Nearly eight months ago, in October, I was in a bad car wreck. Not my fault, and although the other party was cited, perhaps it was all just a random “accident.”
Whatever it was, the result was a traumatic brain injury for me, from which I haven’t recovered, despite numerous doctors, therapies, rehabs, etc. Latest tests show it will be at least a year from now, more likely two (please, please, no), before I get back to where I was before the accident.
My year of adventures was cut short by the accident, as was my ability to read anything longer than six minutes at a time or be in a room with more than two people or write for this blog or anything else. I get symptomatic with pretty much any visual stimuli, which makes things dicey when I open my eyes and makes it quite difficult to function in the world.
Ergo, my world has become very small and isolated. The worst loss is time with my now 4-year-old grandson, whom I used to spend two 10-hour days/month having the best of adventures. With my concussed brain, I can only handle being with him about 45 minutes before my symptoms – a mix of nausea and headaches – kick in.
The good news, is that I’ve slowly been able to handle writing opinion columns again. I’m slow, slow, slow, but have been able to produce one column per month. I pay for it, as I do for any cognitive or visual work, and have to rest in a darkened, silent space for 10 minutes for every 30 minutes of work. But it is a step forward, and I’ll take it.
My latest column is about how I was treated by a cop many moons ago when compared to how a black person would have been treated. You can find it here, and I hope you will go find it (and share it widely if you feel so moved), because besides hoping that I eventually can read a newspaper or book or dance at my son’s COVID-postponed wedding next spring, my big dream is making the “Most Read” section of the Arizona Daily Star. Oh, vanity.