A Series of Unfortunate Concussions

A tale necessarily conveyed in fragments

You remember the first time it happened.

You were about 8 or 9 years old. You were playing with the other kids at school, running around, trying to catch each other.

Then, as you were in pursuit of one of your fellow runners, he closed a steel tube door behind him, and it bounced back right onto your face.

All you can remember is darkness, blood, the ER, and a nice scar on your left eyebrow.

About a year later, a goddamn brick decided to take a plunge from the roof of one of the school buildings, and your head was kind enough to give it a landing spot. What were the odds?

So, yes, you weren't even 10, and you already had two concussions on your scorecard. But, of course, back in the 1980s, you didn't even know that was a thing.

No one did.

A Concussion Magnet

You might be a teacher/writer, but you have always done your own stunts. It requires a lot of effort, but you do your best.

This is why you have gone through a couple of minor car crashes and, on a separate occasion, hit your head on the door frame of your car — okay, that was a stupid accident, even by your standards. Oh, and don't forget about that metal plank falling on your head in the media room while trying to get a PowerPoint presentation going, plus many other bumps on the head.

Really, lots of them.

For a while there, it was as if your head was a concussion magnet, finding open cupboard doors, steel tubes, shelves…you name it.

No one, not even you, considered the possibility that getting hit on the head so many times could have some long-lasting effects. After all, they were just small incidents: you never needed to spend the night at the hospital, there was no blood involved, and you never went into a comma.

Yes, you complained about the pain, but then they would give you some NSAIDs, tell you to rest, and to quit being a drama queen.

So, you would heal and then get hurt again, over and over again.

What does it feel like?

Your head feels full, like there's a thick fog that won't dissipate, no matter what you do. It's not a headache per se, but your skull does hurt. Sometimes, you can feel it throbbing. Others, the feeling travels through your forehead, and it hurts when you look at things.

Yeah, suddenly, it isn't easy to see. And, don't even get me started on the curious act known as thinking.

Now, boys and girls, listen to me closely. You all take thinking for granted. You believe that, whenever you want, you can just go there and tap into your thinking skills.

What if, one day, you bumped your head into a shelf and suddenly thinking hurt? You try to push yourself to get there, but the fog gets thicker, and whatever thought you were trying to grasp laughs at you and bids you farewell.

So, for a few days, you have to give up on thinking. But that's not the worst part.

The problem comes when you start having a particular set of ideas…the sort that makes you wish you were unable to think ever again.

A Deathly Frenzy

You are driving. You are getting back from grocery shopping and, later on, have to take your son to your ex's.

Ugh…

And, as you drive, you can feel the fog getting thicker. You keep trying to power your way through it so you can think, but you just can’t make it.

To make things worse, in the midst of it all, there lives a frenzy of feelings and ideas, wicked introspections that race in your mind. They move so fast you can barely keep up.

You try to follow every one of them, but then you get scared because they all lead to the same idea: Why don't you just drive your car, full speed, into a concrete wall? Then, it would all end, and you would finally rest.

Luckily, you have educated yourself on the tricks your brain can play on you when you are in a blue mood. You have learned not to believe every silly thing your mind tells you.

At the moment, you do not have the strength to make this deathly frenzy stop, but you can at least ignore it until it dies down.

Just One More Concussion

You had been okay for a long time. It had been a good couple of years since your last concussion, but a couple of weeks ago, you hit your head on a closet shelf. You dismissed it as just one bump in the head…but the next day, you struggled to sleep, and then you were crying, and then writing and speaking in English became difficult.

And then, one after the other, you remembered all of the other times you have just slightly bumped your head. No blood, no fainting, not worthy of spending the night at the hospital, you most certainly still didn't go into a comma…

And yet, it all adds up.

What's in a brain?

You had been trying to write more frequently. Also, you had been trying to get a YouTube channel going and create a couple of courses on your area of expertise. In fact, you were on track.

But all of that has sort of stopped…

Focusing requires effort, and then your skull starts throbbing, and the frenzy reignites its attack.

Just a few days ago, you wrote a 2-minute piece that took you the whole day. In fact, the only reason you pushed yourself to finish it was because you had to give an important announcement. By the time you hit "Publish," you were exhausted.

And this post, these words you are writing right now in the past tense, took a whole lot of effort—one paragraph here, another paragraph there. You are a writer, but it has taken you several days to piece this thing together, and you had to do it in fragments. It kind of reads like a handmade patchwork quilt—a memory here, a feeling there, a few notions over there.

Your brain is not "You." You know this. But it does carry all of the things that make you "You."

You are a reader, but you have to pause every few paragraphs to keep the fog from mounting a new attack. You are a human being, but at moments you consider quitting on the Being part because your mind keeps at it with its silly thoughts on how nice it would be to make the frenzy stop once and for all.

Your brain, that squishy, buttery soft organ, is, at the moment, feeling ill. You have to pamper it and let it rest while giving it the proper nutrients and just the right doses of training.

It's a good thing you are stubborn, I guess.

The Art of Self-Healing

Right now, the only solution at hand is to go back to your self-healing tactics. Kids, don't try this at home. This is not the proper solution. If you can, if you have the means, go to a good physician, get all of the tests and follow all protocols.

But you — hey, you know I have been talking about me this whole time, right? — you don't have that. Yes, your country has a socialized health care system, but at the moment, it is overwhelmed in COVID and diabetes. Maybe in a few months, you'll be able to see a specialist if your GP doesn't ignore you or laughs at you as they have in the past. Or you could win the lottery and be able to afford some treatment in the private sector.

LOL

You will gather all of the experience you have gained from your previous incidents — ha! — and do some light reading on the topic, as much as your brain can stand, at least.

And you'll wait. You'll get frustrated. You'll wish you lived in a world where getting injured or sick came with a you-can-rest-for-a-bit card. You'll get under the covers after some cold days and gather your own warmth.

You'll heal. You have no idea how long it will take, but you will get better. After all, that is, against all odds, what you always do, no matter how many fragments of your mind you have to pick up from the ground.