You never write anymore
I know! And I'm sorry.
The reason is... well the reason is... that the thing that's most on my mind is Tyler's condition, and what can you say about that?
"He's slowly getting better" is what I tell people. Which is true. Except that the 'slowly' kind of understates it.
It has been now almost 16 months. Sixteen months, next Friday. I don't think you can really get what a brain injury means, until you see it.
And as he's getting better, you realize how bad it really was. How often just talking was not doable. In the first few months, his ability to hold a conversation would fade fast, after a few minutes. He would get confused. No longer get what I was saying. No longer able to find any words. You could see the struggle; the thought was there, just not the words.
Any big-time visual was overwhelming. A movie, even at home. Visit to the grocery store. If he had a good day, he would come with me. At first we wouldn't even get past the vegetable section, before his head was overwhelmed, and he would stumble to the car. Often that was the last I saw of him for a few days.
Making decisions, in the first months, was an ability he'd lost. He would look at the options, look at one type of toothpaste and the other, and say "I don't know how to choose". Not, that he had no preference. But that he didn't know how to choose.
The blinding headaches, like the worst migraine ever. Any sound, any sight, like a sword through the top of his head and out from his right eye.
I now walk on tip-toe all the time. Even when it isn't needed any more.
The falling down. I became a watch-full eye for the uneven road, or for the first tell-tale wobble that could very easily become a crash. I'm not strong enough to hold him up. But at least I can guide the fall. And sometimes grab a chair, just in time.
Good thing both of us have a great sense of humour. Because what else can you do but laugh?
The reason is... well the reason is... that the thing that's most on my mind is Tyler's condition, and what can you say about that?
"He's slowly getting better" is what I tell people. Which is true. Except that the 'slowly' kind of understates it.
It has been now almost 16 months. Sixteen months, next Friday. I don't think you can really get what a brain injury means, until you see it.
And as he's getting better, you realize how bad it really was. How often just talking was not doable. In the first few months, his ability to hold a conversation would fade fast, after a few minutes. He would get confused. No longer get what I was saying. No longer able to find any words. You could see the struggle; the thought was there, just not the words.
Any big-time visual was overwhelming. A movie, even at home. Visit to the grocery store. If he had a good day, he would come with me. At first we wouldn't even get past the vegetable section, before his head was overwhelmed, and he would stumble to the car. Often that was the last I saw of him for a few days.
Making decisions, in the first months, was an ability he'd lost. He would look at the options, look at one type of toothpaste and the other, and say "I don't know how to choose". Not, that he had no preference. But that he didn't know how to choose.
The blinding headaches, like the worst migraine ever. Any sound, any sight, like a sword through the top of his head and out from his right eye.
I now walk on tip-toe all the time. Even when it isn't needed any more.
The falling down. I became a watch-full eye for the uneven road, or for the first tell-tale wobble that could very easily become a crash. I'm not strong enough to hold him up. But at least I can guide the fall. And sometimes grab a chair, just in time.
Good thing both of us have a great sense of humour. Because what else can you do but laugh?
posted by Jet (Anat) at
6:41 p.m.
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