When I mentioned to my writing coach that I wanted to start a Wild Hair series in my Substack, we both started laughing because we both imagined some version of this darling instead of a me on a bad hair day. Friends, meet Dasher. She’ll show up here every now and then when there’s something I want to share relevant to me and my personal work. She’s a gift from a Google search. Sadly, I don’t know who drew her.
You may have noticed in the breadth of my Substack writings, that I am a Peacemaker with a very busy brain. People weren’t diagnosing Attention Deficit Disorder when I was growing up, I was simply ‘extroverted.’ Which I am. And I don’t know if I’ll ever bother to be diagnosed, because my brain and I are long-term friends. We know how we work together.
Then, on December 18, 2019, I was involved in a multi-vehicle accident caused by a sudden white-out. Within seven miles on Pennsylvania Route 80, it went from a perfectly sunny day to a dump of 3-4 inches of snow, resulting in a 58-vehicle pile-up. My car was hit at least four times. I was in the left lane traveling west at the first impact and in the right lane headed east by the last hit. While I vaguely remember the crashes, the numerous dents in my car made it obvious how many hits it took to leave me tucked up under the wheel well of a mercifully stopped tractor trailer.
At first, I thought I wasn’t physically hurt beyond the results from the safety of the seatbelt and the exploding airbag. (Wild hare alert, I couldn’t find the name for airbag.) For safety’s sake they did a head CT, which revealed no bleeding on the brain. It appeared as if I had escaped with only the mental/physical trauma of being part of an accident that took the lives of two people. It took a bit of time – in fact, almost a month – to recognize that I did have both physical and mental repercussions. (While the brain shaking was not obvious in pictures, the physical repercussions were certainly felt. I couldn’t sing for months because the vibrations made my head buzz very unpleasantly.)
Two beloved health consultants, my psychologist and my physical therapist, called attention to trauma possibilities when I explained that I couldn’t say ‘accident’ when referring to the event. Instead, I inserted the word, ‘operation.’ This eventually led to a diagnosis of Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) and a two-month hiatus from work, during which I napped twice daily and slept about 10 hours a night. (Learn more about traumatic brain injuries here.)
Psychological testing later revealed that I had damage to the memory piece of my brain and a couple other centers. To this day I am forced to confront my stress levels when I hear myself call an accident an operation or vice versa. At other times, the TBI just plays with me, as when I recently introduced myself to a “personage,” very casually explaining that I had a brain tumor. They were very upset to hear that, and I (watching the fluffy end of my wild hare disappearing around the bend, giggling) gathered myself and explained that my TBI caused me to misspeak when I was on edge, which I was, as I was speaking publicly later that evening.
Today, I am one among many with a brain injury. Each one is different. They all cause different symptoms. Mine was not caused by a head strike, but by what they call a contrecoup, which basically means your brain rattles around striking the sides of your skull. Probably because I am so verbal, I can deal with it more easily than many. While I do get flustered from time to time, I don’t embarrass easily. When giving a speech, I read rather than extemporize. I need to, otherwise Dasher pops up and heads off in another direction. By then, I’ve lost my place and the point, never making my way back to where I left the page.
It’s harder in a conversation with someone I’m interested in talking with (like the guy with whom I shared about my brain tumor!) People immediately want to become helpful and suggest words. Now, that means that instead of just Dasher, I have a multitude of her relatives hopping around my brain, confounding it with word possibilities. None of these ideas lead me back to my original thought, but rather leave me scampering astray.
I’m not going to tell you it isn’t a challenge. Because it is. I’m a writer, well-accustomed to having full access to my brain. I’m lucky, as my detours don’t happen nearly as much in writing as in speaking, but they can stop me. Earlier, for instance, as I revealed, I could not find the word for airbag. If I don’t explain my TBI, and simply read my essays and sermons, or memorize my poetry, there can be complaints about my losing eye contact with the audience. (Memorize? Right, that’s gone too.)
There’s a lot more to explore about my TBI and the wild hare that it has introduced into my life. I’ve been dealing with this for six years. I’m only now beginning to talk about it. I’m trying to understand what it does mean in my life. Dasher has become my companion, both a metaphor to give myself grace and a reminder to explore the Possible. Thanks, Dasher!
I share this with you because it’s important to me to be vulnerable with you. My other reason for sharing is because a TBI is an invisible disability. You may know someone who has shared that they have a TBI, or you may know someone who has not shared that and you may wonder why they lose their train of thought or use a wrong word or phrase. Do you know people who may get a headache when they’re trying to think in sentences, or solve a math problem, or…? They may be people struggling with TBIs. There is so much more to be considered. If you have experience of coping with a TBI or know someone who is, I welcome your feedback. I appreciate being able to confide in you and invite you to share with me.
I love the notion of sharing my wild hares with you. I want to be able to speak to you in the moment about things that hop into my brain and rattle around — accepting that this may just be a notion that passes through. Or if it decides to settle, it’s not necessarily the next thing I’ll be considering to do as a large project. My brain has always been in a hurry, so I can miss things like spelling or grammar that other people see immediately. This TBI has worsened things like spelling and maybe like hand coordination, so beware the text!
Like Dasher, my ears are taking in all kind of things, my nose twitching interpreting clues about the world me. I may encounter many things that I won’t be returning to, but who knows? Dasher and her buddies may come scurrying back this way, leaving footprints in their wake with new ideas to explore and share. I’ll certainly let you know.
In the meantime, stay alert! You may have your own bunch of wild hares! And as much as we like to think otherwise, they are part of the great Peacemaking Adventure. Sometimes, along the Peacepath, you just have to stop, explore, and dash around having fun.
Salaam, Shalom, Peace, and Blessed Be.