I'm not a cyclist, but had the misfortune to suffer from a congenital defect called an arteriovenous malformation. Mine was what my neurosurgeon described as a "bleeder." My choices were to treat "conservatively" by doing nothing, treat agressively with surgery, or treat with radiation. In the case of radiation, I would have to wait 2 to 3 years to discover if the treatment worked. During those couple of years, my chances of hemoraghing again were substantially increased. (I also suffered from a seizure disorder to to the irritating nature of blood on neural connections). I chose surgery. I know it was the correct choice for me. It was the most logical choice if I didn't want to take the chance of dying before age 30.
My recovery was long, physically instead of the relearning that Bernie went through. I first made the mistake at returning to my commision salary job only 6 weeks after surgery during the holiday season. After that, I was out for a month and a half and returned at reduced hours. I am quite sure that I had some of the same problems that Bernie endured. Mine still persist because they weren't obvious to my physicians. My ability to remember names, books that I have read, selective memory of my past. Sometimes memories will return to me temporarily but when I try to retreive the information later, it is lost again. It has been 13 years since my surgery and I doubt that I will ever fully recover. My symptoms seem normal to anyone but me. (Anyone can forget what they went into a room for, or a name - I never did before).
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Starting From Scratch
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When I awoke, I really didn't know what happened to me and truly didn't understand it for almost two weeks. I didn't remember that I was training for a marathon. I'm not even sure I knew how old I was. I was so messed up, when asked what people's last names were, I grew impatient and distant. Not understanding why I didn't know, I would bark out, "They know their name" and dismiss it.
The diagnosis was minor head trauma. To me, it sure felt major. I spent six days in the hospital and the next two weeks recovering. I regained my physical abilities quickly, and my mental abilities about 98 percent. Over the next year, I would chip away at that last 2 percent. I wasn't allowed to drive for almost nine months because of the seizure. I had to take frequent naps because the simplest tasks would tire me. I even had to attend speech therapy sessions. I had to learn how to read and write again, because even though many words looked familiar to me, I wasn't grasping them quickly. In many ways, my life was starting over.
My deficiencies in writing, speech and grammar were, without doubt, the most noticeable. Some of these are still noticeable today, though usually only to me. It's something I've learned to live with, and it actually reminds me of what I've overcome and keeps me humble. As an example, I may use the word "bike" instead of "boat." Both begin with the letter B, both have four letters and both are a type of vehicle. Another example is at times I will type a W instead of an M (or vice versa). My brain relates the two images together because they are virtually mirror images of each other.
Ironically, my profession is graphic design, which combines text and images. Not only did I have to learn how to read and write again, but I also had to relearn my job. It was difficult to do my job at first, but luckily, I didn't lose my talent and was still able to design and draw exactly as I used to. Well, "exactly" is not the right term—but at least close. Eventually I would become a perfectionist about my work. I would become more creative and more efficient, one of the many changes that I now consider a good thing.
Though it's been eight years now and I've fully recovered, I still struggle with the diagnosis of this as a minor injury. Physically, I have little evidence of the accident. I had 40-plus stitches on the right side of my head at the time, but the scar is mostly covered by hair. Internally though, this was a pivotal point of my life. My life is now categorized into two areas: before the accident and after, but I choose to focus on the latter.
Since the accident, I've moved to a small town for the improved quality of life. I've taught myself to play guitar, even though it's only for my own amusement. I'm remodeling a 19th-century home and have learned that these types of projects can be the secret to a good life (something my grandfather first taught me). I'm close to my family and can watch my niece and nephew grow up, which is a priceless endeavor. And I've even met a woman to share my life with—one who, coincidentally, eventually became a nurse. All of these changes have had major effects in my life. And they all came about from something labeled "minor."
Freytag lives in Clinton, NY
© 2008
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