Friday, February 10, 2017 and the following months
In the weeks that followed, I found my life had changed. Significantly.
I dealt with headaches all the time—something I rarely struggled with before. Or truthfully… a single headache that never left and only varied in intensity.
I was suddenly weak. Sure, some of the muscle was still there from when I first got sick, and I assumed I could jump right back into exercising as soon as I got home, but that certainly didn’t work out. I no longer had any energy or endurance.
I assumed I would simply get better as the days and weeks wore on. That was the way it had always been for me over the years. If I dealt with an illness or weakness… I just had to push through.
But this was an entirely new experience. Although I improved somewhat in some areas, overall, I never returned to the person I was before.
But it is amazing to me the things you learn during a time like this.
I have learned a great deal of compassion for others as they struggle through health challenges. I had been, for the most part, a healthy guy. To go from being “healthy” to needing frequent naps every day just to get through was a shock to the system. I mean… who has a nap at 8am in the morning? And who can nap repeatedly throughout the day and even have one at 8:30pm and still sleep at night?
This guy!
One of the beautiful things about this is when you see your own weakness, you begin to understand the weakness in others. Throughout this experience, I grew in my compassion for others as they struggled physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I also had to learn to accept the new me, regardless of how I appeared to others. Since I’d lost my license (which is a good thing, considering my early struggle with multitasking), I had to walk to get where I wanted to go if no one could drive me—although my energy limits prevented me from walking far. When I walked, however, I couldn’t walk straight. I staggered and zigzagged down the sidewalk. I likely looked drunk everywhere I went… and in a way, my brain probably worked similar to what it might be like in a state of inebriation.
To get where I needed to go, I had to adjust to walking with a brain trauma.
The medication administered to me through the pump attached to the PICC line finished its course after about three weeks, and they yanked out the tube (I mean… seriously, they just pulled it, and it slid out!). The medication eradicated the viral infection, and I guess at that point, I was officially an encephalitis survivor.
As the weeks wore on, I got a little better—at first. I figured I’d had enough time off, so I told my church where I pastored I was ready to get back at things.
They simply told me, “Just do what you can. If you need naps, take ‘em.” They knew I was in rough shape, but I came back and tried to manage as much as I could (which wasn’t very well). My church family is loving—very loving. And patient. Looking back… I think they were far more patient with me than I realized.
Because… I was not doing well at all.
After about three months, I went for a visit to a neurologist. By that point, I was frustrated with how slow the recovery was going. I asked her if I was recovering properly and she said, “Well, most of my patients are dead or in a coma…”
I think what she was getting at was that regardless of how my recovery was progressing, I was lucky to be alive. I am grateful for that, but I still wanted to know if I was on track.
But… no one knows the answer to that kind of question for a brain trauma.
So… I pushed on, and in June, I noticed a new shift.
