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 |  One traumatic event might change a person. Seven traumatic events transform a person. |
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Between September 2020 and December 2022, I experienced two significant seizures, a non-cancerous brain tumor, its removal, a stroke, developed adrenal insufficiency, a massive heart attack, and depression. When asked how am I doing? I often reply, Seven degrees left of center. Seizures are a period of symptoms due to abnormally excessive or synchronous neuronal activity in the brain. The tumor was located up and left from my brain's center about one inch and 7o in an area responsible for coding and decoding language triggering a condition called Aphasia. Removing the tumor was some kink of Lobotomy. Adrenal Insufficiency occurs when the adrenal glands don't produce enough cortisol hormone. The exact cause cannot be determined. However, stress and trauma are contributing factors. A short time later a myocardial infarction, better known as a heart attack. Depression is a mood disorder that causes sadness that won't go away. All the above finally hit me. |
Well ... I did it again and waited too long to write an entry. I admit the depression really got to me again. Since those closest to me unintentionally treat me like I am broken. I start to believe it is true. Ok, it is true. The 8-inch horseshoe scare around my ear reminds me. Expressly today because it itches. I am trying to remember simple things, like this blog. The blog serves as a reminder that I am moving forward. For example, today, I had to read some entries to remember why I started. I fell into the rabbit hole of depression and self-pity. This is a difficult hole to climb out of, more difficult when "the want too" is missing. So, I admit, "I haven't wanted too." Today is a new day, but not an epiphany day. It is just a day to reflect on my mindset. It is a day to admit I feel comfortable being broken—but in a good way. How do I make this more positive? Well, maybe by admitting it exists in the first place. I cannot change the earthquake that rattled my brain, but I can change my reactions to the current status of healing. First, Be grateful I am not in a room watching cartoons, drooling, and wearing a diaper. Second, Be easier on myself. Learning to read and write is a process. A never-ending process. Third, Stop trying to remember yesterday and live for today. Three goals that seem simple. Right? I have sent them into the universe. Like seeds in a garden, I need to nurture them to get them to grow. Thank you for reading this blog and any prayers and positive energy sent this way. |
| Nothing changes until you change your mind. This morning, I am giving it a try. Before watching the news, I sat down to write. I have always considered myself a writer, but I have to admit I haven't practiced lately. My brain is still healing. Even in these few words, the heat is building—a rather odd feeling... I have an MRI coming up—the five-year check—the last of the annual MRIs if all goes well. Five years have passed so quickly that I can't remember the time going by. The surgery feels like it was a couple of weeks ago. I have a hard time believing five years have passed, mostly because time doesn't exist in my brain as it should. Time is a salad of memories. They do not exist linearly. Instead, they are like a bowl of spaghetti. What seems like yesterday could have been last year and visa versa. My precious wife has gotten used to the chaos I can cause. The blessing is she is still with me. You know that in fitness and health. That is today. Change the start of the day. Change the day. |
| Thanks to this, I never knew my family was poor. We never had donuts or sweet cereals. Breakfast was often baskets and gravy with scrambled eggs. Mom made the briskets by hand and the gravy with flour and butter. We got the eggs from chickens caged behind the house. Every morning, I would get the eggs—usually three to six, depending on the chicken's mood. Mom made chocolate toast on Saturdays. It's like the commonly known cinnamon toast, but it's better. My friends often showed up on Saturday morning to get a slice of toast. When friends wanted Mom's chocolate toast, I thought we were rich. Why else would my friends come over if we didn't have something special? When I was 12 years old, I started learning in school about money, finances, and the economy. That is when I figured out how poor we were. Using a little cocoa and sugar, my Mom made the most delicious treat to make all the kids think we were rich. If you have never had chocolate toast, you need to try it. If you have kids, you need to make it for them. I am sure they will feel special. 1 part cocoa powder 2 or 3 parts sugar to taste Spread butter on your favorite slices of bread. Anything will do, from leftover hot dog buns to brioche. Sprinkle as much cocoa sugar mix as you like. Then, toast until the bread is golden brown and the sugar melts. Trust me, it is a treat. |
| First, it is vital to see if my fingers can remember where all the keys are. Then, just let the thoughts flow and see where they go. But will the sentences make any sense? What about the grammar? I am sure that will be difficult. They say not to worry about that and write. But what? Even in free mode, the words are difficult. The sentences are choppy. I wonder what the autocorrect software is thinking. Even in this short time, my fingers are starting to ache. I am trying to get the process going. Free writing … is it free? There is so much energy being used right now. The brain injury starts warming up. I can feel the heat to the left of the center. Then, the trimmer in my right hand is no help in hitting the correct keystrokes. These are the reasons I have all but quit writing. The mechanics of using the keyboard are painful. I have pain in my fingers and a burning feeling in my head. I can tell precisely where the scar is inside my breast. Does it matter what I type? Do the words have to make sense as long as they are true? These are daily questions for me—for my words, for my sanity. I have yet to set a word count goal, but these few words are a place to start. |
| The trimmers are strong this morning. This happens most mornings. My coffee is scared it will splash from its worm mug. I have determined to stop coming to the lul of silence. However, that doesn't mean a post will express any outcome. Today is laundry day. Does everyone have a day set aside for specific tasks? My brain decided today is laundry day. Until the laundry is done, this loop will not stop. Well, that is until the next loop starts. Finishing is not as strong as starting. |
| I'm slowly waking from a very long sleep. The worst part is how tired I am. After such a nap, I should be well rested. Alas, that is not the case. In honesty, I lost sight of the long game. I became focused on daily tasks and did not give thought to tomorrow, knowing that tomorrow is promised to no one. Waisting today is also waisting tomorrow with the deadly sin of Acedia (sloth). |
| Hello again, it has been a long, long time. Balance is a fragile thing. Once out, the trip back can take a long, long time. Life is good. A new introduction ... I'm a child of the 60s. Growing up on rock and roll, fast cars, and staying outdoors till the street lights turned on. I'm thick in the middle and bold on top. Advise: Take a torch when soul searching. Darkness is a real possibility. Worning: Temptation is often grandted. |
| It's been a long wintery road; depression overpowered my soul. I had to step away for a time. I am not ready to return yet. But here are a few words I wrote long ago. Time continues to pass. I hear it heals all wounds. This is not a test against the truth. It's a trust in hope. Through open windows, I see prison walls, Not built with stone or iron rods, A foggy mixture blending space and time, Space is ruled by the dimensional measure, Conquered with power and will, Time is different; without feeling or grace, Marching is the ever-moving clock, Never allowed to change its pace, Mocked by a steady tik and returning tok, Neither saved nor interest earned, It's given once to treasure or to burn, This instant! This right now! Changes to then, Forever fading into the past, forbidden to return, Here's the question, my friend, If not now, then when? |
Overwhelmed? Yep, that is the word I am looking for to describe the past week. Thank you, Schnujo's Doing NaNoWriMo?  , for the encouragement and unexpected plug, and thank you for all the new likes and followers.Before my brain tumor, I wished I could be a writer. After the events this week, the quote, "Be careful what you wish for; it might come true, " or some variation of similar combined words came to mind. I wondered, have I finally succeeded in being named Writer? I have 30 years of notebooks containing aged yellow paper. The pages contain hours of pen and pencil marks. However, I have always needed clarification on what being named Writer meant. I equated becoming a Writer to becoming a Knight. First, a King (Publisher, Editor, Printer) or another Knight (Published author, Poet, Reporter) would tap my shoulder with a quill. Next, they needed to exchange some obligatory words ending, "Henceforth and forever you are a Writer of Words, Teller of Tales, and Thinker of Big Thoughts." After surviving a brain tumor and associated misadventures, I realized I had been a writer all along. Thanks to mild brain damage. I am getting a new opportunity to learn what being a writer means. I hope, with practice, I become a better Writer of Words. Today, I am grateful I can thread together these few. The courage to write down your thoughts is being a Thinker of Big Thoughts. All the other things, grammar, spelling, plot twists, characters, etc., are tools to become a Teller of Tales. I started writing again about 18 months ago. The scale my speech therapist used estimated a 2nd-grade intellect. I have improved, but I am not an "A" student. However, I am a writer. It turns out I have always been a writer. The proof? I write good things, bad or ugly, I write. Before this, I worked and waited to be granted a Writerhood. Not now. I write because I am a writer, not because of a wish. If you pen your own words, you are a writer, too, just in case no one has told you. |
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), I also have a brain injury, so I had completely forgotten about your blog. 
I'm SUPER glad you tagged me or I might never have read another post again. 
So, definitely use that thing that asks if you want to announce that you added a blog post. It will prompt me to read it. 
The words might not come as easily, but the talent is still there. 
Anyone can nominate stuff, so if you find things around WdC that you love, feel free to nominate them through "
That's amazing! I'm so happy for you because I'm sure that initial result was devastating! 
And keep in mind, this went on for years. I remember 4 years after the explosion, I went to the store, tried on 12 pairs of shoes and left with my frustrated cousin because I couldn't make a decision. I was having what I call a "bad TBI day." Though another day, I went and was able to get shoes after only trying on 3 pairs--same store, different day...a "good TBI day" when everything didn't overwhelm me. 