Finding Community
I recently connected with someone in my network living who is also living with a traumatic brain injury. She was able to articulate so many pieces of this experience that I’ve struggled to find the right language for.
Every time I catch up with an old friend or share the high level details of the last few months with a new one, they immediate question is…How are you feeling?
And it’s quickly followed by….You look great!
It’s such a compliment and I’ve felt myself trying really really hard not to look sick. I’ve reframed it as “I’m recovering” vs. “I’m sick.” But at the same time, I feel sick. I don’t feel like myself. Really normal activities force me into rest. And some days, it’s really hard being patient with this process of a forever patient.
I’ve had a hard time explaining what this all feels like. What it felt like in the early days of recovery, what the exhaustion feels like now, and what the actual aneurysm itself felt like. How about a little Commonly Asked Questions answered for your reading review. Let me know if you have any other outstanding questions I missed.
How are you processing everything?
My sister-in-law and my brother-in-law’s wife are both therapists. Throughout this process they’ve both asked questions that only therapists could ask. One important message they’ve both separately shared with me is this:
You can be grateful that you survived this experience and you can still feel frustrated that you have to go through it.
This is so spot on. Of course I’m grateful to be recovery. I’m grateful that the main prescription for my recovery is rest. I’m grateful that my cognitive ability is intact, even if it’s working it’s way back to my ‘normal.’ I’m grateful I can walk and move and talk and eat in a way that appears normal. But the way it feels is all a little different. Everything is a little bit harder and takes 10x more energy. And that part is hard to be patient with.
How are you feeling?
It changes every single day. I’ll have these bursts of energy that feel like I’m really turn a corner and back to normal. But the next few days I’ll find myself needing to stay in bed to recover after a day where I wasn’t prioritizing rest.
My routine is still a very slow, very gentle. I wake up to get Raine out the door with Hans by 8:30, crawl back into bed just before noon. Then I get ready for the day and try to do an activity. This could be grocery shopping, going to a doctor appointment, or meeting a friend for coffee nearby. Once I get home, I’m feeling tired and need another low impact activity like watching tv while being horizontal or taking a brain rest (resting with my eyes closed in a dark room), also while being horizontal.
Do you get nervous that your headaches are another aneurysm?
99% of the time, no. The aneurysm was unlike anything I ever experience. An aneurysm headache is called a thunder clap headache. Appropriately named because that’s truly what it feels like. It was truly the worst headache of my life that lasted for 10 seconds. The neurosurgeon described it as a ‘bomb going off in your brain’ and that is the best way to explain how intense, sudden, and surprising it was.
What does your brain fog feel like?
The best way I can describe it is I feel like my brain is buffering. It takes .1 second longer than it used to. It’s improved a ton but I don’t feel like my speaking rhythms are the same and I am still working really hard to stay focused, stay engaged, and interact during really normal conversations.
People have shared that they haven’t noticed a difference (which is great) but to me, it still feels different.
What do the headaches actually feel like?
They’re different than a regular headache. It’s a headache that usually comes on suddenly after doing an activity or having a busy day that can only be cured by rest. It’s more than just my head feeling tired. My body feels tired. And it’s different than other levels of exhaust I’ve felt - like burnout from an intense job, life with a newborn, 1st trimester tired. It’s brain exhaust. My mind feels tired most of the time and the only cure seems to be quiet, intentional time to rest.
How’s your mental state?
What’s funny about this whole experience, is that my mental health seems to be at the strongest it’s ever been…especially in the depths of a Minnesota winter.
Winters the last few years have been especially tough for me. Quite honestly, the last few (five) winters I’ve been in deep grief. Grieving a pregnancy loss, grieving infertility, grieving a job loss. I keep wondering when the grief of this aneurysm will hit? Or if it will.
I don’t feel sad, I feel grateful. The parts of this experience I find myself mourning are that my life has paused from the path I thought I was on.
I feel present, I feel engaged, I feel inline with my purpose, and for the first time I feel like I’m genuinely prioritizing rest.
It’s weird. You’re living your best life according to Instagram and you feel hopeless most days. Then you have a brush with death and feel more alive than ever.
How’s your anxiety around aneurysms?
I genuinely don’t have any. Truly!
It’s miraculous that I survived the rupture, I know this.
It’s miraculous that I sailed through the two week window post an aneurysm, I know this.
It’s miraculous that rest is the main prescription for my recovery, I know this.
It’s miraculous that the neurosurgeon who performed my surgery just happen to be onsite at the ER doing another consult, heard about my case, and offered to stay late to perform my surgery, I know this.
It’s miraculous that Hans was home instead of working from the office so I wasn’t home alone when this happened, I know this.
It’s miraculous that this occurred in 2024 and not 1988 because this procedure, quite literally, didn’t exists at that time, I know this.
So I can honestly and fully say that I don’t have anxiety about this aneurysm because it’s truly out of my control.
I keep reminding myself to trust the science I believe and believe in the God I trust, and that gives me all the comfort I need.
Thank you ALL for your continued love and support!
XO,
R