I’ve been back to work for three weeks. I think things are starting to catch up with me. When I first came back to work, I was excited about the possibility of getting back into the routine of things. I had been out for a long time. But more than that, I had been excited by the promise that I might return to something close to “normal” – the clichéd light at the end of the tunnel.
I think I believed that things were normal, when I came back. At least certainly after I had put the memories of the neuropsychology test battery out of my mind I was doing a pretty good job of thinking I has recovered completely.
I don’t think I can still say that. More and more, I am noticing the types of symptoms about which my doctors and therapists had talked to me at length. In most of the cases the symptoms do not seem to be having a strong effect on my day-to-day life. But they are there. I am aware of them. Memory problems, headaches, lack of attention, contending with large amounts of stimuli, fatigue, anger, and anomia: these things are with me, now.
I don’t want this entry to be entirely negative. I’m not really interested in rehashing the specific events that have caused me to change my opinion about myself. I’ve done enough of that in my own head. But here’s the problem: I’m the kind of guy who wants to know why something is happening. If I understand the reasons – if you’ll allow me to wax Aristotelian for a moment, the four causes – if I understand the reasons for an experience, generally I find a way to accept it. The problem is that the only reason I have for any of this is: I was in an accident and injured my brain. That tells me how this experience happened, but not why. The whole explanation is predicated on the idea of an accident. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It certainly doesn’t tell me to what end. It is very unsatisfying.
I find myself begging off on invitations. This past weekend, the fatigue was so intense that I slept a good half of the time, I think. – Maybe I exaggerate a bit, but I know I slept far more than I usually do on a weekend. Or used to; I slept far more than I used to sleep before the injury. And I ask myself: is this what I have to look forward to?
Spring is here. The White Sox are doing well. – There is hope.