Recovery…I’m reading a book recommended by eldest daughter, one of
my wonderful ‘recovery coaches.’ It is Left Neglected by Lisa Genova.
The story is of a high-powered Boston Human Resources executive, living a fast
and full life with a family of three children, a great husband, and a cottage
in the Vermont hills where they ski all winter.
Then one day Sarah is involved in a serious car accident. She is
quite mangled, and most importantly, her brain is injured. “Left” ceases to
exist for her brain. Her hand, arm, that side of the body, and of her visual
world – gone, neglected by the brain, which no longer includes those things in
its banks. Thus “Left Neglected.”
The story is of Sarah’s coping, first by denial and rage, then
slowly by effort, with support she doesn’t want or appreciate, with many
harrowing setbacks. She sometimes drools from the left side of her mouth. Can’t
feel it, it isn’t there. Drags her left leg. If she lifts it, she has no idea
where it is and therefore where it will come down, She paints a picture; the
left side of the scene trails off into no colour. It isn’t seen. Get the
picture? Brain damaged is being faced with the monumental task of re-training
this brain to know “left,” to recognize and account for “left.”
My situation bears only a slight resemblance to this woman’s
plight. I have been so lucky! I have had only to retrain
my brain to read text and learn to relax. She has to teach it the whole left
world!
BU I find myself identifying with her so strongly! The book isn’t
“pleasant’ to read for me. It’s hard work with terror around every corner as
well as tears of joy when she is taught to snowboard. I pick up a book and drop
one letter from a word, and the whole page falls apart. I have a simple job:
teach my brain to read again. Teach my heart to slow down, my blood pressure to
slowly drop. My job, like Sarah’s, is to recover. She struggles to recognize
realistic goals…me, too, on a much smaller scale.
And I walk with her, agonize when she gets stuck in the fridge, or
can’t close the public washroom cubicle door. And she is a perfectionist, who
had succeeded in being just about perfect in her job, though not in her ‘life.’
Enough about Sarah, You want to read it? Look in the Library or
Amazon. Voila, there it is, on your left, not neglected, waiting for you to
share this remarkable journey.
Now I am not saying that my recovery journey is like Sarah’s. Her’s is colossally
difficult over many months, in the midst of raising three kinds, dealing a with
a mother who is not close to her, and a husband who hard in IT, but may lose
his job.
Me? I have had to learn to read, deal with some sleeplessness,
like tonight, some anxiety that comes in various ways, discover and interiorize
“pace.” I could never do this, when running. I always started too fast, and
wore out before the end. This time, if I ‘run out of gas too soon, I will die
before I’m ready. And I’m not ready now.
So yes, I am lucky, but teachable, and trainable, with a compliant
and committed spirit. I measure my BP, I breathe deeply, I walk whenever I can,
even though I can now take the car, and I notice people in pain more like I did
twenty years ago. My attention span remains woefully short, but I keep starting up
the book again.
No more marathons for me, but perhaps enough re-connected brain
tissue that I can focus on an hour at my desk in preparation for a Sunday
assignment. I managed to come up with a crazy idea for my son’s birthday, and
carry it out alone! Something… not snowboarding like Sarah, but something! He won’t
be disappointed this year!
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