Things often come in sevens; seven days of the week, seven deadly sins, seven Heavenly virtues.
And to these I add my own group of seven.
To understand how I came to these let me give a brief explanation.
I had viral encephalitis when I was fourteen. I didn’t have to be hospitalised as by the time it was diagnosed I was through the key stage. The quiet atmosphere of my home was felt to be enough. I did though need seven months off school before returning part time.
My parents were given one bit of advice. It was lucky I had survived at all but it would take me a bit of time to get going again. That was it.
I was aware as soon as I started school again that things were not right. This former prolific reader struggle to read a paragraph, this decisive girl no longer felt she knew what she was doing and her considerable concentration had disappeared. Despite having the most supportive of classmates she never felt integrated but very detached. Knowing how worried my parents had been and continued to be about me and that my father was seriously ill I didn’t tell them. Partly I don’t think I could articulate it but also I didn’t want to believe these problems existed. I think we’ve all been in the position of if I don’t talk about it, it will go away.
About six months after I returned to school my father died. A few months later my father’s mother died. The following month I sat my O-Levels. I just had to cope. Somehow I got through it, but without the results I would have got had I not been ill, aided by a sense of logic I retained.
This proved to be a delay. By the autumn I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression something rather uncommon in the mid 1980s. This is something that has lived with me ever since. Now a lot of the problems I had relating to impaired executive functions can be a by-product of depression eg concentration difficulties. The view that was taken was that the more the depression could be controlled the more likely I was to recover my former abilities.
I thought this view was the carrot of the carrot and stick, the harder I worked, the more I persevered, the closer I would come to the real me. It turned out I was wrong. I continued to be erratic. Sometimes I could work incredibly intently and with great detail. I would then get up to leave the office for some purpose and by the time I was at the door have no idea whatsoever why I was standing here. It was as if someone was switching a light switch on and off at random and often with great frequency. I simply couldn’t understand why this happened, I just hoped it would decrease over time and then life would be so much easier with a whole brain rather than a faulty one. Therefore it was worthwhile pushing myself to the point of exhaustion. This viewpoint provided ample opportunity for self reproach, guilt and failure. I was always chasing something I couldn’t achieve. That isn’t to say that I don’t recognise what I have achieved but simply the effort I put in to attain them was too great.
Somehow I just had to find ways of coping.
Eighteen years after succumbing to viral encephalitis I saw a neuropsychiatrist. He asked me questions about my abilities that no-one had ever asked me before and the tears started to flow as for the first time I felt someone understood. He sent me to a neuropsychologist for a series of tests. It was absolutely exhausting. Without being able to use the coping strategies I have developed over the years to work round problems and conceal problems it became clear that I had acquired brain injury. It was the first time I had heard this term. The weight came off my shoulders as it was explained me that the reason I couldn’t understand time, concentrate, remember properly, prioritise etc was due to this injury and not because I was a lazy, bad person. I was inundated with flashbacks to situations where I had behaved in a manner I couldn’t understand. Light dawned. I still get such flashbacks most days.
However this was offset by the realisation that the person I felt I would have been had I not been ill, who I regularly had glimpses of and who I had fought hard to be would never exist. I felt I didn’t know who I really was.
It was a couple of years or so after this that I found the Encephalitis Society website. I sat scrolling through it with tears pouring down my face. There were people who understood and wouldn’t judge. The Society also gave me a chance to help through taking part in several research projects. The thought that I may be able to help others suffering or recovering from Encephalitis is very important.
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