26 years living with a Brain Injury and its not been easy. Against the odds I survived, what was according to the medical people a very serious and life threatening injury. Medical Miracle, one doctor described another said I’d be dead within 5 years. Trying to cope with everyday life, work, relationships, home all take their toll. That was back in the nineties and now here we are in 2017 and for the last 18 or 19 years I have had to manage myself. Have I been successful?? Well personally I think I have but others would probably disagree. Which is their prerogative to do but when it comes to my recuperation and treatment I do have a say in it, I think I should know what is working and what is not. That was a statement that wasn’t taken well. I didn’t care back then how anything was taken, my brain was in such confusion, everything and nothing were making sense. Those were moments I like to describe as fry up’s, where I knew but couldn’t understand and my brain would literally short circuit. Then reboot so I could continue on with that days work. Here is where I think I need to give some backround. I am 49years of age, I was 23 when sustaining a brain injury as a result of a motorcycle crash. It’s only in the last 9 or 10 years when putting more and more into my recovery that I still discover symptoms. Connections within the brain that are damaged or broken and trying to work around them can be frustrating. The most recent one, not been able to tap my foot to the tempo of the tune I’m playing on a tin whistle.

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Reckless Adventure…A bright morning, the door opens out into the spacious back yard which in a childs eye is mightily big. Though for a child everything is huge. Sunny blue sky, few clouds and all these high things? Gates, Walls, Trees, Sheds, Roofs and Houses. Rummaging about for himself he quickly saw little other than what looked enticing. And that was always a little higher up than the young child was. He learned to crawl to walk now he knew he would have to climb too get anywhere in life. And over the years the errant gosoon found out too. But that was childhood, teenage and adolescence had yet too approach and roll on my twenties and adulthood where I can go get a job and start my working life. But school, learning and obeying parents came first. Not for this child though, he had challanges, mainly in climbing things. Never liked climbing the stairs to bed, much preferred sliding down the bannister or climbing across the actual bannister at the top of the stairs. He was climbing though climbing anything. The walls, the gates and the sheds and when he was old enough to be lt on the street too play trees were next to ascend and descend. Falling out of a tree at a young age of four taught a lad not to depend on that which is reached out for. But he did not listen and much worse was too come. He had climbed a neighbours tree less eight or ten feet off the ground when reaching out to traverse a branch the hand sized twig; old and dead, just snapped and down instantly came the hapless youngster upon the very boulder used to heeker himself up the tree. A little fright a bang to the side of the head and tears of fright wondering at what would be said? I hurt myself doing something I was told not too do? So I ran home, said I fell, sat down and said nothing for the rest of the day. This should have been a portent of what was too come for this precocious child. What no one knew though, this child was dispraxic. He saw everything differently. And much more serious injuries were too come in for this very playful and helpful youngster who just wanted to learn. And learn he did in his own hard and traumatised way the importance of education. Yes I learned; just maybe a little to late too be of use.

Continuing on from last. So I turned 50 and that’s that. So much so that I have no more to write, it’s moreso, where to begin? In five decades there is no one that is not filled with trauma of some discription. If that which does not kill you, the choice is to stand up and take your life back. Yes this past decade has been good not without trauma of somewhat diffrent.{deliberateTYPO} and I’ll tell you a story here. The reason for my DeliberateTypo; as a Child and I remember it well, I was in third class primary school and pick a word for a test, write on piece of paper and put in a box to win a prize. Well Diffrent was how I spelled different at age seven. Going back to this/these five decades is where to begin. Everything so intertwined it is nigh on impossible to focus on a specific story to tell. It sometimes feels You Couldn’t Make It Up. Thence where to begin? I thought I had a simple solution then saw not so. The signal transfer from brain to arm to hand short circuited. Visual representation is simple writing is another matter though! Think that’s enough.