It's Not Brain Surgery... Or Is It?

Did you know that every year in the United States, 1.4 million people sustain a traumatic brain injury (TBI)? Of those people, 50,000 die, 235,000 are hospitalized, and 1.1 million are treated and released from an emergency department. That's not even counting the folks who never seek treatment for TBI, usually because they don't realize they've had a serious injury (even Natasha Richardson thought she just had a headache, and there are countless cases like hers).

It should be noted that technically, traumatic brain injury is "a blow or jolt to the head or a penetrating head injury that disrupts the function of the brain" (this definition and previously mentioned statistics are all taken from the CDC website). However, many people in the community use the term loosely to also include stroke, anneurysm, and arteriovenous malformation (AVM) victims and survivors, although this portion of the brain-injured community is not included in the CDC's statistics on TBI. I will be using TBI as I've just described, loosely, because all survivors will be faced with similar obstacles - no matter how they arrived at that point.

Yes, it seems that the brain-injured community is much larger than most of us think. For me, it was a completely shocking revelation to see TBI's effect on my husband and all of the patients with whom he had rehab; my complete lack of awareness of this population and their challenges were embarrassing. For those of you who don't know, Wesley (my husband), was diagnosed with an AVM in June of 2008 and underwent two brain surgeries, which, initially, left him completely disabled.

Imagine feeling great today and waking up tomorrow unable to speak, walk, brush your teeth, feed yourself, or even use the bathroom. What would it be like to not even have a concept of what an alphabet or letters are, let alone recite them? Now, imagine that as the weeks go by, you begin to recover memories of your past. Eventually you realize that you were once a fully functioning adult with a rewarding life and loving family, and now you can't do any of the things you used to. You're completely dependent... and you know it. Can you see yourself here? This is what my husband, and millions of other survivors of TBI, experienced.

The heartbreak of watching people endure a terrible ordeal such as this literally causes me pain. I remember that when I used to pick Wes up from outpatient rehab in the afternoons, sometimes I'd have to go inside to sign a form, talk to a case manager, and the like; nine times out of ten, I left nearly in tears as I imagined what these other patients' stories might be. I constantly heard stories of the struggles patients had, both during rehab and after; one of the most recurring stories involved various patients being treated horribly by people outside their close-knit communities - the general public - because they were perceived as "slow" or "stupid" (their words, not mine). Why do we presume that a person has a "normal life" if their injuries or challenges are not immediately visible? I think that one way you can tell if you are treating people the way you should be is to imagine if you found out tomorrow that they'd had a stroke or other brain injury that left them unable to do or understand certain things. Would you feel guilty about something you said to or thought about them?

This discovery and acute awareness of the brain-injured community made me want to do something. Anything. I wanted to help; I just wasn't sure how to do it (after all, I was nine weeks pregnant when Wes went into the hospital, and suddenly thereafter I became our family's sole provider). Luckily, an opportunity has presented itself to Wes and me. The Oklahoma Chapter of the Brain Injury Association is relocating from Oklahoma City to Tulsa, and both of us were nominated to serve on the board. I'm so happy and proud to say, this morning I was notified that our nominations were accepted.

I feel like this is my chance to contribute; to help others the way Wesley and I were helped along the way by incredibly compassionate, wonderful, complete strangers. My goals for serving in this position are to raise awareness of this population of people and help the general public understand some of the challenges and hardships they face on a daily or even hourly basis. I'm so very excited to have this opportunity; it is one I won't take lightly. Needless to say, Wesley is thrilled, as well. He has a special ability to really connect with TBI patients and their families, helping them to cope with what has happened to them.

As Wes would say, "Be good to your brain."

Should I Move to Be with Him?

Advice King in the OSU O'Colly (reprinted from O'Colly website)

Dear Advice King,
I’ve been dating a guy for three months now. He lives in Washington, D.C.; we met in January through mutual friends while he was in Tulsa (my hometown). At first, we talked on the phone all the time – just as friends – until I went to visit him. Ever since, we’ve been officially a couple and have been traveling back and forth every few weeks to see each other. I honestly believe that this guy is “the one,” and I want for us to be together. When is it too soon to move to another state to start a future with someone? How can we keep the connection when we are so far apart?

- Long-distance Lamenter

Dear Lamenter,

I once faced an eerily similar situation – but with different cities and the complexity of a commitment to the military (his, not mine). I was just as sure as you are about this guy, and, after knowing him for two months, I married him and moved away from everyone and everything I knew to be with him.

Not only did I resent him for my homesickness and lack of social connections, but a year and a half later, I finally discovered all of the cheating, lying and self-destructive behavior that had been going on behind my naïve, unquestioning little back since the moment we met, and I filed for divorce the very next business day.

I don’t presume to know that your guy is or is not a creep – or, “hiding his crazy,” as I like to call it – but you shouldn’t, either. Three months is hardly long enough to really know someone when you live down the street, let alone halfway across the country. You can be anyone you want when the main ties that bind are telephone lines.

If you really feel in your heart like this is something you should pursue, then you owe it to yourself to give it your best shot; but you must do it carefully, cautiously and wisely.

Give it a few more months in your current arrangement to allow time for some of both your inevitable dirty laundry to air itself. If you don’t run screaming for the hills, it might be time to examine what opportunities Washington, D.C., holds for you — other than just being this guy’s main squeeze.

It shouldn’t be about whether he would move for you; rather, it should be an issue of whether you would still move there if he didn’t exist.

Most, although not all, relationships cannot handle the pressure of one person being “the reason” for another’s relocation.

As for keeping the connection, my advice is to be open and painfully realistic about what you each expect from the relationship as far as exclusivity and what is regarded as inappropriate conduct. And remember, although he may be perfect for you, nobody is perfect!
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Send your questions to the Advice King on Twitter @advicefromjess or via email: jess.king@okstate.edu

Let's Get Hammered!

I got completely hammered, nailed, and leveled this weekend.

As I'm sure you guessed, I'm talking about hanging pictures and the like on the wall (what were YOU thinking?). I guess I forgot the amount of engineering required to do something as simple as put a nail in a wall and hang a picture on it. It's just not that simple! And, if you live in an apartment like I do, there's added pressure to get it right the first time in order to avoid covering the wall in holes (which you will have to patch up later).

Personally, I don't really care about having things hanging on the wall. I'm hardly ever home, and when I am, all I am looking at is my beautiful baby girl and my wonderful husband; so the idea of buying picture frames just to put on the wall, and then finding all of the pictures necessary to fill those frames, is seriously more trouble than it's worth. But, it's important to Wes - apparently, it's troubling to him to spend all of his time at home staring at completely empty, white walls. So, I bit the bullet and put the crap up. The things we do for love.

Although I still have the stud-finder (which still makes me laugh every time I say it) and the laser level that I jacked from my parents about three years ago, I didn't figure out how to use them correctly until I had already broken off several drywall anchors in one wall and illustrated another with a barage of pencil marks. I was covered in white drywall powder and sweat, and I became so irritable that at one point I actually told Wes that if he whistled one more time I would beat his [hiny].

Eventually, I was able to finish the job that Wes has been after me to do for the entirety of the three and a half months that we've lived there; but if I see another hammer, screwdriver, or drywall anchor anytime in the foreseeable future, I'm going to vomit.