I sustained a TBI in 2014. I fell backwards fourteen feet onto a concrete slab. I was care-flighted to a local hospital. Fluid was leaking from my ears, my skull was cracked, and a piece of bone was missing from my skull.
They put eight staples in my scalp, prescribed me five medications, and sent me home within a few hours.
It was diagnosed as a Class/Grade (?) 3 TBI.
Very few things I can say I remember clearly after that. However, this I remember very clearly.
Within days, the medications they wrote sent me into anaphylactic shock. I could feel the itchy, tingling in my throat. I'd never felt that before. I remember trying to scratch the itch with my tongue. In minutes, it became harder and harder to breathe. I called three different people. No one answered. Finally, my father called back, and, as loud as I could (with my throat closing), with a rasp in my voice, I 'whisper screamed,'
"Dad. Don't panic, but I can't breathe."
"I'll call you right back."
I laid down on the living room floor, thinking, 'So, this is the day I die...'
Although it seemed like forever, within a minute, the phone rang. "I called Jim, Donna, and 911. SOMEONE is going to pick you up."
Donna is about five blocks away. Jim is across town, and the ambulance is further than Jim.
Jim beat them all.
On the way to the hospital, he's driving 85 MPH down city streets, weaving in and out of traffic, squealing the tires as he's turning left/left/right/left/right. I'm hanging on to the "Oh, S#!tter" handle, my eyes are swelling shut, I can see out of two little slits, and I say to him with my raspy whisper scream, "are you going to kill me on the WAY to the hospital?!"
To be fair, he did a good job. As he pulled up to the Emergency Room doors, I'm gasping for air, and I can only see blurry images. As he is leading me inside, I hear someone yell, "GET THE CRASH CART!"
I have no idea how long I was out. But I wake up to two of my friends fighting over who is going to inherit my stuff. (hahaha-No Joke. They Truly Did This. Sitting right in front of me.)
The ER nurse assigned to me comes over and says, as long as I am there, she may as well remove the staples from my scalp.
"Are you going to give me a local anesthetic?"
"Oh, don't worry," she says, "you'll just feel a little bit of pressure."
She YANKED out each staple, one by one.
I told her, "I'm going to give you a little bit of pressure!"

Now, I told you that story, to tell you this ..
Before the accident, if I told you I was going to be somewhere, if I told you I was going to do something, you could carve it in stone if you had a mind to.
I never wrote appointments down.
I never had a "schedule" to remind myself what to do, or when to do it.
My house was always spotless.
My bills were always on time.
I was in complete control of my emotions.
Hell, I was in complete control of my life.
After the accident, I remember getting a phone call.
"Where are you?"
"I'm at home. Where are you?"
"I'm where we said we would meet. And you're still at home??"
I was embarrassed, hot with anger, and I couldn't even remember that I had ever said that I would meet anyone, anywhere.
I didn't know who I was anymore, and all of a sudden, I was unsure of myself, and I was scared.
I was living with someone I had never met - ME.

...(more to come)...