a traumatic brain injurylibrary.wcsu.edu/dspace/bitstream/0/667/1/battle+with+... · &2 thesis...
TRANSCRIPT
A Traumatic Brain Injury: My Battle with “Healed”
By: Travis Greene
Thesis Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for a Degree in Writing
General Writing Option Fall 2012
Thesis Advisor: Professor Karen Vastola
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Thesis Abstract
This thesis is a piece of memoir. I was diagnosed with Traumatic Brain Injury in the fall of 2008
after flipping my Mini Cooper over a median of the Merritt Parkway and crashing it into a tree.
This is an account of my life during that time surrounding the fall of 2008, while discussing my
life before, during and after the injury, including a bit of the new perspective on life I have. I
have incorporated a number my photographs to help exemplify what, and how, I look at things.
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The shot was gone, I hit the bar with the glass and said, “Alright, go.” The rest of the
wait-staff put their glasses to their mouths while I kept an eye out. Our shift was over now that
the kitchen was closed, and none of our managers were around; we employees were safe to tie a
few on without repercussions from the bosses. “Who’d you guys pick on this one?” pointing to
the Giants, Charger’s game on the television above the bar.
“I got Giants,” said Ryan, one of my fellow servers, “I’m just worried about that spread.”
“Yea me too. I guess we’ll see.”
Kelli, a relatively new bartender was back with my Guinness. “So how was the bomb? I
make a good one?”
“Yup. You only used a little Bailey’s and left room for most of the shot to be Jameson.
And dropping that in a Guinness… it’s like big-kid chocolate-milk.”
“I can’t say I’ve heard it put that way, but I like ‘em both.” said Kelli.
“Hey Kelli, let me get a vodka with soda and cranberry,” said Andrew, another server. As
much as he epitomized a man whore and helped give the rest of us guys a bad name, he did
particularly well with women of all ages. “Tiff…” he continued, to one of our underage
hostesses, “what you drinking?”
Everyone kept ordering until we all, the wait staff, a few of the bussers and at least one of
the hostesses had drinks. Then everyone left to go join their friends as I sat there drinking,
getting more refills and watching the game. Aside from taking a few shots together as a group,
my co-workers only periodically came back up for refills. They would strike up small talk, but it
was to help pass the time as their drinks were poured, and to appear friendly.
“Hey Kelli, let me get one last bomb, and a Heine as my beer on the side instead… I got
to head out here in a few,” I said.
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“You sure you can drive? I mean – are you good? You’re asking to drop the Jameson in a
Heineken?” asked Kelli.
“What… no. I want the Jameson and Baileys shot, the half a Guinness for the bomb, but I
want a Heineken on the side. One last round to help mellow me out a bit more before I head
home.”
“You upset?” she said, pouring people’s orders again after looking at me as if studying
my face for a read.
“Nah, just a little stressed I guess. Looking forward to heading home and watching the
games plopped on the couch.”
“Ok good; you had me worried there for a sec. I’ve just got to grab some clean glasses so
hold on.”
She returned momentarily with the glasses. By the commercial break for the end of the
third quarter, I had finished my drinks.
“Alright, I’m out. I’ll see you guys tomorrow afternoon once I get out of my classes over
at Housatonic Community College [HCC].” As I walked out to my car I became consumed by
the reality that when my parents pulled me out of Tallahassee, Florida I had to give up all those
friends. No one said goodbye to me anymore, no one cared if I was around. Now I was just a guy
more or less friendless in the world, trying to start again from scratch. I hopped into my car,
started it, buckled up, and put it into 2nd gear so I wouldn’t kick up gravel onto other cars, all
while dialing Marie, a friend from Florida’s number.
Before I knew it there was a beep and a static-y silence as the computerized voice waited
for my voicemail. “Hey. Marie; I just got out of work a little bit ago. Well, I hung out for a few
drinks; but I was just calling because I was thinking ‘bout you guys in Tally, and missing
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hanging out with ya. Anyway. Hope everything’s going well, and I guess I’ll talk to ya when I
talk to ya. Call me sometime.” I sat in the parking lot of Megan’s Restaurant in a nearby
Connecticut town, limbered up from all the alcohol, and with just one stop to make before I got
home. I started rummaging around in my car looking for my lighter, but my mind was stuck on
Marie.
v v v
“Hey Marie; you in there?” I said, knocking on the door to her sister Jessica’s bedroom,
in Tallahassee, Florida.
“Yea,” she said.
“Good to come in?”
“Yea.”
“What are you doing in here?” I said, opening the door. “Did you come over to your
sister’s place for the party? Or so you could torture yourself doing homework, while everyone
else has fun? They got the pong table going, Lucy is talking ‘bout flip cup – and, oh ya – there’s
a vat of Hunch Punch and a couple kegs out here. Why you being a hermit?”
“I’ve got to take a test online for my web-based math class. It’s due at midnight and I
have to write a paper for my film studies class tomorrow,” she answered.
“Well shit, why’d you procrastinate? You know I’m kidding. When was the last time you
saw me doing homework? Wait – please don’t answer that. Why don’t you go grab yourself a
drink, maybe grab me a refill and before you get back I’ll have your test done. Then while you
check to make sure you feel comfortable with my answers, I’ll bang out the paper real quick.
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What’s the movie and how long’s the paper got to be?” I asked as I sat on the bed. She was
staring at her laptop with notebooks and printouts spread all around her.
“No, I can’t do that. That’s not fair… besides you haven’t even taken the classes. How
you going to pass them for me?” she said, frustrated and unhappy, but still beaming.
“Well, I did register for the film class, and I didn’t have to show up because mine was
web-based too. I didn’t do the homework, but I watched all the movies and read a little of the
crap she posted,” I said. I handed her my giant glass beer mug after cleaning it of its last few
drops. “Trust me.”
“Hey guys!” said Christine, who shares the apartment with Jessica and Lucy, as she tore
into the room. “You got to come see this.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Mike and Leo are on their third tie-breaker with Anna and Lucy. Winners decide if they
keep playing pong or switch to flip-cup,” Christine said.
“Well why don’t you and Marie take on the winners? We’ve gotta get her out of here and
end her sulking,” I said. Marie threw me a smile that both called me a jerk and thanked me,
checked herself in the mirror and left the room to join the party with Christine.
– Great, I thought… now I’m in here, partying alone in Marie’s sister’s room, with this
homework. Dumbass. I pulled a baggie out of my pockets, poured a little out on the desk, took a
credit card to it for a minute and snorted up some white, powdery energy.
Some fifteen, twenty minutes or so later, Marie returned with Christine and her boyfriend
Leo. Marie was carrying my giant glass filled with Natural Light.
“Here’s your beer. Did you forget you put us on the pong list?” she asked me.
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“Oh yea. Thank you. My plan was going to use it as an excuse to get you out there if I
needed. I got your test done, just haven’t submitted it. And I have about a page of your paper.
Why don’t we go play a round or two of whatever game their playing? We can talk about the
movie while we play, and when we’re done, you can read what I have so far, and change what
doesn’t work for you, or sound like you. Then I can finish it, with that example of how you’d
write it, later. Plus, I write better when I’m more mentally limbered up.”
“Oh, okay. But I trust ya on the test, you can submit it,” said Marie.
“So you guys are in?” Christine asked.
“Yep…” I started before Christine was off, “just give us like – oh well. So let’s see how
the quiz went,” I hit a few keys, “Looks like I got you a ninety-three. Am I good, or am I good?”
“Ha-ha… yea, you’re good.”
“You’re doubting?” I said, trying to keep my attraction to her hidden further back behind
my eyes. She must have seen it though, because she stood up from the bed to come give me a
kiss on the cheek. I pinched her chin, tilting her head so I could give her a real kiss. We briefly
started getting a little steamy. I kept picking her up and setting her back down, unsure whether to
make a move, or go party and give it a shot later. About as quickly as I had gotten her lying on
the bed, I was standing back up, saying, “Let’s go take the table. You aren’t going anywhere are
ya?”
“Nope,” she said. She was smiled as she licked her lips a little and fixed her brunet hair.
“Just let me go use the bathroom real quick first, K?”
As she stood back up, she gave me another kiss on the cheek, and said, “K.” Switching to
a whisper for, “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if I want to leave.”
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I gave her another kiss and began tickling her abdomen, sliding one of my hands down
until I was pinching her butt. “How ‘bout you let me go use the bathroom and then we go play
the game, otherwise we’ll never get out of this room.”
After a little more kissing, I made it to the bathroom and was pouring more powder out
onto the counter… Whoa! A good burn.
I made my way down the hallway to the kitchen, where they had moved the kitchen table
to Lucy’s room. Just as I was getting there and giving Marie another pinch I heard,
“Travis! Hey Travis,” yelled Henry, “You guys down?” holding up a sandwich bag of
green buds.
I looked around the table and at Marie. I got lost for a moment in her hazel eyes… it
looked like they had some blue in them. But I regained myself enough to see red Solo cups
already filled, and waiting in lines down the table’s two long sides. Everyone was in their various
conversations, surprisingly waiting for us to show up before starting the game, or lighting up.
Lucy was sitting on the couch next to Henry chugging her way through, what looked like,
someone’s waterfall card in their card game. Stephanie was yelling over the music at Jessica for
missing the waterfall. Jessica was getting a refill.
“If ya don’t mind waiting a little longer, it’s our turn on the table,” I yelled to Henry.
“Are we able to smoke in here?”
“Nah,” replied Henry after checking Lucy’s expression. “We’ll just go out back. And yea
we’ll wait for you; it’s not like you’ll get stuck in extra overtimes or anything, it’s flip-cup.”
“Yea, and we got Marie closing for our team. These guys don’t even realize they’ve
already lost.”
“I hope- you hope; Ben is already over here rolling it up,” said Henry.
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“Yea yea,” I said.
The game came down to the wire. Ryan, their last person, was drinking his cup as I set
my cup down for a fourth try. I was able to land the flip, passing the torch to Marie, just before
he was able to finish his beer. Ryan was only able to get one failed attempt in before she had her
beer finished. He was still fumbling for his cup after his attempt when Marie took another last
swig.
“I’m trying to give you a chance here,” said Marie. Most of the conversations going on
around the apartment quieted, people wanted to see the outcome. She set the cup on the edge of
the table, and landed the flip on her first try. While I tried to show my combined awe, arousal,
and an offshoot of pride, just about everyone around the place yelled in celebration… even if
they were rooting for the other team, she flipped one hell of a cup.
“So you guys ready?” asked Henry, smiling at Marie.
“Sure am,” said Marie.
“Yep, just got one thing to grab first,” I said, putting Marie over my shoulder to carry her
out back like a fireman. I was friends with just about everyone at the party; they knew I wasn’t
really going to do anything inappropriate and continued with their drinking, games and
conversations. People were in the living room dancing, and the front door kept opening and
closing as people went in out. I only made it a couple steps before,
“Hey, I need my drink Travis,” said Marie.
“Oops sorry,” I said, spinning around and putting her down.
Marie and I got out the back door and onto the nine-foot by nine-foot concrete slab the
apartment had as a patio, just as Ben was lighting up. He took his drags and after a couple
coughs passed it to Lucy.
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“So Travis, were you in there doing Marie’s homework earlier?” asked Henry.
“Yea, if it was what I needed to do to break her out of the room to come party, then it was
worth it. ‘Sides, it wasn’t like it was tough, just a matter of sitting down, doing it.” Marie nudged
me with her hip.
“Travis, what classes you taking? What grades you getting?” asked Lucy, after a few
coughs from her puffs. I had barely seen her all night, and she’s coming at me already?
“I think I’ve got an A in Astronomy…” I answered.
“How ‘bout your other ones?” said Henry. He grabbed a folding chair from next to the
big electrical box and took a seat.
“Yea… not as good. I’m pretty sure I’m smart enough for any class, but not without
showing up. I just gotta show up, maybe try a little and I can exceed in any class I’ve come
across.”
“Then why not show up?” asked Lucy as she poked Henry to let him know she wanted to
sit on his lap.
“Cause I don’t know what I want that fancy piece of paper to say I’m good at. I want to
be good at as many things I can.”
“What do you want to be best at then?” she said, now seated.
“I don’t know… same ones I want to be good at.”
“What do you want to do as a job for the rest of your life?” asked Marie, her skin felt
incredible.
“Ha-ha-ha. Ganging up on me huh guys?” I said, pausing for an extended turn on the
smoke. I knew they wanted an answer, so I started talking again, exhaling as I spoke. “If I didn’t
have to work, I wouldn’t. What do I want to do with my life; enjoy it,” I said, breaking for
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another drag. “I want to see as much as I can, learn as many ways of looking at things as I can,
and find some people I can enjoy spending time with while I enjoy my life… maybe even luck
out, and find love.”
“So how are you going to pay bills?” asked one of them. There were at least half-a-dozen
of us outside, and I was focused on the handoff for my turn to pass; Marie had on some bright
nail polish.
“I don’t know. Find a job. I just want to find a job I make enough money in, and can
stand to show up to forever. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be learning about now in school?
Stuff about the world and different jobs out there that might interest us?”
“Didn’t you have something you always wanted to be when you grew up?” asked Ashley.
She had found a ceramic pot to sit on, and planted herself next to Ben who was perched on an
empty milk crate.
“Not really. Well, I guess I wanted to be smart. I wanted to understand the things that
make adults feel like they know so much more than me, us. I just wanted to be an equal. No; I
just didn’t want to be looked at as naive or something.”
“Oh,” said Beth. From the end of the apartment complex we could look down the row of
two-story apartments and see everyone’s patios. We could see all the neighbors’ grills, their
outdoor furniture and whatever else they had; a small wooden fence that came five feet or so out
from the building was all that separated one slab from the next.
“It’s all good, maybe I just haven’t signed up for that class yet. Or maybe it’s one of the
ones I haven’t shown up to. Ehh… whatever. What am I gonna do right?”
“Trying to kill the buzz Travis?” Henry said.
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“Huh? You guys brought all this up. If anything, I could be asking you guys if you’re
trying to kill mine.” I took a few drags of the roach as it came back around, and passed it off.
“I’m still feeling good though, so don’t worry.” I was happy. My friends, standing around drunk
and high on the back patio, were making me think, because they cared. It might have been better
timed during a cigarette break one afternoon, but I was happy.
v v v
I pulled out of the parking lot to Megan’s Restaurant with a right turn onto Main St. I lit
a cigarette, opened a Coors Light I had left in the car for after work, and put my phone in the
center cup holder. Maybe next time I’ll get ahold of Marie. Within a mile I approached the traffic
light at Main St. and Route 25 where I slowed for a stop at the red light. I had my glass pipe
tucked under the waist of my seatbelt and my right hand holding both, some broken up weed
with my fingers, and the baggie itself with the zip-locks clinging to my knuckles. I used the ball
of that hand to put the car into second gear, keeping the clutch down, and saved my left hand for
the steering wheel and blinker. Once stopped, I quickly started shoving the crumbs into my bowl
with both hands, but before I had my piped loaded and a hand clean enough for the steering
wheel, the light turned green.
I hit the gas, slowly releasing the clutch. I used my left hand to maintain my line turning
left onto Route 25 north as the tires squawked their discomfort. My right hand frantically worked
to pack my bowl and clean my hand before I needed to switch gears. I didn’t make it in time, so I
was forced to use my right knee and thigh to hold the steering wheel as I reached across my body
with my left hand to switch gears. I came out of the turn with my left hand back on the wheel,
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left and right feet where they should be, and a packed bowl. I was safely between the lines and I
wasn’t speeding; the engine and tires only made it a loud turn. I took a huge swig of my Coors,
proud of my maneuvering, and continued along my smoke-ride.
Some twenty minutes later, I was driving down Black Rock Turnpike alongside the
reservoirs, holding an empty Coors and a half-empty pipe.
Alright, I thought. I’m good, just the one stop and I get to pass out. Stomach’s acting a
little funny. It’s not nauseous, but it is uncomfortably full. Shouldn’t have mixed those Jell-O
shots with the car bombs. Idiot.
I grabbed my phone again and called my weed connection.
He can’t already be asleep, it’s barely even midnight. I won’t have time to meet up with
him tomorrow.
People talk about the problems with mixing weed and alcohol, but why wouldn’t I want
to curb this nausea and upset stomach? I hit redial, but he still didn’t answer.
I guess this will have to last me.
All I had was the bowl’s last hit, and some crumbs in the bag. I was driving past the Hi-
Ho Motel as I put my phone back in the cup holder, and grabbed my lighter off the center tray.
Only one hit left, no point in going through town.
I moved into the left lane, and flicked the blinker to signal my plan to join the Merritt
Parkway. The light was already yellow for the traffic I was intersecting with, so I let the car roll
up to the light, put my Mini Cooper in second gear, and prepped the steering wheel for a left onto
the Merritt’s northbound ramp. I pulled the pipe and lighter up while I rolled along. Just as the
light changed red for the intersecting traffic, green for me, and I hit the accelerator, I heard,
“Whoop Whoop.” A cop.
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Shit! maybe if I get up there quick enough he won’t catch me. WHAT THE… A bike
rider was traveling past the ramp, and in my way. I cut the Mini cut hard, FUUUCCCKKKK,
avoiding the cyclist, but overcorrecting and losing control. I fought to maintain control of the car
as I made my way up the windy ramp, but finally lost all control as I took the bend, to the right,
before merging with the parkway. The car hit the divider beam separating the on ramp from the
parkway with its two driver’s-side tires, putting the car into a tumble that started toward the
driver’s side, but included a third axis in its rotation. The Mini used its roof to bounce off the
parkway and up into the parkway’s median, and less than a full moment after bouncing off the
car’s roof…
Shit, not a tree. I put up my right hand to brace for the hit. Crap! Wait. I remembered that
sticking my arm out to brace was how I broke my wrist back in elementary school. The car
slammed into the tree on the passenger side and upside down. I was able to pull my arm down in
time, instead I used my left shoulder and arm to hold onto the seat-belt for dear life. I had my
arms situated just in time to take the hit straight to the head instead – smooth. The tree corrected
the black car’s rotation enough to send me into southbound traffic, landing tires down, in the
middle of the Merritt Parkway’s southbound lanes, with lights that I couldn’t turn back on.
“Holt Shit! Ya still didn’t get me!” I yelled it, taunting any of those higher beings people
believe in, happy that I had cheated death. I reached around for as much of my paraphernalia in
the car as I could. The door was jammed and my window was mostly closed in bent metal, so
after grabbing what paraphernalia I could reach, I tossed my bag and pipes toward the opening in
my windshield. Not everything made it out. After collecting what rebounds I could, I broke the
windshield more then it already was. It took a few tries but after breaking the windshield even
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more, I was able finally able to get would I could reach, out the windshield, and safely into the
middle of the parkway. I then looked out the window to see the headlights of the parkway’s
stopped traffic acting like spotlights for police officers who had arrived on scene.
“Sir, how is everything going tonight? Your car looks pretty banged up,” said the first
officer to walk up.
“Are you fucking kidding me; what the fuck kind of question is that? How does it look? I
slammed my head into that tree over there, ya prick. Did you really have to throw your light on
right as I went into the turn? Couldn’t you have just waited a second, so I’d only have the biker
to worry about through the turn?”
“Sir, I don’t know what biker you’re talking about or what I did wrong with lights. You
hit that tree?” asked the officer.
“Wow, yes. I hit that tree and landed here. Now I’m stuck in this totaled car with a
headache, and you want to know which tree I hit. C’mon, can you just get the Jaws of Life? Get
me out of here. I’m tired, I just want to go home and go to bed.”
“Well that’s actually what we’re waiting for. I’m not the officer that was coming up
behind you on the other side of the median. That officer radioed, and I was already on this side
of the parkway, and was closer to the on ramp we needed to get to you. An ambulance is on the
way, and we’re radioing to get either a door cutter from one of the officers with them in their
vehicle, or to get the fire department here.”
“Then can you please leave me alone? I have a headache and want to take a nap until they
get here.”
“Well, we need your information and a description of your symptoms so the EMS crew
can make sure you’re okay.”
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“What do you mean okay – I’m sitting here talking to you, aren’t I? I survived one hell of
a car crash, which you missed, but I’m still not sitting here dead, am I? You can hear me talk to
you, right? So ya, I’d say I’m ok.”
“I’m no doctor, but –”
“WHAT THE FUCK? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Can you still not tell if I’m dead or
not; you Lousy, Useless, Waste of a Paycheck… or a fucking Human Being. You Stupid, Shit.”
“Okay Okay Sir. You aren’t dead I can see that, but we’re trying to make sure you don’t
die in the future. The EMS crew is on their way to examine you and make sure everything is ok.
But their going to need some information on who they are treating, if you have any allergies, and
so on. Why don’t you help me fill out this form, so they can get it done quickly when they get
here?”
“How am I supposed to do that, jackass? I’m stuck in the car remember? Come back
when you can actually be of any help or use. You’re wasting my time. I could be napping 'til
they get here, and I’d like to actually get some rest before my classes tomorrow.”
“But sir, we really need your information, and if you have a concussion, you really
shouldn’t go to – ”
“I just told you; I have class tomorrow, so I need to get some rest. You said there were
medical ‘professionals’ on their way, so if something goes wrong from me taking a quick nap,
they’ll be here to fix it. If nothing goes wrong, then I caught some extra rest – it’s a win win.
Here’s my cell,” I said, tossing it out the window with my wallet, including my license, onto the
road. “You can call my dad or mom or whoever to find that shit out. Now please leave me the
fuck alone 'til they get here.”
“Sir.”
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“What’s so hard to understand? Shut the fuck up.”
The officer tried his best to keep me awake by asking me questions on the form until
more sirens with their red, white, and blue strobe lights pulled up.
“Great! Can you tell them to shut that shit off? I told you I have a pounding headache.
You tell them to show up like that?”
“Sir, they have to show up like that. That’s how they let traffic know where they are.”
“Well they’re here now. Can you tell ‘em to shut that shit off?”
“Sir…”
“I don’t know why you’re still here… their lights are still blaring!”
“Sir,” continued some other guy walking up to the car with a big, heavy looking piece of
equipment. “We need to evaluate your condition so we can figure out how we’re going to get
you off the road and let people get by.”
“Fuck-em.”
“Sir! Please remain quiet, and answer his questions, while I check you over, and make
sure it’s safe to move you,” said the guy putting down his oversized tool. It had to either be
something that was going to somehow help, or it was to knock me out.
“Now, you never told me your name?” asked the officer who had been working to keep
me awake.
“Fine. It’s Travis! Now please fuck off. You can call someone if you want anything else.
They’re here, and I’m going to nap.”
“Can you just tell me your last name?” said the nag.
“Why are you still asking Me questions? One of you has my phone. Why don’t you go
see who he’s gotten ahold of by now?”
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“Can you tell me, to save us some time?” said the man with the tool.
“– Next question.”
“Hhmm, what happened to you tonight?”
“Hahahaha. You’ve got to be kidding me. I fucking wrecked my car. Are you one of
those medical professionals that are supposed to come tell everyone I’m okay? Cause I hope not;
if ya are, I’m screwed.”
“Ok, but how about leading up to the accident?” he said, still looking around through the
broken windows.
“I was coming home from work, and one of those jackass cops threw his lights on right as
I was turning onto the ramp, which caused the accident.”
“Sir, it’s a pretty fair distance from the bottom of the ramp to up here on the other side of
the highway. How’d you make it this far?” the police officer said, now shining a flashlight into
my eyes.
“Dude, what the fuck? I’ve been whining to get them to turn those strobes off, and you
think I’m going to be happy getting a flashlight straight in the eyes. Dumbass. I don’t know, I
guess it was just cause I hit the gas to get up the ramp. I figured if he was coming for me, he’d
catch me up here. No sense stopping on the ramp, blocking anyone trying to get through.”
“Well you must have really been going fast, to make it all the way up here through those
obstacles.”
“What can I say? I like to drive. Now can we please just get me out of here?”
“Well I think they’ve gotten this door cutter here hooked up. So while they…” said the
man with his tool, as I said under my breath,
“Imagine that. Dipshits.”
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“… finish up, if you can try and slowly lean toward the center of the car, we’re going to
have to cut the door open. Move slowly. And stop if you start to feel pain.”
“Fine,” I snorted.
After a minute or two with the sound of grinding metal, the ambulance workers had
gotten the car door off, and were preparing to remove me from my now totaled Mini Cooper S.
“Stay still sir, we don’t want you to hurt yourself. We’ll pull you out.”
“Thank you. Before you guys pull me out,” I said, in a tone they hadn’t heard me use.
“Can you guys do me one small favor?”
“What?” said one of the workers, as he put some kind of ‘stabilizing’ collar around my
neck.
“Sometime during all that tumbling I felt like I shit my pants. While you’re getting me
out, can one of you tell me if there’s a stain or something back there?”
“Sir –”
“What’s with all this ‘sir’ bullshit, I told you guys my name’s Travis.”
“Yea, but you never told us your last name.”
“It’s Greene, now can you please just tell me if there’s a stain when we pull me out?”
“They’ll evaluate you in the ambulance sir.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I finally give you my last name, and you’re telling me
you’re too fucking stupid to even tell me if I have a stain on my pants when you pull me out? Get
the fuck away from me, I’m getting out of here,” I yelled, starting to shift my weight.
“Ok Travis, let me help you then,” said one of the EMS guys there to help get me out.
“Are you smart enough to see a stain?”
“Travis, let’s get you out of that car, and if you have a stain I’ll tell you.”
20
“See, was that so hard?” I said, as they came at me from various directions to lift me out
of the car and onto a stretcher. “Anything?”
“I don’t see anything, but it might not have been enough to seep through your pants,” he
said, as if trying to toy with my head.
“Haha, no, I’m fine then. I’m telling you, if there was anything, there would'a been
enough – must’ve just been a fart.”
“Either way, they’ll check you out when we get you in the ambulance.”
“Ya, I know. But they just have to check my head, arms and legs now. I don’t need to
worry about shitting my pants on top of it all.”
“We’re going to have to fully check you out,” said one of them, as they carried me to the
ambulance.
“What? Fuck that!” I yelled, throwing all my weight up and toward my right leg, as I
tried to get off the backboard. The board rolled slightly as my weight caught the tie-down they
had snuck across my chest, and the 5 or 6 of them buckled a bit with my sudden shift in weight.
But I was still stuck, and scared for a second they were going to drop me on my face.
“Travis, fucking stay still!” yelled one of them.
“Oh, what’s the matter, it piss you off when people do things you don’t want ‘em to?” I
asked, happily.
“You do realize that we are the ones that still have to examine, clear you, and make sure
you’re okay, right?” prodded a different one.
“Huh? What kind of test are you guys going to do? What am I supposed to be scared of –
trying to pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time?” I asked, while attempting to pull
off the maneuver.
21
“Gimme a different one,” I continued, as they loaded me into the back of the ambulance.
“That wasn’t one of the tests; we just got you in here. Now if you can sit still, answer our
questions, and let us check a few things on you. Then we can have you out of here soon. You’re
probably going to need to be picked up at the hospital anyway, assuming the policemen don’t
need you. Your car is totaled, so how about you just join us in here for the ride, and let us run
some tests.”
“Sounds fair. But what kind of tests – did you hear that other guy threaten me with some
kind of tests? What is it, you guys gonna rip my nails out or something?”
“No, we’re not going to do any waterboarding, or anything like that,” continued the
ambulance worker. “Now before we can get going we have to get you all the way in the
restraints.”
“Why, you guys going to drop me again?”
“For safety, they’re like your seatbelts. Now, were you wearing your seatbelt during the
accident?” he asked, getting me into more of the restraints, as one of the other workers started
checking things like my eyes, breathing, and heart rate. “We’ll leave your arms and ankles out to
make it easier to check your vitals, and to keep you more comfortable.”
“Oh good. Thank you. I was worried you had to torture me.”
“Umm… no, no one’s going to torture you –.”
“Then lets get this fucking over with.”
The ambulance worker continued asking me questions, as the others ran various lines to
my head, chest, and arms. They finally had the ok to drive me down the road, and the doors
closed. I could feel the vehicle start to move, and the workers continued their work as we took
the various turns along our route. During all the commotion, I was allowed to keep one of my
22
arms to myself, which I used to discretely unhook the main thing holding me down across my
chest.
“Alright Travis, so we have one more thing to check to make sure you’re not going to
bleed out.”
“What?”
“Especially since you thought you pooped your pants, we really need to make sure you’re
not bleeding in your anus, and will die before we even get you to the emergency room.”
“What? You guys already checked my pants, there was nothing on them. Besides aren’t
we headed to the hospital – if I lose too much blood they can just give me more there.”
“But you could go into a coma and die, before they get you more blood –.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Travis you don’t get to decide. We’re the medical professionals that have to make sure
you don’t die tonight before we get to the hospital, and we say we need to check it.”
“This is what that other fucker was talking about isn’t it? How the hell you going to
check for blood in my butt?”
“Well we have to put a cotton ball on a stick in there for a second to see what it soaks up.
It looks like a big Q-tip, but you’ll hardly even notice it there.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you put stuff up your ass often? How the hell do you
expect me not to notice you sticking something up my ass? You guys don’t have to do it, let
them do it at the hospital where they can knock me out or something so that I won’t know it’s
happening.”
“Sir, we –.”
23
“Again with the sir. How about you guys just leave me alone for the rest of the ride, and
we let the real doctors see if I need anything, or if they need to shove something up my ass.”
“This is something we have to do – we’ll use an ointment, and we’ll use one with a small
numbing agent so you won’t even feel –.”
“No. Go fuck yourself ya fucking fagot. Go play with his ass, or his, if you’re lonely and
need some dude’s anus to play with. I hit my head, not my ass during the accident remember, so
there’s no need to get anywhere near my ass. Is that why you want to work on an ambulance and
not in the hospital – so you can sneak things up peoples’ asses?”
“We need to roll you over so we can check,” he said, while loosening the restraints
around my body. The 3 or 4 of them rolled me onto my side in a fetal position, and positioned
themselves to keep me from falling off the backboard. “We need you to be still for this, so at the
next red light or stop sign, we’ll get this done quickly, and get it over with for you.”
“Like hell!” I yelled, as the vehicle slowed for a stop. The vehicle’s momentum caused
the worker by my legs to fall into me a bit. I let his weight push my legs further in, loading them
like some kind of spring. The vehicle stopped.
“Ok, on the count of three. One,” he started. Without risking another beat, I launched the
man at my feet into the back of the ambulance, and punched one of the others, as I vainly
attempted to escape. The two others jumped on top of me, pinning me to the board until their
colleagues regained themselves. As the two I had hit came back to help pin me down, one yelled
up to the driver to stop again. The vehicle started to slow down and I yelled out:
“No! No, please don’t. I’m sorry for being mean, I just don’t know what’s going on,” I
pleaded, as my yelling turned to tears. Then, without a countdown there was something in my
butt. “Rape!” I yelled, this time, launching whoever was by my feet even harder into the back of
24
the ambulance. “Rape Rape! You fucking prison fagot. What makes you think that it’s ok to just
go sticking something up my ass? You better hope your bitches holding me down don’t lose their
hold, cause I’m gonna fucking kill you.” They all just laughed it off.
“Travis, we’re about to pull up to the hospital. The policemen will be there to see what
kind of shape you’re in, and if you’re screaming and yelling they’ll be more likely to find
something to charge you with,” said one of the workers. “If you want to be able to just go home
after the doctors check you out, then you need to be calm.”
“Then how ‘bout you guys act like normal fucking people, and stay the fuck away from
my ass. You Stupid, fuckers.”
“Travis, calm down. You don’t need to worry about us needing to see your private areas
anymore, we’re finished checking them. Just stay calm, and hopefully you’ll be able to be in and
out of the hospital quickly.” The vehicle slowed to a stop. “We’re here, so just let them check
you out, and maybe you’ll be home in time to make it to that class you were talking about.”
“What class?” I asked, as they pulled me out of the ambulance, and started wheeling me
inside. “What are you talking about?” I heard the automated, sliding doors open, and an array of
new faces showed up with more hoses, masks, and lines. I was in the hospital. “What class?”
v v v
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 2008. APPROX. 1:15am
Location: Merritt Parkway South Exit 44 Fairfield, CT 06825
Pickup location was: ☐ Home þ Street/Highway � Business/Industry � Public Place � Other
Transportation by: þ Ambulance � Air Amb. � Fire Dept. � Police Dept. � Other
25
Found 22-year-old patient, [pt.], in car on scene of motor vehicle accident. Pt.
was traveling Merritt northbound, crossing median beam, striking tree, rolling
car one time. Was wearing a seatbelt. Significant roof damage. Deployment of
passenger-side airbag, where vehicle struck tree. No steering wheel airbag
deployment. Pt. is screaming, flailing arms and legs. All 4 extremities restrained
for pt.’s safety.
v v v
I suspect that most people would like to hear about what happened in the hospital – I
don’t blame them – but I was in a serious car accident and have a hard time remembering most
of the details. I was diagnosed with Traumatic Brain Injury, and spent a month in St. Vincent’s
Medical Center in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I spent the first three weeks in various wings within
their Emergency Care Unit, and was moved to St. Vincent’s Psychiatric Wing for my last week
in the hospital. I was released from St. Vincent’s at the end of October 2008 to my parents with
orders for an array of follow-up appointments.
I love my family. They have always been there for me. They have helped me when they
could, cared about me and have raised me well… in my opinion, but they really had to go
through some extra tough times with me after the Traumatic Brain Injury. As I understand it,
from early in the morning that Monday in September 2008 to my transfer into the psychiatric
wing in the middle of October 2008, I had a family member with me in my hospital room, or just
outside the room at all times. My mom flew up from Florida and was at the hospital that night.
Her, my dad, and one of my uncles who lived nearby took shifts staying with me at first, and
26
before I completed my first week there a number of my other relatives had traveled to the area to
help. I didn’t recognize my Mom when she first got to the hospital. I believe I remember all the
relatives that stopped by, but I can’t really remember much of what we talked about or did while
they were there. What I do remember I don’t really feel comfortable sharing. During my hospital
stay I treated my family the way I treated the people that got me off the parkway and to the
hospital. My Dad has told me that the best way he can think of to explain my personality in the
hospital is saying that I was like the possessed girl from The Exorcist. My family has told me
that there were shorts periods where I would be polite, kind and more or less together, but
generally, I think I verbally abused everyone in my family that came to help and each member of
the St. Vincent’s Medical Center staff I came in contact with. I’m proud of my ability to accept
that, my personality during my stay in St. Vincent’s wasn’t the real me and my family
understood that the things I said and did were a function of my brain injury.
v v v
ATTENDING PHYSICIAN: VINCENT MANJONEY JR. MD
DATE OF ADMISION: 9/29/2008
CHIEF COMPLAINT AND HISTORY OF PRESERNT ILLNESS:
This is a 22-year-old male status post motor vehicle crash. He was a restrained driver with no
airbag deployment and no steering wheel damage. He had positive loss of consciousness and
positive ETOH. The patient came in with a GCS [Glasgow Coma Scale] of 15. The patient was
driving on the Parkway when the car jumped a barrier, rolled over, and struck a tree. Upon
arrival in the ED, the patient was very agitated and vomited… The patient sustained a closed
27
head injury with intraparenchymal hemorrhages in the right bi-frontal region and posterior
parietal on the right. He was stabilized in the ICU and is transferred to the medical floor for
rehab. During the hospitalization, the patient exhibited outburst of agitation, anger, and
irritability, and episodes of confusion and disorientation. As per the patient’s mother, the
patient’s personality changed dramatically after the accident. He became irritable, angry, and
somewhat aggressive in contrast with his easygoing personality prior to the accident. The patient
was seen this afternoon in his room. He was found lying in bed, covering his head with
bedsheet. He initially refused to talk to this writer, and when he started talking, he stated that
he wants to leave the hospital right away and asked this writer to see him another time. Then,
the patient stood up, went to the bathroom, and started cursing this writer and calling names.
Few minutes later, he came out of the bathroom, and then when he realized that this writer is
still in the room, he went right back to bathroom and closed the door.
IMPRESSION:
This is a 22-year-old single white male with no prior psychiatric history, who is presenting with
abrupt personality changes in the context of a traumatic brain injury sustained in motor vehicle
accident.
“What the fuck does it matter … Why the fuck do you care whether or not I’ve had a
girlfriend lately? Get the fuck out you fat fuck!”
“We use it as a marker to determine the risk you might hurt yourself,” he said.
“You really are a stupid fat fuck then. I’d rather hurt you, sittin’ there rubbing my nose in
this shit. I hadn’t thought about hurting myself until just now; how about you get the fuck out of
this room… before I say or do something that has me in trouble. Cause I will.”
28
v v v
I should mention that it was over my unconscious body that my parents, who divorced
heatedly, were able to again find some common ground and put aside their… differences. I love
my family, I love my parents, but I think that too often I look at things too different than them. I
feel like instead of letting me try life the way I would want to, they have… up until, possibly
around now, just expected that I do things their preferred way. I’d be the first to admit that I was
quite the problematic son and relative from 2004 to 2008, 9… or 10. But I don’t think my
problem was ever an issue of proving I had a good head on my shoulders, just that I knew how to
use it.
I partially remember waking up to a bright room with my parents on either side of me,
each holding one of my hands. I made a “Peace” sign with each hand in an attempt to raise a
white flag and avoid some of the stresses of having both parents in the room with me at the same
time. I think I then went right back to sleep, but I don’t really remember much of that exchange;
all I have are a few ghost-like video fragments with no audio that I can attach to the fragments.
v v v
DATA FROM THE CENTER FOR DISEASE CONTROL WEBSITE.
- Each year, an estimated 1.7 million people sustain a TBI annually.
- About 75% of TBIs that occur each year are concussions or other forms of mild TBI.
- TBI is a contributing factor to a third (30.5%) of all injury-related deaths in the United
States.
29
- Children aged 0 to 4 years, older adolescents aged 15 to 19 years, and adults aged 65
years and older are most likely to sustain a TBI.
- In every age group, TBI rates are higher for males than for females.
- Adults aged 75 years and older have the highest rates of TBI-related hospitalization and
death.
- Direct medical costs and indirect costs such as lost productivity of TBI totaled an
estimated $76.5 billion in the United States in 2000.
v v v
I’ve always taken issue with the diagnosis “Traumatic Brain Injury.” I mean really, how
much less clinical can it get? It is a common diagnosis for anything from a car crash, to an
elderly person falling and hitting his or her head. Yes, he or she might also have a broken hip,
but the hit to the head is simply a concussion, or if bad enough, a Traumatic Brain Injury. I’ve
realized that all diagnoses for a head injury are on a sliding scale assessment of how bad the hit
is to that gray matter between the ears. Or put another way, the term Traumatic Brain Injury can
mean anything from “Yeah, he hit his head” to “he almost died from a hit to the head.”
I guess I expect too much from a medical diagnosis, but the name just seemed
inadequate. I even said something to them when they first told me the diagnosis, “I could have
told you that. ‘I really hit my head hard.’ I say really hit hard, and you say trauma, but I guess I
did say head instead of talking about the stuff inside my head; I guess that’s why you’re the doc,
doc.”
When the doctors and staff first started labeling me a TBI patient they described it as a
“moderate to severe case of Traumatic Brain Injury,” but toward the end of my time there they
were using “a mild to moderate…”. This agitated me at the time because I felt like they were
30
robbing me of some of the severity of my injury, robbing me of some of my machismo… simply
because.
v v v
“Yes we thought it was a more severe case, but by our scales, you’re healing too quickly
for it to be as severe as we thought,” said one of the many doctors I encountered during my
hospital stay.
“Let me get this straight; you know I’m not at my sharpest… but you’re telling me that
because I’ve put my body through so much crap over the years that it’s become so strong or
resilient. Ha! There’s a big word. Wait. So, because I’m this awesome that I can already
remember words like resilient, and my body kicks this much ass, you guys can go back and
change what you guys said I had a few weeks ago? Sounds like bullshit to me,” I said, to
whatever hospital worker it was.
THE CENTER FOR DISEASE CONTROL WEBSITE:
A TBI is caused by a bump, blow or jolt to the head or a penetrating
head injury that disrupts the normal function of the brain. Not all blows
or jolts to the head result in a TBI. The severity of a TBI may range
from “mild,” i.e., a brief change in mental status or consciousness
to “severe,” i.e., an extended period of unconsciousness or amnesia
after the injury. The majority of TBIs that occur each year are
concussions or other forms of mild TBI.
31
v v v
During the crash, I took a substantial knock to my right temple region, right above that
ear, and an even bigger hit to the front section of my brain as it collided back into my skull with
the recoil. The biggest thing affected was my mood, but more specifically, I suffered drastic
mood swings. I lost nearly all of my filters, and was unable to bite my tongue, perhaps due to my
“shattered impulse control,” one of the many doctors’ actual words. He also pointed out though
that with my drinking, impulse control was probably already an issue of mine. My overall
personality changed dramatically and abruptly after the accident, and my grasp of time and place
was lost.
I’ve learned, from all the doctors and nurses I’ve encountered, classes I attended at HCC
and the Johns Hopkins Medicine website, that the frontal and temporal lobes of the brain are
responsible for functions such as personality and movement; memory and speech, respectively.
Movement and speech are more easily explained; once they removed my restraints I proved that
I could move just fine. However, they kept me restrained “for the safety of the patient and staff”
for when my anger spiked up. And speech, well I could talk just fine, it just took some time for
me to regain a lot of my vocabulary; the only words I generally proved I never forgot were
obscenities.
I mentioned earlier that I have a difficult time remembering a lot of the details. Memory
is no longer a simple question of whether or not I can remember something, but a gray-scale type
set-up, with different degrees of remembering things. What’s most troubling for me though is my
difficulty determining which memory fragments I can trust. Even though there are things I can
remember, they are usually fragmented little pieces of memories, with little context to go with
32
them. I still have them on occasion about events and conversations from both, during the fall of
2008, and more recently. But because it happens less often, I generally have enough contextual
information to connect the dots.
Some ‘memories’ though, if they can be called memories, aren’t even fragments, but
more of a kind of vague gut feeling without any details or particulars to let me know what the
feeling was in response to. The best comparison I can make is to a kind of déjà vu where I don’t
even know what details are tipping me off to the feeling. And I don’t really have any good
example of it because every time one of those hits me, I get so caught up in trying to piece it
together that I forget to record what I’ve remembered. Consequently, I end up losing it all over
again. I believe I have a good memory, but I use it differently than others. I’ve lost any
discernable sorting system for my mind and memories, so I tend to do what I’ve always done,
trust myself. I don’t know whether or not it’s safe for me to have such trust, but I don’t think it’s
wrong of me to have enough confidence in myself to trust my gut.
While most of what I remember I’m reluctant to talk about because of my feeling of a
sort of embarrassed shame and a desire not to take my family back to those memories, I do
remember that back in the hospital – and this memory is in the better half of ones I believe are
true – a hospital worker, maybe one of the psych nurses, talking to me about what I wanted to do
when I got out of the hospital. After explaining how I wanted to finish school and study writing,
we began to talk about what I wanted to write about and she told me…
v v v
33
“You’ll need to write an entertaining story… otherwise won’t you just sound like you
think you’re some kind of priest or something? How are you going to talk to them about those
things you want to write about and still make them want to keep reading it?” she said.
“C’mon. If there’s ever a time when a person should just get to speak his mind, wouldn’t
a serious knock to the head, apparently incapacitating me mentally, be precisely one of them?
Besides, if I really have to, I’ll do both. I’ll just say what I want to say in their entertaining story.
People will miss the point of it, getting lost in the story, just like at the movies. And just like at
the movies, they’ll forget about it shortly after it’s over, and never bring it up again. But I’m
supposed to graduate.”
“Good; I was hoping you’d say both. Any idea how? I read a lot of books, and I’ve
always been curious how writers do it.”
“No not really. I’m still stuck in this fucking hospital ‘cause you guys think there’s
something wrong with me. I’ll figure that out later. That’s what the school is for. Besides, a few
screwed up characters, some relationship mistakes, or you even vaguely talk about love or how
politicians are dumb, and they eat it up,” I said. “Funny thing is... those are even some of the
things I want to talk about. Well not so much the politics, but I can use that to spin off onto most
of the other stuff I want to say about society. And I think we all know how well I’d count for odd
characters. I’m more weirdoes than any other non, multiple personalitied…” struggling to figure
out the right way to put it, “or personality disordered person out there.”
“I thought you were going to be a writer, not a doctor?” she said.
“Huh?”
“Well I’m just saying, I’m not even a doctor, but I also know that I shouldn’t try and
diagnose you.”
34
“What do you mean – cause I spun off that multiple personality thing or whatever? I
know I can’t seem to say it, but how difficult of a term is it? It’s not like I looked it up in some
kind of dictionary in my mind; it’s an obvious, kind of common sense term,” I said.
“What do You mean?” she said.
“Well I was talking about how I seem to have a handful of different, multiple – feelings
or emotions, or personalities going on, or at least that’s what everyone seems to think. And I
must be disordered, if I’m still stuck in this fucking hospital – whatever wing it is. I mean you
act like I used a thermometer or something to come up with that, made-up term I was trying for.
It’s not like it’s one of those confusing Latin sounding words like fellatio or something so how
‘bout we ease up on thinking I think I’m some doctor or something, alright?”
v v v
After 4 years of healing I don't mind if these excerpts from my life entertain readers; in
fact, I hope they do. But to me, these help set the stage. Please understand that my goal isn’t
really to entertain with stories from my accident and the aftermath, but instead to discuss both
some of the challenges my brain injury has forced me to overcome, and the ways I think its made
me a stronger person. I have a new perspective and set of insights on life. I want to talk about my
life after Traumatic Brain Injury, but I don’t believe anyone can understand the change in me, if
they aren’t familiar with what I was like before my brain injury.
My 'high school sweetheart' broke up with me about a semester into my first year in
Tallahassee, Florida where I attended Florida State University. We went to high school together
in Niceville, Florida. Yes, that’s a real place, my Mom lives there. My ‘sweetheart’ still had
35
another year or so to go of high school, forcing us into a long distance relationship separated by a
2 to 2 ½ hour car ride. When she broke up with me I guess it gave my second big taste of
resentment. My parents’ divorce was my first, but it wasn’t until she dumped me that I began
disregarding society’s rationale behind answers to questions such as: “What’s it matter? What’s
the point? Why should I bother trying?” and “What good does is do to give it your best if we’re
just going to get shit on anyway?”. I began to let myself join in on more of the near-constant
parties going on around me, and I say ‘more’ only because I did attend a handful prior. I had
already been going out drinking every now and then to socialize and make some new friends, but
it wasn't until we broke up that I started to adopt a kind of "fuck-it, lets have some fun" attitude,
and started using drugs.
I got into it slowly I guess, starting with just smoking weed with my friends every now
and then. The habit grew over the next year or two until I began adding other drugs like Xanax
and mushrooms to the mix. About halfway through my third year in Tallahassee I had acquired
an expensive, daily, cocaine habit.
When I first left my Mom's home in Niceville for Florida State University I had earned a
scholarship for 75% of my tuition, fees, and books. After bombing the Spring Semester of my
first year, I lost the scholarship. I worked 2 jobs over that summer before the fall term, and had
saved enough money for tuition, rent, and food for the fall term, but I had to take a banquet
serving job in the FSU football stadium for the money for any drinks or socializing.
It didn't take long for me to start putting in extra over-time and let school start dropping
on my list of priorities. I was having fun, and meeting a lot of people, many of whom would
become friends. Consequently, the money I was making wasn't being saved; I just kept buying
36
more drinks, bags of weed, coke or whatever else would take me to a more interesting place.
Clearly my priorities were broken. I had a lot of friends, and had a lot of fun hanging out with
whomever was up for it. I certainly enjoyed partying, but it was having friends around that I
loved. I liked it when my friends were happy, if they were happy and were happy with me
around, then I was happy.
Thankfully, ever since I was little, school has come easy to me. I've been fortunate that
despite my lack of studying for tests, I’ve usually managed to get 'A's; I’ve just needed to show
up and be half attentive. However, it's given me problems over the years with my constant
questioning of the need, or point, in doing homework. I think somehow because of that, I
developed issues with procrastination. When push came to shove I could usually figure out the
answers quickly enough, and by 3rd and 4th grade I was doing homework while the teacher took
attendance. By 5th or 6th grade each class became the task of doing homework that was due next
period without letting the teacher realize I was doing homework for another class. I became
pretty good at it over the years, and by mid-high school I wrote full essays, in school, the day
they were do.
I bring up those academic experiences to try and provide evidence for my belief that I am
an intelligent individual. I think that is particularly relevant to my brain injury because my ability
to learn quickly while growing up also helped me figure out what I was missing, or couldn’t
remember after the injury, and helped me piece things back together faster.
I certainly don’t want anyone to see me as some know-it-all, or come off preachy, so
please understand that I wouldn’t doubt that I’ve pieced a number of things together incorrectly.
It’s tough to tell yourself you’re wrong though, especially when you can’t see or find your
37
mistakes. These snapshots of my school years hopefully illustrate that while I think I’m pretty
good, I know I have a number of faults.
I know I’m afraid that when I talk about my struggles with everything to a reader, I’ll
come off badly. I was reprimanded quite a bit growing up for being too arrogant instead of
simply the confidence I had intended. With my difficulty finding the line between arrogance and
confidence before my head injury… let’s just say it’s tougher now. I’ve always enjoyed biting
off a little more than people thought I could chew, or could chew themselves, to push and test
myself… perhaps to show off a bit, or for the chance to stroke my own ego a bit.
Thankfully, ever since being released from the hospital with brain injury, I’ve maintained
a grade point average high enough at both Housatonic Community College in Bridgeport, and
Western Connecticut State University in Danbury, to have appeared regularly on the Dean’s lists.
After being released from the hospital I was given appointments to meet with a speech
counselor for biweekly sessions that lasted a month or two. One of the early sessions sticks out in
my memory. The counselor’s name was Kate, as evident by her nametag, but she said it was
pronounced Katie. I remember her because she didn’t seem that much older than me and she was
cute. Needless to say I wanted to impress her by showing her that I wasn’t some head case that
she’d have to worry about,
v v v
“I’m already healed and ready to go home.”
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“Well that’s good Travis. This should be mostly just for formality then. How about we do
a few of the exercises,” she said, while handing me a pencil and sliding a worksheet to me. “This
exercise is to work on your ability to come up with schedules to get things done. There are
different tasks you have to get done during a week and some of them can only be done at certain
times, so you’ll need to figure out a schedule to accomplish all of those tasks during the week.”
The tasks were things like, “get laundry done,” “meeting with boss,” “call Larry,” and “doctor’s
appointment.” Some things, like the doctor’s appointment, could only be done certain days, or
certain times of the day.
“Oh shit,” I said calmly.
“What is it?”
“I just realized how much of life’s, responsibilities I had forgotten about. It’s kind of
cool… kinda sucks.”
“What do you remember?”
“It wasn’t like I have a flood of details, or any details at all. I think. I completely forgot
how many little details we turn life into. I didn’t think people filled up their weeks with chores. I
thought they got jobs, went to work, and did the chores on their day or two off. Why do we have
so many chores to do in our lives? Shouldn’t we just be working to sustain ourselves, enjoying
ourselves and friends and family the rest of the time? Soaking life up?”
“Well not that I don’t want to talk about them, but didn’t you tell me you wanted to be a
writer? You should save those opinions to write about when you’re in school, or afterward. I bet
they’d be interesting to read,” she said.
“Well I don’t think either way is the way to do it, but ok. Wait huh? I met you, or I talked
to you before today?”
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“I did a preliminary assessment on you about 10 days ago. I believe it was your third
week in the Emergency Care Unit.”
“I guess. I mean, I don’t know what unit I was in. I didn’t realize it was one of the fancy
units. I thought I was only in one of those for those first few days when they were worried about
my brain swelling up too big – they were afraid of me getting too smart I think. Then I was in
another for awhile, maybe another one, and then they put me in the psych unit at the end.”
“Do you know why you were in there?”
“Yea; to keep me from going outside. And to see just how messed up I am… was,
whatever.”
v v v
I feel like I’m juggling too many things, but I believe that’s a sentiment that’s more
common than people admit. I think we’re ‘supposed to’ always want more, forcing us into these
juggling acts. This is where my overconfidence and impulse control came together, even before
my accident, and has probably been among my biggest obstacles to re-entering society as a
normally socialized person. I’m too busy trying to show off what I am capable of to enjoy the
time I could have given myself if I used those skills to earn myself more free time in the
beginning. I tell myself I have to play catch-up after my blown academic years in Tallahassee,
but what’s the rush? Now, assuming I could actually juggle in the literal sense and not just the
metaphoric, and could keep even a handful of pieces of expensive dishware up in the air, I have
to fight the part of me that has an urge to just watch them shatter. I don’t have better dishware or
ideas for anything better to toss around; I just don’t get why life has to be such a juggle in the
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first place. Can’t we just learn to enjoy what we have, or learn to spend more time enjoying the
pleasures of the world around us, the company of others and not get lost in our electronics?
In one of my last sessions with Kate she told me I shouldn’t go back to school and try to
work at the same time. I was advised to pick one and work my way up to a full schedule again. It
wasn’t difficult to avoid the full schedule; I had to take an incomplete in all my classes due to
medical reasons, and I was let-go from work after missing a month in the hospital. I couldn’t
drive, both because medically, I wasn’t completely cleared due to medications I was on, and
because I had no car.
I decided to call up David Bravo, a photographer in town that my dad had acquired a
business card from. My dad knew I had invested in a professional grade camera and lenses, and
attended a handful of film and digital photography classes. Bravo had stopped by the car
dealership where my dad works, and my dad thought I would be interested in looking into a
photography job or learning from him so I could have something productive to do during all the
extra free time. I explained to David Bravo my situation over the phone, and he told me to stop
by with my portfolio and camera to talk.
Apparently I displayed enough skill, or promise – maybe drive, because after I rode the 8
miles to his studio through the late November weather on a bicycle and we talked for a little
while about my photography equipment and portfolio, he offered to take me on as an intern. The
previous few months were spent stuck in my own head, analyzing what I thought, the way I
thought, and what I was missing. Suddenly my life became significantly more visual, and my
perspective on the world changed again.
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I’d like to share a few of my photos with you for the same reason that they are among my
favorites; they are a few examples of my photographs actually saying things about the world, or
life, that I wanted them to say. I love the fact that photographs, paintings and pictures can speak
a thousand words. I’m a little reluctant to talk about how I look at my photos, I’d rather let your
own imagination travel, but I believe this is an occasion that warrants some explanations.
The afternoon I shot this photo of a tree, my father and I were out hiking on a trail when
we got into an argument about something. We were fortunate enough to be on a trail that had a
number of trails mazing from one end of the area to the other, because the argument got heated
enough for us to split up and take our different paths. Somewhere along my path, while I was
still trying to figure out a way of calming down, I saw this tree. I saw the tree as some image of
an angry man-beast thingy with his limbs flailing in anger. I laughed a bit at the thought, and
after seeing a bit of my own anger in it, I began to laugh at myself. All the laughing helped me
lose most of that anger.
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© Travis Greene
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I don’t mean to make it sound like I have a volatile temper. I can’t honestly say that I had
any measurable patience while in the hospital, but I do believe I’ve regained a much better
handle on my patience and temper toward life, or life in our society. I keep distinguishing life,
from life in our society, because I don’t know whether my complaints are characteristic of
humans in general, or just American society. I haven’t seen enough of other societies to make an
educated opinion. I do however still have quite a number of frustrations with life, or life in our
society.
© Travis Greene
How come we have to do things the way we do? Does anyone question the direction
society moves, or does everyone just blindly follow?
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© Travis Greene
Why the lust for excess? It doesn’t seem to matter that the world, natural and not, already
offers us so much beauty, awe and toys; we continuously yearn for more, new.
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© Travis Greene
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© Travis Greene
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My reluctance to moderate my speech persisted, and it took awhile for me to find good
enough reasons to shroud the way I’ve felt about people and temper my language for them. Even
now, over four years after the accident, I have difficulty controlling my impulse to call people
and things the way I see them before I’ve taken the time to fully consider whatever thought
spurred my comment. That’s not to say that I still can’t control it, but I still often find it difficult
explaining to myself why I should be so conscientious of others. With photography, I can say
things through images I wouldn’t have gotten away with, and I wouldn’t be reprimanded for my
‘comments’. I’d love to be able to give you many more of my photographs, but materialistic
America has taught me never to hand over my gems for free… still gave you a couple anyway.
I’ve heard that goldfish grow to the size of their living environment, or at least
proportional to their living environment, and I’ve been the type to test the boundaries. I generally
haven’t tested those boundaries in order to undermine anyone; I just want to feel comfortable
knowing where I’m allowed to play. During the time more immediately after my injury I let my
boundaries expand to a goldfish the size of an elephant. I didn’t know where the boundaries
were, and with the excuse of a brain injury in my pocket I could hurtle boundaries without so
much as a second thought. I knew people would tell me my error, and I could ask “Why is it
wrong?”.
I can’t tell you how many times I was told, “I don’t really know; just because” or
“tradition” or something along those lines. There seems to be a large disparity between how
people say we should act, and the way people actually do, which I’ve noticed is most distinct
when looking at our society’s values. I’ve mentioned my objection to our lust for materialistic,
but it’s not just because I don’t see the need to bog myself down in trash; we’re breeding a
culture of spoiled, disrespectful egotists that never question things, and I can’t say I’m a fan.
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Why shouldn’t I be completely honest with people? Why should I hide my feelings and
opinions? When did people stop expecting honesty? Why? Maybe everyone thinks I am the jerk,
and not the nice guy that loves life that I believe I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that I
really do love life. I love people, I do, but I still think we’re to blame for everything wrong with
our world, the planet and of course society. I’m a social person by nature, but this rift between
my sense of values and importance, and others’, has me feeling like an alien, or an outcast. I try
to be curious about other people, really getting to know them and understand what makes them
tick. I try to be there for them, and helpful when I can. I try to be a participating part of the
conversations, but it seems I do them all to a fault. I don’t understand people and their motives,
especially women.
I truly enjoy having all of my life’s experiences, and there’s very little I’d change in my
life if I could go back. I try to catch what I can of the world with both my camera and my
notebook, but my execution is still a work in progress. I enjoy life’s tutelage. I enjoy, but clearly
I could use more of it. I’m fairly certain I look at the world much differently than everyone I
know, or at least I translate beliefs into actions much differently, but what I don’t understand is
why. You might wonder how I can be so nonchalant about my life and experience with
Traumatic Brain Injury, but please look at it from my perspective: what good does it do me to be
chalant… why should I feel the need to guard the way I look at life and the reasons why. I am
unhappy, angry, hurt, disillusioned, depressed, lonely and tired of playing “healed.” Perhaps
much of those feelings are from my new difficulties picking up on things others find obvious;
even though there are things I see quicker than others. Have I healed; I guess that depends on
how you define healed. I still can’t quite pin an adequate definition down, but my vitals are
normal.
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I know I’ve probably sounded like a child through much of my explanations of some the
events and people in my life, but I think that’s because it’s true that I “don’t get it.” I am 27 years
old, and life seems to continue making less and less sense to me as I get older. When I was really
young I learned about values and morals, although I didn’t know those words. And I learned
probably over a million ways not to die from cartoons like Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner,
Pinky and the Brain and Animaniacs. I then learned that in the social world, honesty and other
virtues, or moral codes, carry a lot less weight than I was first led to believe growing up. Then, in
the professional world I learned that those values carry even less weight; it seems like if I’d
ignore, or forget about those values I’d get farther ahead in life. And people still wonder why the
percentage of slime balls on top right now is what it is. I don’t understand or agree with any of it,
but what can I do… almost nothing.
I say almost nothing because there is something I can do; I can talk about life. I can write
about it, and even though I’m no genius and don’t have the answers, I can try and instigate some
dialogue; I can stir the pot. Unfortunately, I don’t know enough about the world to know where
the keystone supporting our mess lies; I only know enough about me right now to explain a bit
about my confusions regarding my confusions. I tend not to explain them much because there is
a web to much of my confusions, which makes it difficult to lift the whole web and show people;
not to mention my web has so many holes in it that I wouldn’t know where or how to pick it up
without it collapsing.
I don’t believe I was able to scratch this iceberg’s surface as much as I would have liked,
but this is a good start. If no dialogue ever comes about, I can find happiness in knowing how
much of myself I was able to get down on paper, regardless of how many things I had to leave
beneath the lines, or left for another time. Healed or not, now I can turn my attention toward
chipping away at our society’s and its institutions’ armor. One by one, in search of the keystone
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that would let our bullshit collapse. It would be nice to travel, and to find company. I’ll need
ways of staying positive, so hopefully through my camera and notebook I will be able to capture
enough good to kick-start myself back into the pig-in-mud, positive outlook I once had.
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© Travis Greene
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© Travis Greene
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Works Cited
“Anatomy of the Brain.” Johns Hopkins Medicine. Web. 3 January 2013. http://www.
hopkinsmedicine.org/healthlibrary/conditions/adult/nervous_system_disorders/
anatomy_of_the_brain_85,P00773/
“Injury Prevention & Control: Traumatic Brain Injury.” Center for Disease Control and
Prevention. Web. 3 January 2013. http://www.cdc.gov/TraumaticBrainInjury/
statistics.html
“Traumatic Brain Injury.” Center for Disease Control and Prevention. Web. 3 January 2013.
http://www.cdc.gov/TraumaticBrainInjury/