Early Days

Now, seven months on, I look back on those first few months of post concussion and it feels like some kind of bizarre dream.

I lay in bed listening to audiobooks as a way to escape from the overwhelming unfamiliarity of my new reality. I felt like a shell of my former self. When I looked in the mirror I could see me but it was like I wasn’t there. The fog in my brain was so dense and so impenetrable it left me almost numb.

Looking back, I’ve no idea if I talked to my children or hugged them or smiled or was present in anyway. I think I probably wasn’t. I do remember lying in bed with my youngest, starting to sob uncontrollably; at first he thought I was laughing. But I think it’s good that they see me cry. I’m done with being Superwoman.

I suppose it was like drifting out to see on a raft and the people on the shore could see me and talk to me, but no one could rescue me or bring me back. My whole focus was on trying to work out what was wrong with me and trying to work out how to get better. Trying to work out how the hell to paddle my raft back to shore.

I have such empathy for people with mental and cognitive conditions that leave them in a similar position in some way. I’ve found it interesting to research neuroinflammation and the connections between nutrition, lifestyle and the massive increase in chronic mental health conditions. The brain is a beautiful, amazing, wonderful thing that we still know so little about. I certainly don’t take mine for granted any more.