therapist for 33 years,

who continued to speak and lecture until

the year of my stroke and then was silenced.

It took six months of speech therapy

before I could be reached.

But under a list of special conditions –

one to one communication is essential,

if two or more people are speaking

I fade to the back of the conversation.

Any background noise can range from

distracting to painfully immobilizing.

My speech pathway must be cleared of

obstacles like overlapping conversations,

or no pauses between words to allow

me to collect my thoughts and say what I have to say.

And, if the conditions are met,

my aphasia limits me to a few words

and I can’t predict which ones are clear.

It’s like saying you want to go biking –

when the weather is perfect, you’re not too busy,

you feel in the mood, and the phone doesn’t ring.

Add to this, your bike is in perfect condition,

the course is all downhill – you get the drift.

No way you’re going biking. It’s a fantasy.

So, I’m writing this poem to communicate.

My hope is you will read it;

but my reality is: most poetry lies unread.

In this busy world who has time to sit

reading the words of an aphasic poet?

Still, I try my best to communicate.

The alternative is mute silence,

and considering that is unthinkable.

So, I’m a man of few words

with an uncertain audience;

but I reach out to you because I can,

I want to, and because I care.

07/17/04

© Vaughn Stone 2004

The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel Newspaper has given Lash and Associates permission to reprint an article by Jim Stingl about Vaughn Stone and his poetry. It was published Sunday, June 13, 2004. Read on…

Finding words again – through poetry

 By Jim Stingl Posted: June 12, 2004

Facing the dreaded blank screen, I’m sitting here struggling with how to best tell the story of Vaughn Stone.
Then I think about this man and how he manages to write poetry so insightful and beautifully honest, especially when you consider that last year he was lying in a hospital bed unable to communicate at all.

Even now, as far as he’s come since the accident and subsequent stroke, speech is a challenge. He often stares straight ahead, interrupting his own sentences with expressions like “No, wait,” and “What is it?” as he shapes the thoughts in his head into the words on his lips.

“By contrast, I used to be a psychologist, using verbal skills to report my findings, and scarcely acknowledging my right brain at all. The stroke has forced me to meet my artist within, because the important questions are not factual, but feeling-laden and spiritual. So I’m born-again as a poet and artist, and, at times, scarcely know myself.”

Vaughn wrote those lines in April, but not for himself. He has begun to craft poems for people who have overcome similar obstacles and then sending the words to them.

He doesn’t want to stop at simply being able to function. He needs his life to have purpose.

Let me stop here and properly introduce Vaughn Stone. He’s 60 years old. He lives near West Bend with Christy, a social worker. They’ve been married not quite two years, and they both have grown kids from previous marriages.

Vaughn earned his doctorate from the University of Minnesota, and he made a living as a psychologist among inmates at Wisconsin prisons. For fun and, some would say, because he was possessed, he ran marathons, skied in races, and rode tremendous distances on his bicycle.

“Before the accident, I was in charge – ask for 30 miles and I biked 50,” he wrote to begin a poem he titled, “Surrender.”

On July 18 last year, Vaughn crashed that bicycle into the side of a van that pulled out in front of him on a Washington County highway. Four days later, while hospitalized for broken bones and internal trauma, he suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed on the right side and damaged his brain with two “A” words: aphasia, meaning difficulty speaking and understanding words, and apraxia, meaning a loss of motor skills.

“Even yes and no were hard at first,” said his doctor, Jeff Cameron, at Sacred Heart Rehabilitation Institute in Milwaukee. Formerly a skilled woodworker, now Vaughn had to relearn to walk, shave, eat and become, at least for now, left-handed.

In those early days, he would point to words on a sheet to indicate his needs – “bathroom,” for example, or “drink.”

Christy was told at first that he might die and not to expect much if he didn’t die. But with lots of therapy and the determination he had brought to extreme sports, he began to improve, sometimes making dramatic surges forward.

“One doctor said, ‘I don’t know what you believe, but I have seen miracles happen,’ ” Christy said when she and Vaughn and I talked across their dining room table last week.

He battles anger and frustration and tries to stay positive.

“I want to do the best I can. The poetry helps me get a little more control. I can feel like I’m contributing something.”

Typing was difficult at first, but Vaughn developed one of the many detours he navigates through his damaged brain and figured it out.

Vaughn wrote some poetry before the accident, but it was mostly to mark special occasions. It was from the heart, but fueled by the intellectual side of his brain that he favored. After the stroke, his intuitive and emotional side has asserted itself. Writing allows him to take his time and collect his thoughts in a way that speaking does not.

One poem, “Word,” captures the frustration of his impaired speech.

“Can I have a word with you? For one or two words will have to do, the place of words unspoken, in the quiet anguish of aphasia. I try to fire on a target, only to discover it replaced by multiple targets in the conversations of others.”

The poem concludes: “Besides, who wants to talk to a 6-year-old inhabiting the mind of a 60-year-old man. To do so requires great courage, thinking of yourself as vulnerable, that it could be you instead. If you have such courage, can I have a word with you?”

He is now having that word with people he calls pioneers and heroes. His poetry has become a gift to certain people who come to his attention – a painter from Seattle and a quilter from Ohio who had strokes, a New York doctor who was in a bicycle accident similar to his, and Trisha Meili, the Central Park jogger who recovered from a sexual assault and brain injury.

He talks about their common struggle and offers them thanks and encouragement. Cheerleading, he calls it. Most have written back to him.

In a poem he wrote in March, Vaughn compares himself to an eagle chased away by urban development and a backpacker who is too old to continue, yet hopeful for the future.

“And maybe by fall you’ll find me, harvesting carrots, tomatoes, squash – transformed into a cardinal who sings over autumn hikers strolling hand-in-hand. Most importantly, I still have my soul and the freedom to let my soul take me, anywhere it chooses to go.”

Reprinted with permission. Copyright Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

Recommendation for more information

Communicating with an Adult After Brain Injury

Information with tips on communicating with an adult after acquired brain injury. Explains effects of head injury on speech, language, reading and writing with strategies for improving communication.