WORKING WITH BRAIN INJURY SURVIVORS – ESSAY #1

Too many New York State health care providers who offer community-based services for those of us who live with brain injuries do not focus enough on the role the injuries play in our daily lives.

This neglect happens for a variety of reasons, some understandable, some not. However, the results of this neglect can be devastating for the survivor, their loved ones, and the caregivers themselves.

One can be sure the same problematic dynamic described here runs the risk of hindering services for the veterans returning home with brain injuries, or TBIs as they are more commonly called. TBI stands for Traumatic Brain Injury. I’ve often wondered if there is any other kind.

Before I go on here, let me say that Life Growth, something I teach, calls for the absence of judgment. Therefore, we must be careful not to judge anyone in this essay. While all of us are responsible for our choices, inflicting judgment on what is behind each others choices is, one, a waste of time, and two, often wrong, and three, makes the journey of dealing with the real challenge posed by brain injuries all the more difficult.

I have been in the field of brain injury for more than 13 years now and have lived with a brain injury since 1984 when I was held up and shot in the head. When it comes to getting your brain injured, trust me, that’ll do it.

My state of New York has the Traumatic Brain Injury Waiver, a form of Medicaid reimbursement for services provided to those survivors living in the community who qualify. While it has its imperfections, it is, in its design, an extraordinary start. Since the New York waiver only came into being in 1995, which historically puts us at the beginning of this journey, it is a terrific start.

One of the flaws though, which those in the New York State Department of Health would acknowledge (and it is not their fault at all), is the waiver does not cover all brain injury survivors in the state, only those who qualify for Medicaid and meet some additional criteria.

Before I get to the healthcare providers, I do want to offer a suggestion to New York’s DOH. Add a mandatory provision in the waiver that requires providers to draft a discharge plan with the survivor’s input as soon as they come onto the waiver.

There can be no doubt that the waiver already seeks to support survivors in the community with the least amount of services necessary; so the mindset of the waiver from jump street is to encourage independence. However, were discharge plans mandated from the beginning, the provider and the survivor would be consistently working towards complete independence from services, which will be possible for some and won’t be possible for others. However, it sets an appropriate tone.

Back to the healthcare providers who are, for the most part, a rather gallant lot. Working with survivors of brain injury living in the community is a new endeavor and so there will be honest mistakes. Nevertheless, we are wise to use all the information at hand in our work and here is where some providers fall tragically short.

The neuropsychological assessments for many survivors across the state often sit on shelves and accumulate dust from lack of use. Not using a survivor’s neuropsychological assessment when working a survivor is like trying to deal with broken bones without using x-rays.

Neuropsychological assessments can provide a real window into the daily realities and challenges faced by the survivors. They can help mightily in identifying the specific areas where the brain is injured and, as a result, provide a better understanding of any deficits in the cognitive realities the survivor copes. As a result, neuropsychs can play a key role in helping determine the most effective course of treatment.

Neuropsychs can also help track changes the injury is causing over time, both positive and negative. Yet too many providers leave them sitting on the shelves or, in instances were the survivors do not have neuropsychs, make little if any effort to get them one.

Last couple of thoughts for this essay (there will be more essays on this topic). Over the years of working with survivors there are some common themes that are, unless addressed, truly problematic and, for those of us who are survivors, annoying, to put it mildly. I’ll deal with one in this essay. Fatigue.

Too often providers treat fatigue in survivors as if it is something we should just snap out of it. Go splash some water on your face or drink a cup of coffee: two truly bad ideas. First, the water won’t do anything other than make our faces wet and the coffee is risky business. When someone drinks a caffeine drink and feels a burst of renewed energy, watch out, it’s a lie. All the caffeine does is turn off the “voice” in your brain that is telling you that you are tired. In short, the caffeine gets your brain to lie to you.

When you live with a brain injury, your brain is working harder than a non-injured brain. You used to have an eight-cylinder engine in your car; one of the cylinders blows out, now you have seven cylinders. True, the car still runs, but the engine is working harder. And so it is with brain injury. When we are tired, we are tired. We are not faking it.

In this instance, we are not the ones who need to wake up.
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DEAR JACKIE

There are many people who read this blog. This post is for one reader named Jackie who wrote a comment on the last entry saying she is moving to the Middle East and hopes she will be able to read this blog when she is there. I hope so too.

However, Jackie, if you want, please send another comment and include your e-mail and I will write to you and forward the blog to you should you not be able to access it directly. Your e-mail will NOT be disclosed to anyone.

Have a safe trip…you are in my prayers.

Warmth and respect,

Peter
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RESPECT FOR LEOPARDS

Coming back to life one day at a time; that is my lot these days and I am quite pleased with it. Starting somewhere in late 2006, early 2007, if memory serves, I’ve been taking a bit of a pummeling from certain quarters, culminating in a set of circumstances that sent me plunging into the depths of depression for quite some time now.

I think things are beginning to change. In the last month or two I’ve been betrayed by few folks, two in particular: one was a surprise, one was not. The thing is, these acts really angered me, in large part because both people knew they were kicking me when I was already down. Only cowards do that.

Like all of you, I’ve met some cowards in my time. Not too long ago I had a guy make up all kinds of, well, crap about me, but he never had the courage to tell me too my face, or address things in person. Another coward. Then, recently, the two just referenced. Who are they? I will never name them. Why? Because their names aren’t worth the expenditure of ink. Frankly, it would be an insult to the ink.

This morning I went for a walk, a rarity for me these days given that getting out of the house is not easy. But during the walk I remembered reading about leopards when I was a boy. I remember reading that they are most dangerous when wounded, that they will fight to the death.

I have a lot of respect for leopards.
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GOD BLESS AMERICA

It is fitting that President-elect Barack Obama’s victory speech tonight took place in Chicago’s Grant Park, named in honor of Civil War general and former President Ulysses S. Grant who led the Union Forces to victory in a war fought, in part, to free the slaves.



When I realized tonight that Barack Obama would be the next president of my country, my mind and heart turned to those who gave their all and in too many cases their lives so this day would come. I think of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Frederick Douglass, Medger Evers, Rosa Parks and Coretta King along with so many others, of all cultures and colors who fought so hard and for so long so that we, as a people, would learn to measure each other, as King said, “by the content of our character and not the color of our skin.”


If you are an American, then I gently encourage you to reflect on something for a moment. Whatever your political views, whether your heart is soaring, broken or ambivalent by the results of tonight’s election, allow yourself a nice dose of pride in your country. The finalists in the race for the presidency were a courageous man who is a senior citizen, a woman, a hard nose scrappy fellow from a blue-collar Pennsylvania enclave, and a man whose mother was from Kansas and father was from Kenya. If you are not American, please reflect too that today’s election in my country, a country I truly do love, shows that the real spirit of America is alive an well.


I believe the dynamics and realities of today’s election may be the first step in healing our country and in healing our country’s relationship with the rest of the world. We have passed through eight years with a president and vice-president who deserve neither title and should , in my view, be tried as war criminals. They have trashed the constitution, turned the justice department into a complete and utter farce, and have done so without a sliver of conscience between them.


Yet, despite all they’ve done, the extraordinary truth that is the American people has spoken. Perhaps now we can get back to being the country our founding father’s and the constitution intended.


God bless America.

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STRIKE ONE, YOU’RE OUT

At age 55 I have led a life with its fair share of hard knocks. It would be reasonable for you to think that the cumulative impact of those knocks would have knocked all the naivete or foolishness out of my system. However, you’d be wrong.

The old adage of you find out who your friends are when the going gets tough still holds true. Yet, even now, when I am in a very real way at risk of losing my home and more because of an unexpected stop in income coupled with an in-process application for disability, some I expected to at least hear from have been stone cold silent, and one or two make it clear when we have communicated that doing so is a real burden for them. I could easily aim blood-letting razor-blade sentences at a few, but why waste the ink?

Others have been remarkable in their kindness and support. Some have sent some money to help me with food and household supplies. A friend I used to work with who has a newborn baby and is moving to a new home still reaches out to me to make sure I am okay. My brother-in-my heart, Michael, the closest person to me in the world is always there for me. He and his sons and his wife, Frieda, are people that really are family for me.

Do not think I am whining. Not in the least. I guess part of what I am saying, or suggesting, is don’t go around telling someone you are their friend or that you love them and care about them if you have the kind of spineless selfish self-absorption that leads you to vanish when they are in danger of losing their home, or in real dire straits of any kind.

There is a reason they say home is where the heart is. I am done with people who say they are my friend or say they love me looking to wound my heart. Strike one, you’re out.
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