The part people rarely talk about

 I don't think a day goes by when someone doesn't ask me how I've been doing since the car accident, so I thought I'd share an update. I'm thankful for the kindness that so many continue to show me daily. Four months have gone by, and in many ways it seems like it happened yesterday, its effects still present in my everyday daily life.

Physically, things are improving, slowly and steadily. After months of chiropractor, physical therapist, and massage appointments, my body is on the mend. Yesterday I jogged a mile on the treadmill, albeit slowly and not all at once, but I was so happy, I thought I'd cry. It was something I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to do again. Long ago seem the days of marathon running and Spartan racing. Not long ago seem the days of moving around the house with a walker. The human body, and its ability to heal, is a miracle. 

Mental recovery has been more of a challenge. If there is one thing the past four months has given me, is an awareness how much we take our brains for granted. I hope to never again take for granted the brain's ability to go into autopilot, to take shortcuts, to withdraw seemingly forgotten information at a moment's notice, and to zone out to preserve energy. Recovering from a TBI seems a bit like being at Disneyland, all day every day, with the lights, sounds, and overstimulation. Even on the best days, a brain, unlike the rest of our body, can never fully rest. It must heal, even as it continues to work around the clock. Overall, the trajectory has been upward, but the headaches and brain fog continue, especially after a long day of teaching. But I love my nursing students, and it's they that make the evening brain fog worthwhile. The trouble word-finding is at times amusing, although usually not to me.

 Emotionally, it's been a rollercoaster, but not the fun kind. It's the kind from nightmares where they forgot to put in seatbelts. It's the most invisible aspect of recovering from a traumatic brain injury, and it's the part people rarely talk about. There were so many times when I wished for an outward scar, to remind me people to give me space and time, and grant me patience. Most days it feels like someone put all of my emotions in a Masen jar, shook them up, and then poured them out on a table. Socially, I've shied away from people and social situations outside of my job, unsure and insecure of how I come across with such a thoroughly shaken Masen jar.

But I am grateful for so many reasons. Healing is chugging along the right track, and I'm optimistic that life will someday be close to the way it was before. But it's my angel husband that I'm the most thankful for. The caregivers of those suffering from brain injuries are unsung heroes. There have been days when the emotional lows have reached such blinding depths when I wished I hadn't survived the crash. Days when I didn't trust myself to be alone. I knew my husband was a good man before- the very best I'd ever met- but it has been this experience that has made me realize that there were not only angels in the car that day protecting me, but angels on earth sent to carry me through the aftermath. After almost 22 years of marriage, I love him more than ever. He deserves a medal for putting up with and still loving me through it all. On a particularly difficult day, when my thoughts and words were jumbled, and I was becoming frustrated with everyone and everything around me, he wrapped his arms around me and said, "I just want you to know, you're doing great." 

On the two month anniversary of our car crash, we had our family pictures taken. In the days leading up to the shoot, I had reached one of those depths, questioning if God had gotten it wrong when He spared me that day. Blinded, I couldn't muster up a single reason why I had survived. A few days later, Hunter Leone, our talented photographer, posted our family photo to his social media page.

When I saw the photo- the Masen jar, again thoroughly shaken- I sat down and wept. This was why. They were why.

In a conversation with  my girls recently, as we reflected on 2022, I said it had been the worst year of my life. But on second-thought, it certainly has not been the worst. The hardest, yes. But I haven't lived 41 years to not realize that it's the best things that come from hard. It's the most worthwhile changes that come from hard. And I don't think I've seen the end of the blessings that have come from this hard.