Brain Bleed Anniversary

 

 

 

Wolf Moon

January 28, 1982, I had a six month old baby, #7, had a 1 ½ year old, a 2 ½ year old, a 4 year old, a twelve year old, a fourteen year old, and a sixteen year old.  I had a headache that became the worst headache I had ever had.  Here is an excerpt from my published biography:

“Was it a brain bleed? Was it a rare migraine? I do not know, neither did the doctors, but my last baby was 6 months old and I had a headache. The headache became worse throughout the day. I took an outdated headache pill. Could it have been that? I had never known such a headache. One moment I was sewing and the next I asked the kid’s dad to take me to town for something for it. He was headed to a basketball game. One moment it was two of us in the car and suddenly someone else appeared. Then another blank space and he was telling me not to turn the car off. It was January 26, 1982 and the snow was falling lightly. I was to drive myself a few blocks from the basketball game to the hospital. He was adamant, “Do not turn the car off.” I grew up in and around Cardston. I knew my way but once I began driving, I had no idea where the hospital was. I followed some lights, not having any clue where I was. I just knew I had to get to the hospital. I drove in to a parking lot but I was not sure it was a hospital. I was sure someone could help me. I had to be sure not to turn the car off. I reached to open the door but it would not open. I could not get out of the car. I tried using my right hand to open the door and was embarrassed to find myself lying on the pavement outside the car door. I stood up and wove my way in to what I guessed was the main door. I was confused. I knew I was in trouble. I did not know where to go and heard sounds off down a hallway to the right. I started bumping against walls and finally made it. Someone came out to me and said I had best come in the room. I was taken in by a stranger. There, I was told to sit up on a table. She then told me to lie down. As I lay down, I felt and heard a pop. The headache left immediately but so did a lot else. A long time seemed to pass before strangers came in. They spoke in another language. I could not understand them. There was garbled talk and then some of what these strangers said made sense, or something like sense. “What day is it? Gargle. Garble. I had a day but I could not tell them and I did not know exactly where my day was. I was feeling like there was some sort of conspiracy. I was sure they were tricking me. Garble. Garble. “What is your name?” I had one; I just didn’t know where I put it. Garble. Garble. “Touch your nose.” I had a nose. I just did not know where it was. A stranger showed me how to touch his something. I got it. he wanted me to touch his something or mine. I did have one of those. I used my right hand and touched my something. Garble. Garble in a language only they seemed to understand. The stranger showed me what he wanted me to do. I lifted my left hand to touch my something. It never moved. I looked down. 116 That is when I panicked. I am blank until I am being rolled along in a stretcher. I am aware not to turn the car off. I was concerned about not turning the car off. I think I turned the car off. I was being rolled along. A couple came over to the stretcher. I tried to tell them not to turn the car off. I also was practicing saying my ABCs. But I was only getting ABC and nothing further. In fact, I was aware my lips would not work right. Aw uh, uh. Time left me in a blank space again. Suddenly I was in a room and people were sitting to my left. They were talking about my face, about my left hand being dark colored, and I was aware that they lifted the covers and said my leg was black. I should know these people. I didn’t. Time warped again and now my son was standing at the bottom of the bed. I could hear them talking and understood them. I tried to ESP messages to my son. I can not turn my head. I can not speak. If he leaves me, I think I might die. The doctor tells them he will call them if there is any change. He tells them rest because this could be a long haul. They leave. It goes dark. I Grieve It is there, No sorrow. No angst. Something curls within. Inside out. Outside in as if giving birth to myself. A sudden wooshing, through, out, up. There is no emotion. No cold. No pain. No strange language. I heard you say I did not know. I heard you tell my family I was in a coma I heard you tell them they should leave I heard you say it could be a long haul I heard you say they should get some rest I heard you, doctor. No tunnel, just a surge upwards to some never land place as if I was pushed a lovely gentle hum is all I hear. No voice, though I sense some command. No time. An hour, a day, a month a year, eons may have passed. There is no sense of angst or hurry. I am calm. I must see. I see you though I should not I see a stranger, yet dear to me, lying on the bed. Still. Empty. I sorrow for her, perhaps pity her 117 her duress. I see myself. It is not stark white. It is a billowing. It is satin. It is a veil. It is a mist that lifts me. Holds me. There is a parting in the warmth. Hand and wrist of my father, long past. I recognize the square cut nails and brown speckled wrist. He reaches. He offers. If you take my hand, I will take you with me If you choose to come you can not look back I know what you are saying, without words The temptation is great and grievous. I can not. I have often thought Some deaths take forever and choice was not mine to make. Baby. Seven. Life. I can not be finished. I must refuse. No acceptance mouthed. No refusal. A simple plead to raise them. Promises. Oh how I grieve for this chance of goodbye, turned away. I grieve a thousand yesterdays of sorrow. I grieved a thousand times the loss. I grieved through return, blood vessels filling again with excruciating pain. I grieved goodbye and a choice I had to make. I have seen that other place. It is as close as the hand before my face. Another time lapse and they move me to a Calgary Neurological Ward. We go by ambulance. Time lapses. These people are feeding me, pouring broth down my neck. There is no mirror. I want to pour broth down my own neck. I do but there seems more pride in me doing it too myself. I will my left side to move. It does not. I am being lifted, naked, strapped loosely into a chair to be let down into a type of Jacuzzi. I am afraid. I can not tell them. I am floating. I will drown. I am terrified. A lady in the next bed says she knows me. She says she is from home. I do not know her but she is gentle speaking and I feel a draw to her. It is hard to stay awake. 118 I hear a gasp at the door. It is my best friend, but I am not sure I know her well. She cries, “Oh, look at her face.” No more. I remember no more of the visit. I have my red socks. I have that gentle lady in the next bed. I have to find a mirror. I ask. My face. I was vain and had kept my skin looking good and now here it was, drooped down on one side. Numb. Eye lid falling down. I try to open my mouth and show my teeth like they asked. Only one side moves. I am heartbroken. I have to get better. “ABCabcABC.” Move. Move that toe. Move that foot. Move that hand. I am in a pool. They are holding me up. I am to try to move. I float and my body begins to turn and my face goes under. I am going to drown. I am on a mat. They are going to teach me to crawl. I am tired. I work so hard. I have to get home to my babies. My big toe moves, barely perceptible, but I feel it twitch. There are no answers other than perhaps it was a cluster migraine, a rare migraine, a brain bleed, a bump, old head trauma. I knew what it was. They did not nor would I tell for many years. I am home. I am lying on the couch and the babies are put in the crook of my leg so I can hold them. My mother is there. My friend is there and taking over for mother. I talk but it is not good yet. I have electric shock treatments on my face and hand and leg. There is pain but I enjoy it. I feel it. I am afraid of headaches. I am no longer afraid of death. I have changed. I will make changes. I force myself to crawl up stairs on my own. I do not want help. I will do this. I did. They were never sure what caused it. Doctor’s prognoses differed. One finally found a small scar of a tear in the brain. Whatever it was, it disabled me for months. It also changed me.” (Shhhhh:  A Creation Story, p 107 – 112)

It took years of tests to finally find the small scar on my brain.  Every year, around this same time, I can count on something ‘happening’ in my life…something big.  It seems to be one of the two intense times in my life.  From Jan 28^th to February 10 (adoption day) I always have something happen.  I am careful, now, to make sure I have protection in place during this time.  

I request love and light for today, especially since it is a Wolf Moon. 

©Carol Desjarlais 28.1.21