She spins, eyes squinting at the world going by in a haze. Holidays go by, discernable only by the shape of the chocolate. Days evaporate in the whirlwind of family, work, and home. Children everywhere press upward and adult faces become lined. That’s OK, because of course, that’s life. And it’s busy, but good.
She turns, then sits in the recliner. Having banged up my head the day before while out running with the dog, I rest. Due to said dog’s skittishness and hard left turn, I met with a telephone pole quite unexpectedly. Quite harshly, in fact. Then it was off to the emergency room. No loss of consciousness, but some fogginess. The golf ball lump on my forehead was a precursor to the massive bruising on the entire left side of my face, from forehead to chin and eventually toward my right eye. It took a while to work itself out.
She spins, pulls off her wetsuit and grabs her bike. I head out of transition and on to the second part of the sprint triathlon, my last of the 2005 season. It’s not a full Ironman, but tiring, demanding, and exhilarating just the same. This one is for women only, and it’s fun. It’s not quite so competitive. Still, every second counts and I don’t want to be way down on the list in my age group. So off I go, ultimately finishing about two-thirds down the list when all scores were tallied: swim, bike, run, and two transitions. Next year, I think, I’ll get even further up the list.
She spins, arms outstretched, then wobbles and tries to balance. I missed next year. The accident occurred while out training for the last tri of the 2006 season. Vestibular troubles now hinder walking. Hence, bike riding is not an option. Hitting my head again is out; I cannot risk a fall. A totally unpredictable sense of sudden collapse prevents swimming. I can’t collapse in the pool, let alone in open water. Of course, none of that really matters, because I’m still without enough strength to consider any such activity. At this point, walking would be nice. Seeing others out jogging, I can only hope I’ll be able to run again.
She turns, and hits the recliner again. Thank heavens for such chairs. While resting, I’m able to take a high-level view of my life. There’s nothing like a major injury to nudge you take a good look at where you stand. This, I see, is a second chance at life. I’m just glad to be here. Mostly, though, I want my life back as it was, and I work toward that.
I think about my writing. Instead of creative writing, I’ve spent the years as a technical writer, mostly writing instructions for computer users. This paid the bills well and is definitely interesting and challenging. I love my work and my career had been thriving. Now, momentarily stuck in a chair, I ponder the unused writing days gone by. Of sentences lost. Of mysteries of life not analyzed and not described.
She spins, and slinks into her chair at work. Five months and a few days after the accident, I go back to work. They let me start back at six hours a week. That’s lucky and very nice of them. It’s an emotional day. I’ve wanted to return for so long, and finally get a chance. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back, so am a bit overwhelmed. I have an hour and a half to spend there, tops. The injury is still directing things and that’s all I can handle just yet.
Everyone is so nice, and they have prepared a cake and other welcoming items. I use my walking stick for support. When it’s time to leave, they hand me some items. But I find I can’t use one hand, since I have to use it for the walking stick. That’s different; it took me by surprise. So they help carry things for me out to the car, where a family member waits. I still can’t drive and am grateful that she can take me in.
She turns, and takes one last look at her desk. After a number of months trying to get back to normal, I find that I can’t. It’s hard to analyze, think, and write as much and as quickly as I should be. I’m still only able to work part-time, and feel I’m holding everyone up. My health still suffers, so it’s time to leave and focus on that. Perhaps then I’ll get back to full steam.
She spins, and heads out the door. For the first time in my life, I have no work goal or plan in sight. It’s unsettling. But I breathe and take that first step to an uncertain future.
Author’s note: I found this piece I had started writing a few years back. At this point, I’ve decided to have this be the start of a book I’ve decided to write about my experiences related to my concussion and recovery journey. However, because I think so little effort has been extended to return to work issues (RTW) I decided to post this publicly now in the hopes of helping raise awareness about issues that adults experience from a concussion. I’ll be forever grateful for the welcoming reception by my colleagues, patience and support from my former employer, ongoing support from family and friends through all these years, and support from fellow survivors and my followers in recent years for my work to raise awareness. – Julie: June 30, 2020