Category Archives: TBI

DEAR BOB WOODRUFF

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Dear Bob Woodruff,

You and I and far too many others are survivors of traumatic brain injuries. You and I and far too many others who have survived traumatic brain injuries, or any trauma for that matter, have found themselves in the insidious grip of guilt. You and I and far too many others like us are guilty of nothing. Because you feel guilty doesn’t mean you are guilty, it means that is how you feel. It is a feeling, not a definition.

It was the explosion the wounded you, it was the gunshot that wounded me, it was the car accident or the fall or the assault or the stroke that wounded so many others. It is these events and these events alone that provide guilt its just living quarters

In recent interviews I have watched you and Lee take the wide-open courage step of letting people see what it is like to suffer a traumatic brain injury and what it is like to live with one. I have heard questions seeking to know how far back you are. Would you say 95 % they ask? As you and Lee and your family already know, the answer is not that easy and my thought would be, put down any instinct to measure and gauge that answer and live.

I work with survivors like us nearly every day and recently I asked them how they would describe living with a brain injury on a daily basis. There were answers like, Well, there are things we can’t do any more and other statements like they (the injuries) make it harder to manage our emotions and I don’t remember things as well as I did and I can’t talk the way I used to. In each of these discussions these answers would land on the table and we would all look at each other, shake our heads, and nearly in unison acknowledge that none of these answers come close to describing what it is like to live with a brain injury on a daily basis.

Here is what we did agree on. Living with a brain injury is different every day. In fact, living with a brain injury has one reality when rested and another reality when fatigued. We also agreed that none of us are defined by our injuries nor are we defined by the symptoms we deal with as a result of our injuries. We also agreed that none of us are diminished by our injuries, even though there have been and, for some, still are times when we feel diminished because of our injuries. We also know that there are times we are treated by others as if we have less value and less worth than others and that treatment too delivers an inaccurate message about who we are.

Years ago a very wise old man was asked what it was like to age. He paused and said, We are each like a lit light bulb. You have to decide, are you the bulb, which breaks down over time, or are you the light inside the bulb? We are the light inside the bulb, and that never dies.

The light of who you are, Bob Woodruff, is not gone. It is not damaged or diminished by the trauma you have survived. While you may not see the light all the time, while you may not see its luster and brilliance all the time, it does not mean it is not there all the time. From time to time life blinds us to the light that is our humanity’s unbending value and worth. Those moments of darkness do not mean the light is gone. Darkness, like emotion, are experiences in the moment and of the moment. Neither are definitions. The inner light and human value of all survivors is present all time.

Needless to say, the words written here apply to all of us for all of us in life encounter experiences that blind us to our worth, yet none of these experiences remove or diminish our worth unless we allow them too.

There is a nugget of American Indian lore I am particularly fond of. A warrior went to his chief and said, Chief, I have two wolves battling inside me, the good wolf and the bad wolf. Which one is going to win? The chief said, Whichever one you feed the most.

Keep feeding the good wolf as you are, Bob Woodruff. And remember, there will be times when people will ask for your attention and your presence and the healthier choice will be to say no and give yourself and your loved ones time away from all others. Saying no can prompt another bout of undeserved guilt, so here is another expression. Taking care of your self is not an act of disloyalty to anyone else.

Stay in the day, remember to live, and keep listening to Bruce Springsteen. You and I are very much in lock-step when it comes to the Boss. His songs got me through many a dark day and helped me remember that the light, for me and for you and for all of us, really is always there.

In his last album he sings We Shall Overcome. We will.

Warmth and respect,

Peter S. Kahrmann

BOB WOODRUFF, TBI AND HUMANITY

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I am with all my heart glad you are alive Bob Woodruff. I say that here first because when a friend of mine hugged me after I returned from the hospital after sustaining my brain injury, he said, “I’m glad you’re alive, I’m so glad you’re alive, I don’t know what to say” I realized I’m glad you’re alive is just about the most beautiful thing anyone can say. And so I say it to Mr. Woodruff now and I am grateful my friend said it to me just weeks after I was shot in the head, leaving the bullet lodged in my brain.

The ABC special last night about Bob Woodruff and so much more brought the harsh realities that come with traumatic brain injury (TBI) to the public’s attention like never before. He and his wife Lee (and their families) have, by allowing so many to see Mr. Woodward’s journey thus far, helped drive home the reality that those of us with TBIs are human beings, not remnants of human beings, not piecemeal human beings, not human beings to be used by greed-driven medical providers or greed-driven attorneys in order to fill their wallets and puff their egos. Those of us with brain injuries or with any disability for that matter, are still people.

While a disability might change or take away one’s ability to walk, see, remember, hear, talk, eat, or manage emotion or movement, it never takes away one’s humanity. Only humans do that.

KAHRMANN MEMOIR – CHAPTERS 1 & 2

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Chapter 1

I DON’T UNDERSTAND

I am dying on the ground bleeding to death and I don’t understand. I wasn’t bothering anybody. I was just going to work, minding my own business. I wasn’t doing anything wrong and now I’m on the ground dying.

I’m 30 years old and just a little while ago I’m walking down Bergen Street to pick up my cab from the fleet garage. I have a block and a half to go. I hear the sound of keys behind me. A hand grabs my shoulder and a kid with wild floating eyes is pointing a gun at my head and he says, “Don’t fucking move.”

I say, “I won’t,” and I look away because I don’t want him thinking I’ll remember his face.

The gun’s against my head and somebody’s behind me now going through my pockets and getting the sixty-three dollars I have to lease the cab today. I’m waiting for wild floating eyes to hit me on the head with the gun because I know he will so they can get a running head start. But he doesn’t hit me at all. He shoots me.

I’m on the ground and feel nothing neck down. Nothing. I can’t see. The top of my head feels like it’s been blown off there is so much pressure. I open my eyes and I can’t see and can’t feel and I know I’m going to die.

There’s Jennifer’s face listening to someone tell her Daddy’s dead and maybe if I can get up and die trying to get to the hospital she’ll know I didn’t give up. She’ll know I tried the best I could. I can leave her a courage note that way – if I can only get up.

A dark damp blanket tightens around me and I think of Daddy and how he died when I was fifteen so if he can go from here to there, from life to death, maybe it’s okay then. Maybe it’s not so bad dying. Now I feel less scared. Now I can see smoky light and dark images and shapes and they make little sense to me. Jesus fucking Christ I’m dying and I’m seeing a black and white movie and I don’t understand.

The smoke clears for me and I see I’m on the sidewalk on my right side. I see a tree near me.

I’m standing and I don’t remember getting up, I’m just glad I’m standing. I lift my hand to my head and blood hits my hand before it gets there. I untie my blue hooded sweatshirt around my waist and press it against my head to stop the bleeding.

Chapter 2

“OOF!”

I am six years old watching my father at his desk reading and marking college papers. He teaches English in Columbia and John Jay College for Criminal Justice. I am sitting at the foot of his twin bed because it faces his desk. He and my mother have separate rooms. They say it’s because my father snores which is true and my mother is a light sleeper which is also true.

I love watching my father work. He wears half-glasses and a draftsman’s light is clamped to his desk. Smoke from his cigarette curls like a white snake up to the light and rolls along the length of the flourescent bulb before rising up and disappearing into thin air. Behind him is a wall of books. I feel a surge of love for him, do an end run around the desk and throw my arms around him. He says, pretending I’ve knocked the wind out of him. We laugh and hold each other and then I go back to my seat on the bed and return to watching him. He returns to his papers. I run and hug him a lot like this and he always hugs me back.

I am two, three, four and I already know my parents are God. Everybody knows their parents are God. I’m on to this right from the start. My mother isn’t even looking when she catches me doing something I’m not supposed to.

She says, “I have eyes in the back of my head, young man. I do. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up too.”

I know those eyes are in the back of her head somewhere because she says she never lies so I know they’re ther. I can’t find them no matter how hard I search her graying hair, but they’re there alright.

My parents are in charge of everything, of course, because they are God. On Sunday’s we go to the Naurashaun Presbyterian Church. I don’t understand this because my parents are God and they live with me. The Reverend Bill Daniel talks about God like he is invisible or something but I’m not fooled for a minute because I have God sitting on either side of me. Why don’t they just say so? Why don’t they just admit it?

THE AMERICAN BRAIN INJURY EPIDEMIC

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As a brain injury survivor and one who works with brain injury survivors I am saddened but not surprised that a leading expert in forensic pathology says former National Football League player Andre Waters’s November 2006 suicide was likely tied to brain damage suffered by Mr. Waters over his playing career.

The New York Times today said forensics expert Dr. Bennet Omalu of the University of Pittsburgh “determined that (Andre) Waters’s brain tissue had degenerated into that of an 85-year-old man with similar characteristics as those of early-stage Alzheimer’s and that if he had lived, within 10 or 15 years “Andre Waters would have been fully incapacitated.””

There is an epidemic of brain injuries in the United States and we, as a people, are playing catch-up. In some quarters we are waging the catch-up battle valiantly, but we have a long way to go.

I sustained my brain injury in 1984 when I was held up and shot in the head at point blank range. While I received extraordinary medical care, no one, and I mean no one, mentioned the words brain injury or brain damage to me. And so I left the hospital with a bullet in my frontal lobe, bone spray in my left temporal lobe, and a sharp awareness that I would be wise to avoid contact sports.

It would be nearly 10 years before I learned that the damage to my brain impacted my daily life in a very real way. I am far from alone and not even in the same room with unique on this front. Millions of Americans deal with brain injuries. Think this is an overstatement? Try these facts on for size.

– With more than 50,000 Americans dying every year from brain injuries, it is safe to say more than 1 million Americans have died in the 22 years since I was injured, including more than 150,000 children.
– 1.4 million Americans sustain brain injuries annually.
– In 1995, direct medical costs coupled with lost production cost the United States an estimated $56.3 billion.
– Many members of the American military wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan have suffered brain injuries.

If you think only football players or those in contact sports run the risk of injuries like those suffered by Mr. Waters, you are sadly mistaken. A couple of years ago I went to a conference on brain injury at Mount Sinai School of Medicine in New York City. A forensics expert showed that if you have someone lie down on their back, lift their head 12 inches off the ground, and let go, the skull is travelling 40 miles per hour when it strikes the surface.

We are not quite holding our own in this catch-up battle. There was, after all, no brain injury association on the national level until 1980. Now we have the Brain Injury Association of America, a wonderful organization. States have their respective brain injury associations, all deserving of their citizens support. I am a member and board member of the Brain Injury Association of New York.

Unlike cuts and bruises and broken bones, brain injuries do not heal. Yet the reluctance of so many to take simple precautions is mind boggling. I have seen the following scene too many times. A family is on a bicycle ride. The children are dutifully wearing their helmets (sometimes) while the parents are not wearing their helmets. Perhaps the parents think that adulthood means they are no longer beholden to the law of gravity. Or, perhaps, there is a bit of vanity at work, some concern that one’s hairstyle will get messed, or, some “real man” doesn’t wear a helmet because he is , well, a “real man”. Dazzling displays of reasoning for sure. Tell you what though, when you’re paralyzed and/or you can’t remember what happened five minutes ago, remind me to ask you who your hair stylist is, or what it’s like to be a “real man.” But then again, why should I bother? You won’t remember anyway.

If you are from New York State, you can contact the Brain Injury Association of New York, the one I belong to at http://www.bianys.org/

Contact the Brain Injury Association of America for information on a Brain Injury Association near you. Please visit their website at http://www.biausa.org/