The Unrecognized Walking Wounded

I consider myself a very fortunate T.B.I. Survivor. I had insurance coverage and was steered early on to a phsyiatrist, a rehabilitation medicine specialist, with experience in dealing with brain injuries. I worked for a quasi-government agency, which meant, had they been so inclined, it would have been difficult for them to get rid of me early on. In fact my employer was very good to me for the first year or so after my accident. The problems began later, but that is a story for later.

Even with an experienced doctor things were missed and/or diagnosis postponed. For this I take most of the responsibility. I am one of those "I can do it and I don't need any help" type of people to begin with. After my accident I felt so grateful and blessed to be in as good a shape as I was I didn't feel I had "the right" to complain. I also come from a family background where "whining" was not OK and the last thing I wanted people to think was I was a whiner or trying to use my circumstances to take it easy or obtain anything or any concession I wasn't entitled to. So I didn't complain, I didn't tell anyone when I began to feel overwhelmed and depressed. I had been in a deep depression for at least two months, only accomplishing what I had to to get by, before a friend who had recently gone through a depression offered me some Zoloft. I know the medical literature says it takes close to two weeks before there is a positive effective but I swear by the second day I felt like a tremendous burden had been lifted from my shoulders. With this came the realization that I was in a depression, that I didn't have to be this way the rest of my life. I called my doctor and saw him the next day. I told him how I had been spending all my time held up in my bedroom, reading and avoiding the outside world, including my kids, as much as possible. I was crying all the time, I had no energy or desire to do anything. I went to work because I had to but even there I didn't socialize and I was missing time. My doctor was upset with me, he said "You never told me any of this." I hadn't, I thought it was just a blue period and if I rode it out and tried harder I would get past it. I felt it would have been whining to mention it.

I have been on anti-depressants since. I have tried going off them but by the end of the second week I am crying at the drop of a hat again. Even my neuropsychologist, who is not real pro-medication, now believes there is a large physiological component to my depression that wasn't there prior to the T.B.I. Now you may be thinking, "Duh, that wasn't hard to figure out.", but my TBI was 2/1994 and between 12/1994 and 2/1999 there were many stressful situations in my life, any of which could have been blamed for my depression. My father died at 54, my long term relationship broke-up and then just as stressful six months later we were getting back together. This lead to our cohabitation and an unplanned pregnancy that my significant other was not immediately happy about. A year after our son was born my 24 year old brother died, my mother had a life threatening operation and went through a significant depression. I had to be strong for everyone around me. When everyone else seemed to be getting on track it was then that I had to take the blinders off and realize my relationship was falling apart and I began falling apart.

He left me after our son's second birthday, my oldest son started doing drugs and getting in trouble with the law. There were problems at work. How much of this is related to my brain injury? Very little, but my ability to deal with it all has been significantly affected. I have always been a strong person who could deal with most things on my own. I had never fallen apart before, as I did during this time period. While my doctor and the cognitive rehabilitation therapist who has worked with me this past year may tell me what a wonderful job I am doing dealing with everything, they are in the minority. My employer and peers at work expect the same person that they knew before the accident. Outwardly I am healed, I still speak intelligently, so they don't understand the extra effort it takes me to get through tasks that use to be easy or the short term memory problems that sometimes impact my work or my interactions with them. Of course my kids don't understand the impact of my brain injury either.