normal

Hoo boy! How did 3 weeks go by? What have you guys been up to? Obsessively watching the coverage from Egypt? Snuffling down and avoiding the snowy snowiness? Brick training for yer triathlon? Rearranging your wardrobe? No wait, that's what I've been doing!

And I finished my TBI story. Done. It was so difficult that I got stress blisters on my hands (my own personal brand of crazy) but it's done and I hope that it will be useful. I might stick all my TBI stuff on one page and whack it in my sidebar. In case anybody is curious or (oh man, I hope not) in the same sort of situation. On the plus side, writing a novel with smooching and a happy ending seems like cake in comparison.

I haven't made anything! In fact I haven't even finished the stuff I was working on, but I'm slowly getting back on track.

And my bear is turning 3! THREE! I have no idea how this can possibly be; but apparently TIME just happens.
We have a rocket ship party planned and I've been making magnetic invites with a kind of MCM, nuclear-age thing going on. And planning theme cocktails; COSMOnauts for grown-ups and COSMO-nots for the non boozy crowd. And a photobooth with space suit helmet cutouts. And dressing our door as a space ship hatch. I may get all crazy and make Teddy as space suit, but we'll see.
And my ma is going to be here! Which is so awesome on account of Teddy has been talking about her constantly since September (Grammie makes cake? We make a cake for grammie? Grammie reads stories? Grammie drive a van? A Wolgs-wagon van?)
And we're all potty trained around here! (Wait, TMI? Maybe? I DID mean Teddy.) Bribery is an ugly word. But you guys, it was straight bribery.

And that's pretty much it. I've been wardrobe remixing like crazy on account of The Big Cull. I'm keeping track of the whats and wheres (and wears); if I can't work something at least two ways it's OUTTA here. (I'm LOUSY at this though so it's taking some willpower.) And let's see, this post needs a picture so it doesn't look all nekkid...
How about some FEET? Two pair. Kind of matching.

x

So I guess I was a bit gung ho in my last post. (OK, fine, I was smug!) But things got considerably suckier for the rest of September. A few not-fun things happened, the scariest of which was my sweeties daddy, Teddy's Bankie, having a stroke.
He is doing remarkably well now, mostly because he's a super-tough nut. And the hardest worker I know. But I know that it was terrifying for the people who love him.
I know it's been tough for my sweetie to see his daddy as breakable.
It seems to me a terrible design flaw that humans, who are so precious, aren't made of something tougher that juice and bones. Titanium. Or maybe that stuff that Wolverine is made of... That's what we SHOULD be made of.
Anyway, what I ment to say is safe and healthy, that's it. Everything else is gravy.

Anyway, here's a picture of this kid I know who's so big I barely recognise him (and um, crazy hair) :

A Love Story

Before I get all posty about the other stuff we got up to this weekend I wanted to share what I've been thinking about a lot just recently.
Last week I got some really kind comments on a post I wrote about my brother. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you guys' words. I worry a bit about writing the not-fun stuff down, but I do it anyway because then it doesn't have to live in my head.
Anyway, a comment from Emme led me to her blog PTSD: A Love Story. I ended up reading every post in practically one sitting.
It's an incredible story, Emme writes about her sweetie and the (unimaginably difficult) experience they are having even now with a matter-of-fact clarity and HOPE that left me just breathless.
And it really is a love story, you can see devotion and courage in every word.
I think you guys should have a read (Mum, you definitely should).
And Emme, this corner of the world is sending all the goodwill and warm wishes in the world to you and yours.

Recall

Today I want to talk a bit about brain injuries. And the things that nobody tells you. And the myth of miraculous recovery. And heartbreak.
From my perspective. Because that's what I've got.
So, fair warning.

It's been 2 and a half years since Elliot's brain injury and lots of people that he meets have no idea that it happened to him at all.
His recovery looks pretty miraculous. It wasn't.
He has had to work excruciatingly, heartrendingly hard at it.

His near-perfect word recall comes at the price of months of speech language pathologist work. Every smooth conversation now comes from a place where he was stopping mid sentence; his face tensing up in frustration, the word he wanted bitterly close but not making it onto his tongue. He'd hiss out a "god damn" or "fuck" between clenched teeth.

I had trouble NOT plucking the missing words out of his mouth and tidying them into the conversation. Because that's what I do. As his much yappier twinnie, as a person who is a social smoother by nature, as someone who loves him. Letting him battle with his recall was hard. Really really hard.
Frustration can make a person furious. Angry all of a sudden when he wasn't before. Or infuriated to the point of tears. And both of those things are symptoms of brain injury anyway.

His easygoing sigh at a misplaced word is a victory. And one I'm fiercely proud of.

Part of the trouble with how "normal" he looks is that when he does have relapses or when he does something that is symptomatic it's somehow worse.
Not just a scab peeled, but a fresh wound. A swift-kick-in-the-pants reminder of what's lost. "Oh hey, you were feeling smug about that. Have some of this so you don't forget."
And then there's grieving to be done again. Maybe that's how that works? Your heart breaks again and again but a little less each time? I hope. I hope.