Many Hats

“Without focus you can’t accomplish anything,” or so says my favorite author, Haruki Murakami.  Reading his memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, I have learned a lot more about him, and a little more about writing.  In he asserts that focus is, after talent, the most important quality for a writer.  I wholeheartedly agree. 

Unfortunately, TBI destroyed my ability to stay focused and concentrate, not surprising as this is one of the most common symptoms of TBI.  There has been marked improvement over the years, but distractibility and a maddening inability to think in a straight line shadows my every move.  If I am even slightly tired, stressed, or have anything on my mind, my attention span rivals that of a guppy, and I can bid my productivity farewell.  To counter this my doctor prescribes Adderall for me which counters a vast majority of the problems.  However, even with the drug, my mind still wanders on its way to the writing “zone.”

I adore writing; the solitude, creativity, productivity.  There is nothing quite like breathing life into a story.  Though getting there can take me a while, but once I arrive and click into that focused mindset I can breathe a sigh of relief.  It feels so right, as if I’m where I’m supposed to be.  There I see the world differently, the surroundings barely register, and I finally I work without distraction.

 Writing is unquestionably one of my passions.  I wouldn’t think twice about spending months holed-up working on a book.  However, I wear many hats, both literally and figuratively, I need diversity in my life.  Because of this, though a large part of me finds the isolation, peace, and quiet to be rejuvenating, I do reach a breaking point. When this happens, I exchange my somber writer’s beret for a festive party hat and plunge into the social sphere to concentrate my energies on networking.

 “You can really work a room,” my friend, A always compliments me.  She’s right, throw me in a networking-friendly situation, whether or not I know anyone at the start, I will move around the room and meet people.  By the end of the gathering, nine times out of ten, I’ll have a fistful of business cards and phone numbers.

For many, these interests would compliment one another swimmingly.  Many people are quite proficient at moving from one vastly different subject to another.  I’ve seen one friend switch from Norwegian to English without missing a beat, another who moves seamlessly from physics problem sets to working on films without batting an eye; the examples are endless.  However none of these people, I think, have brain injuries. 

With the characteristic distractibility and short attention span it should follow that switching focus would be a cake walk.  Alas, it is quite the reverse.  As with many TBI survivors, though finding focus is a struggle, once I have locked into one task then it’s a concerted effort to switch gears.

Sadly, rather than complimenting my writing, I find that moving between the vastly different networking and writing to be draining.  I end up wasting more time than I should refocusing, need enormous amounts of sleep, and fatigue is never far away.  I have tried to alternate days - one day for networking, and one for writing, but this has not worked as well as I would have liked.  As so often happens, I think what I need to do is just bite the bullet, put in the (enormous amounts of) extra effort, and push through.  Try, try, and try again until I find out what works, until I have  pounded down the new pathways in my brain and sanded the edges smooth.  The tried and true trial and error is my fall back plan.  I will find a way to balance the two, and just maybe this will help make segues and changing hats easier on me….

Can't You See the Connection?

Valentine’s Day is coming up.  Thanks for reminding me.  Yeah, you’re totally right.  It is strange how a manufactured holiday can make so many people miserable.  Seriously, how many people do you know that are genuinely happy that day anyway?  Single people are miserable because they’re alone, the ones in couples are sad because they don’t have the ideal storybook relationship media has fed them.  You said it.  Being depressed because culture tells us is just silly.  

Do you ever wonder if Burning Airlines’ name had anything to do with Jets to Brazil?  I mean, Jawbox and Jawbreaker break up within a few years, and then their singers form Burning Airlines and Jets to Brazil within a couple years.  It can’t be a coincidence, there are just to many parallels.  I mean I’m not saying J. Robbins is copying Blake Schwarzenbach or anything but...

 Where did that come from?  Oh!  Sorry.  Sometimes I get ahead of myself.  Talking about Valentine’s Day made me think of the Jawbreaker song Chemistry.  Make sense?

The Accident shook my brain up, broke the normal connections, and the newly formed associations aren’t necessarily obvious to anyone else.  My train of thought will often jump around capriciously to apparently unrelated topics.  A phrase, word or topic will remind me of something else, and the conversation will zag sharply left. There was a time when I could barely go five minutes without a reference or digression.  Thinking back I marvel that anyone understood my scattered reference-laden discourse.  Over the years I’ve gotten better with my conversational segues, but occasionally I’ll still have to explain. 

 Examples like the one I gave aren’t hard to follow, but when the conversation reminds me of one thing, which reminds me of another, and another then things can get complicated. The connections are obvious to me.  I can explain them, but the transition can be jarring to anyone else.  I used joke that no one who thinks in a linear fashion could possibly track me.   

Happily it is easy to put a positive spin on what could (and has been) be an extremely frustrating effect.  Precisely because I think differently, I come up with fresh ideas.  I offer a unique perspective, and an original viewpoint, and this is an asset in many professions. After experiencing something like brain injury it is natural to gain a new outlook on life.  I am not certain how common this symptom of ‘shaken up connections’ is, but I would love to hear your experiences.

Making a List and Checking it Twice

The call came at 4:43 A.M..  The ringer was off, but even on vibrate, the buzz woke me.  I’ve been having uncharacteristically fitful nights since the temperature plummeted and the landlord turned the steam heat on high.  Even with the window thrown wide it’s like sleeping in a sauna most nights.

Who on earth could be calling me at this hour? I thought, darkly.  In a flash, my annoyance changed to fear,  What if it was an emergency?  I snatched the phone from my bedside and checked: my downstairs neighbor.  Lord, what did he want?  I rolled over and let it go to voicemail. 

A moment later it hit me – what if he were locked out?  My brain still on autopilot, I quickly called him back.  He wasn’t locked out, his roommate’s ceiling was dripping.  He described the location – the same corner as my radiator.  Steam heat, was the culprit, and I tried to tell him this as nicely as I possibly could, after having been woken up at 4:30 in the morning. 

Thoroughly annoyed, I pulled my eye pillow over my face, and tried to drift back to s

leep.  After ten minutes, dreamland slipping further and further from my grasp, I threw the covers off, and lurched to my feet, put my hair up, and headed into the kitchen. 

If I had to be awake at O’-dark-thirty, I might as well make use of my time and bake.  A long-lost friend from kickboxing was coming to town the next, er, that day.  I hadn’t seen him in a decade and I’d promised cookies.  If I got it out of the way now, then maybe I’d be able to get nap in before heading out for the day.

With all of the cognitive functioning and dexterity of a zombie, I baked a batch of Apricot Jammies, set them on the counter to cool, and lumbered back to bed.

Well, at least that’s one thing off the list, I thought, putting a checkmark beside “Cookies for T” before crossing it out.  Satisfied, I pulled the covers over my head and slipped quickly into the dreamless slumber of a power nap.

I live my life by lists.  Every morning I have a list of things to get done, who to email, whom to contact, where I’m supposed to be, what I need to bring.  Sometimes I break the list up into things to do, things I need to buy, and places I need to go.  When I need to get things done there’s always a list.  If I don’t get something done one day, no problem, I just cross it off (with no check) and move it to tomorrow's.

Some people like writing things down on their blackberry, iphone, or computer.  As dependent on my computer as I am, when it comes to lists I’m an old fashioned girl.  There

’s something satisfying about physically crossing off an item.  Thus, I always carrying a notebook and a pen. I’m lost without them.  If I think of new things to do - I add them, if I think of story ideas -I write them down, and having a blank sheet of paper is always handy.

By no means do I live every day in a prescribed, regimented fashion, I thrive on spontaneity, adventure, and living by the seat of my pants - the lists are just reminders.  I don't always bother with them either - when I go on holiday, the lists are left behind.  When someone else is planning the schedule, then I have no need for them, but as a general rule they're helpful, and can even be freeing.  I don’t have to rely on my memory so it releases me from the stress and worry that I may have forgotten something.  I still don’t think I’ve completely transformed into a list person, but they certainly are a great asset in keeping me on point and productive.  

Apricot Jammies

Ingredients:

1 c Butter

1/2 c Brown sugar

2 c Flour

1/2 t Salt

1 t Vanilla

1 t Orange blossom water

Sesame seeds

Apricot jam

Directions:

• Preheat oven to 375 F
• Pour sesame seeds into bowl
• Mix butter, sugar, vanilla, and orange blossom water
• Stir in flour and salt
• Form into balls
• Roll balls in sesame seeds and place on ungreased baking sheet
• Gently press thumb into each ball leaving depression
• Spoon jam into depressions
• Bake 10-12 minutes

Sometimes All You Need is a Little Jumpstart

"Oh yes, I know about initiation problems.  Most days S would be perfectly happy if I let her sleep all day.  Is it that way with you?"  

"No, not really anymore" I told V.  My mind conveniently "misfiling" memory after memory of my starter breaking.   

I am torn as to whether it is a blessing or a curse, but even when I try to think of examples of TBI affecting my life, my mind will frequently bury all but the most ostentatious incidents.  On one hand it is good that I don't spend my time ruminating on these problems.  On the other, those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.  

Admittedly, things have gotten much better since writing, but I cannot call these memories up at will - I still need a reminder.  A reminder like finding myself facing the deficit again.  

I got home Friday evening with just enough time to change and get ready to go out and meet S.  I walked in the door with every intention of going out again, but the instant I sat down it was as if all will had been syphoned from me.  I hadn't seen S in months and we'd finally made a plan to meet up, but when she called the first words out of my mouth were whining about the weather.  After discussing it, we decided to postpone meeting up until late afternoon the next day. I had plans in her neighborhood anyway, it would work out perfectly.

It was cold, but canceling plans at the last minute goes against my entire ideology. (if she'd sounded excited about going I probably would have forced myself.)  And staying home alone on a Friday night?  I didn't cook.  I didn't bake. I didn't write.  I had a dinner of 2 pieces of cold pita and hummus, watched a film I had rented, I'm Not There, and went to bed early.

The next day I woke up around 10.  I didn't want to, but I glanced at the ridiculously long to do list by my bed, and willed myself to the shower.  I couldn't afford to give myself a lazy Saturday I had places to go and things to do:

-Follow up on a letter from the Social Security administration

Go to the library to 

-Return books, films, and get some writing done

-Look up Media Bistro and Toastmasters 

- Research TBI

- Send emails with TBI advice 

- Contact organizations

Buy

- 3 birthday presents

-  Adhesive for my full length mirror (despite the nails, it had fallen)

- Clothes hangers

- Groceries at a vegetarian supermarket in chinatown http://www.vegieworld.com/

Meet

- M for lunch

- S for tea and to give her a holiday present

- J for dinner and a movie

- Y for a dance party in Brooklyn

I showered with the best intentions for a productive day.  When I made it back my room, on the other hand, I saw my futon and all virtuous thoughts evaporated.  I pulled a fresh pair of pajamas (hey, work out clothes can double as pajamas) out of my closet, and fell into bed.  M's call at 11 didn't even wake me.  

When I woke around 12:30, my tummy was voicing its complaints.  I lay there for another hour, unable to move, not reading, not watching television, my mind a blank, until my stomach all but grabbed me by the shoulders, and pushed me into the kitchen.  When I opened the refrigerator door I realized my mistake.  I usually have quick and easy food in my fridge, but I hadn't gone shopping in a while.  I had eaten my last piece of pita bread the night before.  If I wanted to eat, I'd have to go out, order in, or actually prepare something.

I crossed the options off:  going out was out of the question, ordering in required a phone call, not to mention human interaction, and I certainly wasn't up to that, and no way was I going to prepare food.  What could I eat?  Finally made due with a piece of candied ginger, and two spoonfuls of crunchy peanut butter mixed with honey.  Yeah, I know.

When I got back to my room, I sent M a text message apologetically canceling, and went back to laying in bed.  A ship dead in the water, I could not get myself out of bed, I couldn't start anything.  Suddenly my conversation with V came flooding back along with memories of past initiation problems.  None of this helped.  My starter was broken - all I could do was lie there, phone by my side where I had dropped it after sending M the text.

M wrote back at 4:30, hoping I felt better, and minutes later S called to (thankfully) postpone our plans yet again, and I went back to my motivation dead zone.   

An hour later J texted me: "Pick you up at 7?"

Oh.  He was picking me up.  I couldn't weasel my way out using the weather as an excuse.  Not having enough energy, motivation, or drive even to try and think of another excuse, I typed two letters:  "OK"  Fine.  I was going to dinner at 7.

At 6:53 I looked at the clock.  "Oh," I thought to myself, "Now I really have to get ready."  I lurched up, pulled on some clothes, and was in the middle of hunting for my mascara, when J called to tell me he was a few blocks away.  

Thankfully my parents instilled a firm sense of obligation in me, or I wouldn't have been able to pull myself out of bed.  And thank goodness I am dating a boy who has a car and actually drags me out of my apartment, and kick-start me.

Initiation deficits are one of the more insidious of the TBI problems that I face.  It can affect all parts of your life.  Saturday was a good, albeit brief, example of what initiation deficits can do.  It is very odd, often I will want to do something and know that I need to, but won't be able to start the activity myself.  Be it doing laundry (even dropping it off at the laundromat), buying food, looking for a job, starting a new activity (even one I genuinely want to do), leaving for the concert, or whatever it might be.  Though frequently mistaken for it, initiation is not the same thing as procrastination.  In some instances the task just seems overwhelming, and the concept of starting it simply is beyond me.  On other occasions, I know what to do, and how to do it, but I simply can't get started.  

I wish that I could give advice on how to overcome initiation problems once and for all, I would love someone to enlighten me, or the magic fairy to wave her wand and keep me from getting "stuck."  Alas, all I can offer is how I cope.  

As I said, keeping my word, being on time, and reliable is extremely important to me.  Because of this, if a friend asks me to do something, be somewhere, or I have an appointment with them, I do everything in my power not to disappoint, and happily this can override even my problems with initiation.  

If it is not that way already, I would recommend making punctuality and keeping your appointments a priority.  The next step is to talk to your family and friends  about this issue and let them know ways they can help "jump-start" you.  It is almost never a big thing.  As far as starting projects, looking for work, or things of that nature often all it takes is a suggestion, or hearing about something from a new perspective.  For errands, your family or friends can recommend you do them together.  And for events, you can always just go with friends.  For me, at least, all it takes is pulling me out of the stuck place I'm in, and I am up and running.  It can even be hard to stop!

As always, I'd love to hear any questions, comments, or suggestions.  It would be great to hear your stories, and other ideas for coping with initiation problems....

All Walks of Life

I have seen the statistics a million times.

• 2 million traumatic brain injuries a year in the United States
• 2% of the population suffer from permanent disabilities
• TBI is the leading cause for death or disability world-wide

TBI alone - nothing to be said for stroke, brain tumor, or any other type of brain injury.

No matter how many times I see the facts and figures, it always startles me when  I meet people whose lives have been affected by brain injury.

  Last night was no exception.

P and I had plans to hit the town, a CD release party, a comedy show, a Moroccan gala.... it was going to be a fun

 night.  Even better, I'd get to see my friend Y who I hadn't seen in ages.  I was really looking forward to the night ... until I stepped

 outside.  Somehow during the course of the day the temperature had dropped from chilly to unbearably cold.  For a fleeting moment I contemplated staying in and watching a movie, but I'd promised, and I'm morally opposed to flakes.  Sighing, I gritted my teeth, pulled on another several layers of clothing, and forged into the snow-swept streets of New York.

After deciding the Moroccan gala was really not our scene, P and I headed down to Asa Ransom's CD release party at

 the Delancey Lounge.   I hadn't

 seen Y since she started her

 clothing line, Social Rebel

 Clothing, socialrebelclothing. Com and it would be great to see her, the band she was sponsoring, and introduce my friends in fashion.

It turns out that P is almost as directionally challenged as I am.  Between the two of us, we came dangerously close to taking up residence in the Port Authority maze, missed our subway transfer, and almost froze to death in the Arctic Lower East Side while trying desperately to find the club.   After feeling to returned to our extremities, the thawing-pain had left, and our bodies had started generating body heat again, we headed downstairs to watch the show.

Watching the show, P and Y started talking, and Y introduced me to her two roommates.  I skeptically regarded the tall, pretty girls, dressed to a T in Williamsburg hipster chique.  Biting back my knee-jerk reaction to stereotype them, I sternly reminded myself they were friends of Y's.  The girl on the left, D, and I started talking; a set designer,  from L.A.... no surprises.  When she asked me about myself I mentioned the blog.  "Oh, what is your blog about?" she asked.

Telling people "Oh, I write a blog about traumatic brain injury" is conversational suicide.  Coming right out and saying it on your first meeting is not necessarily the best way to make contacts or connections.   "Well..." I hedged a moment.  "It's about traumatic brain injury," I said it in one breath, throughly expecting an incredulous "why the hell would you write about that" look.

"That's an issue I know a lot about. Who do you know with TBI?"  The girl's humorless smile and somber eyes spoke volumes.  

I couldn't help but gape at her.   I quickly told her I had one, and a little about the blog, and incredulously asked her how on earth she knew about TBI.

D’s mother had suffered a terrible stroke, and gone to Kentfield Rehabilitation and Specialty Hospital for rehab.   http://www.kentfieldrehab.com/ As one of the leading TBI rehab centers in the country, she had become intimately acquainted with TBI over the years.  Her mother had proved doctors wrong again and again.  When they gave her no chance of recovery, she had survived every one of the death sentences (6 months, 1 year, 5 years) they gave.  She was communicating on an extremely high level – almost back to her old self -when they told D her mother would never regain her cognitive skills.  

Doctors can be wonderful people, but their prognoses for recover err on the side of conservative.  I know that this must be to avoid lawsuits, instilling false hope, and causing needless pain.  But I don’t know if they can possibly realize how much pain these dismal prognoses cause.   Perhaps if patients and their families were given hope, instead of these dismal “facts,” then the odds, the prognoses, would change.  I would argue that hope is unquestionably one of the strongest weapons in your recovery arsenal.

And it is vital that you never lose hope.  The adage that recovery is a life long process can be taken in a very positive way.  Recovery from brain injury is not limited, as we are led to believe, to the first six months, or even first six years.  Further recovery is always possible.....

Shoot From the Hip

The easiest place to get lost is in your own head.

I couldn't stop thinking about that poor abused dog from the shelter.  Seeing such abject terror really shook me up.  That dog did not have fear instilled in her by neglect or some thoughtless act.  No her owners calculatingly tortured, tormented, and broke her spirit.  What kind of monster could stoop to abusing an animal like that?  How could anyone torture another creature so cruelly?  

Injury to my frontal lobe heightened my emotions.  Though it has gotten less frequent, intense, and I have learned to somewhat control it, to this day  I am, on occasion, assaulted with raw emotions of unimaginable intensity.   For better or worse, this paired with the suggestibility characteristic of TBI survivors (frequently survivors will behave as emotional mirrors), has turned me into an emotional sponge.  I can be swept away by others' emotions - anger, fear, or even happiness or excitement.  This does however, lead to moments of painfully intense empathy.

On the way to the potluck my mind kept coming back to the image of the poor thing cowering in the corner of her cage.  But before walking in, I resolved not to let anyone else know about it. Even with my diminished social skills, I'm pretty sure crying at a party is not in the best form. 

In the crowded room I swallowed my feelings and made a concerted effort to shove it to the back of my mind.  I plastered a smile on my face, and tried to socialize.  Flitting from group to group I joked, laughed and tried to keep conversation fun and superficial, being careful not to talk about anything that would touch on any real emotion.  

This lasted for a few hours, before I fell into a conversation with A, the hostess.  A and her husband had moved to the City several years ago from Missouri and their dog was not adjusting well.  Inside he was fine, but he was terrified of setting foot outdoors -the city's cacophony was too much for him.  I was telling her about ttouch healing massage, and how it could help with emotional as well as physical problems.  http://www.lindatellingtonjones.com/whyTTouch.shtml 

A was fascinated.  We moved to a nearby sofa and a few minutes later J came and sat down next to us.   "I tried to talk to you, and you completely ignored me.  You didn't even say hi to me or give me a hug!" he said, in a hurt voice.

I'd been oblivious to any of this, but mechanically got up, gave him a hug, and without thinking, returned to my conversation.  A group of us left together at the end of the evening and as we parted ways, me heading west, the others east, J gave me a perfunctory one-armed hug.

Realization slowly dawned on me.  I had been so focused on socializing, and then on a conversation, that I had not picked up on any hints that J wanted to talk.  I may have increased empathy (of sorts) now, but I still struggle with picking up on social cues.  This is especially true at times when I am preoccupied with something else, or am in a stimulating environments. When I am mindful, and thinking about it, I am a compassionate person and a considerate friend.  Unfortunately because of the injury there are times I can be completely oblivious to other people's wishes or feelings, and be callous, cold, or even rude.  I'm not really sure if it is a good or bad thing, but I've reached to the point where I generally realize what I've done after the fact, and almost always feel badly if it's brought to my attention. 

Wracked with guilt for hurting a friend (however unintentionally) I sent J several text messages with no response, and went to bed miserable thinking about that, the abused shelter dog, and all the horrors of the world.  The next day I sent J a long heartfelt email of apology.  Kindly, he immediately wrote back telling me that he knew me better than to think that I would do that on purpose.  Never the less I was sure to outline how situations like that could be avoided:

It is extremely important that you be direct with TBI survivors.  No matter how put-together they look, there are almost certainly going to be glitches.  Something that you think is obvious may completely escape their notice.  

I haven't found a fool proof method of staying on-point in this area just yet.   Though I can pick up on things most of the time, there are a few big pink elephants that lumber past me without so much as catching my eye.   The best advice I can give is to try and avoid overstimulation, get plenty of rest, and talk to your friends and family about the things you struggle with.   It can be extremely frustrating, but with time you will get better and learn more effective coping strategies, and find what works best for you.

Though I may have felt awful about my behavior at the potluck, the coffee cake I brought was a great success.  My godmother gave me  the recipe years ago, and it is unquestionably the best coffee cake I have ever had, and extremely easy to make.  

Cream Cheese Coffee Cake

Ingredients:

1 c Butter

4 Eggs

1 8 oz package Cream Cheese

2 1/4 c Flour

1 1/2 c Sugar

1 1/2 t Baking Powder

1 1/2 t Vanilla

1/2 c Sugar

1 1/2 T coco powder

1 T Cinnamon

1/2 c chopped Pecans

• Combine 1/2 sugar, coco powder and cinnamon and set aside.
• Grease bundt pan and sprinkle with pecans.
• Cream butter, cream cheese, 1 1/2 c sugar, and vanilla until light and fluffy
• Add eggs one at a time beating well after each
• Add flour and baking powder mixing until well blended

• Spoon 1/2 the batter into prepared pan and sprinkle 1/2 the cinnamon, sugar, coco mixture over
• Spoon about 2/3 of remaining batter and sprinkle with remaining cinnamon, sugar coco mixture
• Top with remaining batter and swirl knife throughout to marbleize.

• Bake 60-70 min
• Cool upright in pan for 15 min

Animal Assisted Therapy

It was love at first sight.   I hadn't wanted a dog, my apartment didn't even allow them, but somehow I knew I had to have the little Jack Russell puppy.   

Last night was my first time volunteering as a dog walker with NYC Animal Care and Control. http://www.nycacc.org/contact.htm I wanted to volunteer and miss being around animals, so this seemed ideal.   I wasn't sure what to expect, but I do love animals and am generally good with them, so I wasn't worried.

It was dark before we started walking the dogs, and just to be on the safe side the project leader had the volunteers pair off in teams of two.  I was relieved. We were in the low hundreds - so close to the UES, but so far.   I have no experience with that area, and East Harlem looks pretty sketchy, especially at night.  

My partner D, an energetic Lebanese girl, did not have any experience with large dogs and was a little scared.   I couldn't blame her - I could easily see a large dog overpower the waify girl, who could easily have passed for a model, and run away.  The fact that 90% of the dogs there were pit bulls didn't ease her mind in the slightest.  The team leader suggested that we start out by walking a tan medium-sized pitbull mix who was curled up on her pillow in the far corner of her cage.  I took one glance at the poor thing shrinking back from our gaze; pinned ears, clamped tail and asked if we could walk another dog.  Any other dog.  

The first dog we walked was a puppyish chocolate pit bull with white markings.  Self assured and curious about everything, this dog was a charmer.  We put him back in his cage and asked a petite hispanic Animal Care employee which dog we should walk next.  The wiry woman flashed a smile and immediately suggested we take out the first dog our team leader suggested.  

"But she's so scared," I protested "Are you sure she's safe to take out?" 

The employee reassured me that this dog was gentle - she was just scared of the other dogs, and would be fine once we got her out.  With a sinking feeling, I watched the poor broken thing flinch as the collar slid over her head.   That walk nearly broke my heart - the poor thing struggled against the leash, her ears and tail pinched close to her body.  As soon as we got back the employee realized her mistake - this wreck of a dog had experienced unspeakable abuse and cruelty.  Without intense rehabilitation she wouldn't have a chance at being adopted.

Next we walked Brodie, a friendly-looking Rottweiler-mix who enthusiastically who wagged his feathered tail the entire route.  But the last dog we walked - he was the best.  Pepper was a  black 1 1/2 year old medium-sized lab mix.  He was soft, playful, eager to please, and the first really people-focused dog we'd met that night.  It was Pepper who reminded me of my little Jack Russell - my Klaus.  It was pepper who reminded me of  that wonderful pivotal moment in my recovery.  The day I met Klaus.

Though I had had a good recovery and was on the right track, even years after my brain chemistry was seriously affected.  Just like many survivors, I would go through periods of deepest depression, and indeed despair, and nothing would seem to help.  My diminished social skills, feelings of isolation, and tendency to turn inward only served to exacerbate matters.  Klaus changed all of that - having a being that loved me so completely, who I could love helped immeasurably.  Being miserable around such a happy, loving, snuggley puppy was all but impossible - if I was sad, he would snuggle with me until I was happy again.   

I truly view getting him as a turning point in my recovery.   This is not to say I did not continue to struggle with depression, or that animal therapy is the magical miracle cure, but I definitely think that it is a powerful weapon in the therapy arsenal.  Being able to develop a relationship with an animal is an excellent step towards rebuilding social skills and developing relationships with people, and I am not alone in this view.

The therapeutic, healing, and calming benefits of animal contact are widely acknowledged.  Today many hospitals and assisted living facilities have programs for dogs to visit the patients and residents.  This is a form of Animal Assisted Therapy.   This type of therapy is wonderful for TBI survivors, including encouraging empathy, socialization, decreasing stress, as well as many other psychological and physiological benefits.   http://bettyclooneyfoundation.org/servicesAnimal.html

I recommend getting an animal of your own so that you can develop a special bond.   However, if you are not able to have one, there are always opportunities.   For example, you can always volunteer at animal shelters, participate in Animal Assisted Therapy programs in your area, or play with friends' animals.   As with any type of therapy, this is not the answer for everyone, but in my humble opinion, it can't hurt to try.   

As always, I would love to hear any questions, comments, or stories you have...

the Piper must be paid

Two hours of sleep is not enough for anyone ... for a TBI survivor you'd have to be a complete idiot to do that to yourself.  Yours truly: idiot in question.

Now the thing about pushing through and doing things like this to yourself is that there is a very curious progression.  When the alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. I woke up feeling quite refreshed.... this is the deceptive nature of naps.  I was almost giddy as I bounced out of bed, got ready, and hopped on the train to Queens.   Hard to recognize though it might be, this giddiness is the first stage of sleep deprivation....

A few hours later the false energy started to drain, like sand through an hourglass I clutched frantically at any remnants of vigor I had left, all to no avail.  I quickly excused myself and headed home, fighting to stay awake on the long train ride back.   The walk back from the station seemed to take ages, like a windup toy winding down, each step was slower than the last.  I didn't leave my apartment that night - I barely left my bed.   

The next day was a coin toss.  Even after a long nap and a full 10 hours of sleep, I could feel my body wavering on the verge of illness.  One wrong move and I would get sick.   I plodded through the day's motions half-there, but locked into the inflexible thinking that comes with fatigue I forced myself to meet my commitments.   Throughout service at St. Thomas I felt like a moth battering its wings against a window - I knew it was bad for my health to be there, but I couldn't help myself.  When J asked me to dinner at his parents' that night, I went.  It was a wonderful dinner, and delightful company, but even after my nap I was stretched too thin.  To be on the safe side I should have stayed home.

Inflexible thinking is strange - it is almost as if it takes away your free will and ability to make decisions.   I suppose when I get tired I am a zombie in more than appearance.

Thankfully I did make it through Sunday in one piece.  At the end of the evening J dropped me off at home and I showed him some massage techniques that you can use on yourself.  I demonstrated how to do ttouch, and also showed him some facial lymphatic massage techniques that I learned in volunteering with hospice care.  

The next morning I woke up still feeling a little overtaxed.  Then something compelled me to try the lymphatic massage on myself.  Miraculously this produced almost immediate results. While writing this I stumbled upon an article on lymphatic massage, and low and behold, some of its benefits are helping with fatigue, and boosting the immune system. I highly recommend trying lymphatic massage on your face when you are fatigued or overtaxed.  It is by no means a substitute for sleep, but if you are still worn out after a good night's sleep then trying this cannot hurt.   http://ezinearticles.com/?Lymphatic-Massage---The-Benefits&id=283527