Concussion Recovery: Part 1

I've had a considerable amount of this post written for some time; months in-fact.  But what I've found is that traumatic brain injuries/concussions don't work on our timetable, they progress at their own speed.  In-fact, the more one fights against it and attempts to push through the longer the symptoms linger.  These are just a couple of the many lessons I've learned in what's now approaching a year and a half since my accident and injury.  Another is that in order to write this properly, it has to be raw.  Perhaps that was one of the issues prior.  Back when I began I was a school coach and as such, tended to scale back my language and how I wrote things.  I no longer have that concern thanks in part to some of the side effects that have come along with my now and finally diagnosed,
"Moderate Post-Concussion Syndrome"  I put that in quotes because that was what the neurologist diagnosed me with and clearly for this post, it's important to insure that it's given its proper reference.   

The helmet I was wearing sitting atop pieces of the tree involved.

If you're a sports fan it's next to impossible not to know about the advances and acknowledgements surrounding concussions.  It's been all over the internet and stations like ESPN and Fox Sports due to the high amount of professional football players who've been diagnosed postmortem with CTE (Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy) as well as the controversy surrounding medical implications that were not acknowledged/possibly covered up.  This has now transitioned to a vast discussion not only about what concussions are, but also how to prevent, diagnose, and treat. As a former coach, I paid attention because I wanted those whom I worked with to be healthy and to limit the chances for injury to the highest degree possible.  For me, understanding concussions is as important as understanding how the goal line defense compares to a 5-2 or 4-4 in short yardage situations.  (If you're not a football fan, I apologize if my analogy doesn't make much sense). Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, beginning last summer I became much more an expert on the subject than I ever could have foreseen.

The rest of the tree.  This was the base so no directly involved
but when the issues no doubt began on my end.

On July 20th of last year I made my way behind the house to do some wood cutting and land clearing. I had my chainsaw, some wedges, and on that particular day, a forestry helmet.  I knew walking in it would be necessary for a dead cherry tree to come down because it was both in the way and presented a clear safety hazard.  I checked the immediate area in search of another tree I could fell in that direction, allowing me to take it down while lessening the danger but unfortunately none were present.  I directed Caden where to safely stand and instructed him to wait for my signal before moving in for cleanup. Helmet on, I looked over the tree, decided where I wanted it to fall and began cutting.  It was pretty well surrounded by other trees so I made the decision to have it fall in a way that it would graze the limbs on a nearby pine and slide down. Unfortunately, dead trees don't always do what you expect and on this day, it made a valiant effort to live up to the "widowmaker" moniker. Rather than hitting the pine branches and sliding off, it hit the branches and came straight back at me. Whether I felled it exactly where I wanted I have no idea but it's safe to assume, not exactly.  (Caden would later tell me it was going exactly where I'd planned but hit another branch that I apparently didn't see) I cannot remember seeing where it hit but I do remember seeing it coming back at me.  I waited as long as possible before moving in what I thought was to be the safe direction but I was again wrong.  My guess is it again hit something else that changed it's direction but I don't know for sure.

 I remember turning enough so when it hit me it was on the back left side of my head and knew immediately I'd been dinged pretty hard but I've been hit in the head hard a lot so the idea of being genuinely hurt didn't enter my initial thoughts.  Funny enough, after a moment or two and letting Caden know I was OK, I picked up my saw again to get back to work when it become apparent I should have Shawna (a former Army medic) check me out.  I walked back to the house, entered, and since she was sleeping, I was forced to wake her (which I actually remember feeling badly about.  HA!)  Startled because I don't generally ask for medical help (there are other stories there), she was awake instantly and running me through some basic concussion testing.  Most were OK but not great and I honestly thought that I'd probably panicked her for nothing when my speech began to slur.  That continued to get worse until we made the decision that seeking medical advice was a good idea.  We made a call and got a ride from family so the Dr could do basically nothing except charge me a fee. Limited cognitive testing, no MRI/cat scan, no advice except to rest. Looking back, I'm pretty pissed by the medical treatment I (didn't) received because I made decisions based on their reactions and advice.  This is not to say that I would have listened to everything but I should have had those options much earlier than I did.  And yes, I should have listened to my wife but when you're in the state I was, you put a certain amount of trust into the hands of your doctors and frankly, I'll never fucking do it again.

From here, some (many according to Shawna) details are fuzzy.  I thought I'd be up and on my feet in a day or two but that turned definitely wasn't the case.  I tried to go outside and work a few days later but that only magnified my symptoms.  I tried and did work as an assistant football coach at the local high school, but I definitely wasn't myself.  I would not come to realize how bad I was until I was sent to see an Occupational Therapist who helped me understand the shape was actually in by running a battery of simple tests that left me feeling fucked up not just following the appointment, for for a day or two after .   However, even then, I honestly didn't take the whole thing nearly as serious as I should have.  I continued to do things against her, my wife's, and pretty much everyone around me's recommendations because I thought for sure I could simply out-tough my injury.

Eventually, a couple months later, I finally began to feel like myself.  I got to watched the Cubs finally win the World Series (I'm a Red Sox fan first, Cubs fan because of so many years of shared and understood misery)  made it through the holidays, enjoyed watching the Pats pull of their epic Super Bowl comeback for the ages, was writing weekly blog posts while working on and beginning to lose some weight, and was even an assistant coach for the local high school baseball team in the spring.  It was also during that time that I found a new job and began working an overnight security gig at a local specialized school.  Everything seemed to be back to normal and going well...Right up until it began not to  And that's when the fucking relapse happened.