436 days ago 'that woman' pulled out on to a roundabout and straight in to my Jake, severely damaging his brain and upending all our hopes and dreams. Tomorrow we were finally going to court for the criminal hearing and today she decided to change her plea to guilty. Squeezing every last ounce of our agony out of it along the way!
Frankly this news is huge; huger than a really, really huge thing in fact.
The last 14 months has been like standing on quick sand with a future that was uncertain, scary and potentially bloody awful for us both. This news doesn't change the fact that our lives have completely changed forever and that there will be many difficulties ahead. What it does mean is that we are now back on solid ground where both sides can finally review all the evidence and we can hopefully agree primary liability in the civil case, which should be a much smoother negotiation now that there is a criminal conviction in place. In turn this means that we are on a much firmer footing financially and I no longer feel like we could sink at any moment.
Aside from this new sense of security, what this news also brings is a sense of vindication; I and those that know my Jake were absolutely confident in his ability as a cyclist and knew that he would never, ever drive the wrong way around a roundabout as she claimed. It seems ridiculous that this claim was even entertained really, when you consider how many thousands of miles he'd cycled all over the country and how angry he got with other cyclists when they ignored red lights or didn't take responsibility for themselves as road users.
I cannot tell you how completely lovely it was to make the phone calls that followed my receiving this news, although the cats were a bit freaked out by my dancing around the house singing 'ding dong the witch is dead'!
With any luck this change in plea will oil the ludicrously laborious legal wheels and we can concentrate on getting Jake home and Project Joy off the ground.
Oh yes, a very good day indeed!
Monday, 14 January 2013
Monday, 7 January 2013
In the pursuit of joy
Shortly before Jake's accident I was listening to Liza Tarbuck on Radio 2
when she said that her philosophy for life came from a Bob Dylan lyric:
"the best is always yet to come". She put particular emphasis on the
word always and if she had written rather than said it I believe it would have
been in capitals, bold and italics; ALWAYS!
At the time I completely connected to and loved this sentiment and decided to adopt is as my own. I printed it out and put in my office so I didn't forget.
And then, and then...
It is hard to believe that the best is always yet to come when the absolute worst has actually happened. I can honestly say that I haven't revisited those words since the accident and it is no longer on the wall of my office (or the floor, I checked), so I suppose I must have taken it down during that murky, dark time when I was too bewildered and befuddled to know what was happening.
So when I woke suddenly on Saturday night with the thought "what the hell was that saying I was going to adopt?" racing around my head and careering into my skull, I decided to take it as a sign. At this stage it is worth noting that I'm not one for attributing random thoughts to 'signs' or other fanciful tosh of that sort, but the feeling was so strong I have decided to go with it.
Not a moment too soon either if my last few blogs have been anything to go by; blimey, what a moaning minnie I've become!
So, how do you genuinely believe the best is always yet to come when you are faced with climbing a huge jelly mountain smeared in butter with your feet tied together (just a metaphor folks, there is no actual jelly)? You make it happen, that's how.
Almost as soon as Jake was moved out of ITU (for the first time!) I announced that my mission in life was now to bring joy to Jake's life, whatever that looked like. Out of this was born the concept of 'Project Jake's Joy'. The focus of PJJ would be to find life experiences and opportunities to give purpose, meaning and joy to Jake's life, giving him buckets full of reasons to be glad to have survived in spite of his remaining deficits and challenges.
But do you know what occurred to me as I lay in bed rooting around the back of my brain for that phrase? If it's just about Jake, what will that mean for me, my life, my friends and family and ultimately, what impact would that have on our marriage? What good is fighting to get Jake back to joy if I lose myself in the process? How will that help?
So I am now Team Leader of Project Joy and that is what I am going to make happen. The focus of PJ is to find life experiences and opportunities to give purpose, meaning and joy to Jake AND everyone who loves and supports him.
Project Joy is a bit formless at the moment; currently there are lots of ideas and not a lot of firm plans, but hopefully you can help me there. If you have any ideas, particularly if you have experience as a survivor and someone who supports and loves one, please share them.
So far we have:
- Volunteering at the Cats Protection League (we start this tomorrow!)
- Imp of Doom restoration
- Wednesday date night
- Posh hotel mini break (booked)
- Gran Canaria holiday (booked)
- Weekend visits to friends in London
- Companion cycling trips
- Beaulieu motor museum
- Imp 50th anniversary weekend for the unveiling of the finished Imp of Doom
- Joining a local girls only monthly dinner club (this one is just for me!)
Tomorrow sees the delivery of our new car (yes, the evil insurance company wrote the other one off) and next Tuesday is the much longed for and yet dreaded criminal court date, so never a dull moment in brain injury land!
At the time I completely connected to and loved this sentiment and decided to adopt is as my own. I printed it out and put in my office so I didn't forget.
And then, and then...
It is hard to believe that the best is always yet to come when the absolute worst has actually happened. I can honestly say that I haven't revisited those words since the accident and it is no longer on the wall of my office (or the floor, I checked), so I suppose I must have taken it down during that murky, dark time when I was too bewildered and befuddled to know what was happening.
So when I woke suddenly on Saturday night with the thought "what the hell was that saying I was going to adopt?" racing around my head and careering into my skull, I decided to take it as a sign. At this stage it is worth noting that I'm not one for attributing random thoughts to 'signs' or other fanciful tosh of that sort, but the feeling was so strong I have decided to go with it.
Not a moment too soon either if my last few blogs have been anything to go by; blimey, what a moaning minnie I've become!
So, how do you genuinely believe the best is always yet to come when you are faced with climbing a huge jelly mountain smeared in butter with your feet tied together (just a metaphor folks, there is no actual jelly)? You make it happen, that's how.
Almost as soon as Jake was moved out of ITU (for the first time!) I announced that my mission in life was now to bring joy to Jake's life, whatever that looked like. Out of this was born the concept of 'Project Jake's Joy'. The focus of PJJ would be to find life experiences and opportunities to give purpose, meaning and joy to Jake's life, giving him buckets full of reasons to be glad to have survived in spite of his remaining deficits and challenges.
But do you know what occurred to me as I lay in bed rooting around the back of my brain for that phrase? If it's just about Jake, what will that mean for me, my life, my friends and family and ultimately, what impact would that have on our marriage? What good is fighting to get Jake back to joy if I lose myself in the process? How will that help?
So I am now Team Leader of Project Joy and that is what I am going to make happen. The focus of PJ is to find life experiences and opportunities to give purpose, meaning and joy to Jake AND everyone who loves and supports him.
Project Joy is a bit formless at the moment; currently there are lots of ideas and not a lot of firm plans, but hopefully you can help me there. If you have any ideas, particularly if you have experience as a survivor and someone who supports and loves one, please share them.
So far we have:
- Volunteering at the Cats Protection League (we start this tomorrow!)
- Imp of Doom restoration
- Wednesday date night
- Posh hotel mini break (booked)
- Gran Canaria holiday (booked)
- Weekend visits to friends in London
- Companion cycling trips
- Beaulieu motor museum
- Imp 50th anniversary weekend for the unveiling of the finished Imp of Doom
- Joining a local girls only monthly dinner club (this one is just for me!)
Tomorrow sees the delivery of our new car (yes, the evil insurance company wrote the other one off) and next Tuesday is the much longed for and yet dreaded criminal court date, so never a dull moment in brain injury land!
Wednesday, 2 January 2013
Nailing jelly to a wall
I would describe myself as a consistently competent and resourceful soul; I was never destined for great genius, but I have always been able to learn and adapt to meet any challenge that came along. The result is not always pretty, but its usually successful. Problems are challenges that I normally enjoy and thrive on and if I'm brutally honest, I'm not very good at failure. I tend to sulk.
Brain injury is 'other', it is different, it exists on a separate plain where the normally resourceful and competent person is completely helpless.
What do you do when your husband, a 42 year old intelligent man, refuses to get out of the car when you are in a hotel car park in the dark and rain? You're 120 miles away from home, it's Boxing Day, he's shouting that he wants to go home, and he is so overloaded and tired that he cannot hear anything you say. He is literally unreasonable.
You're not his health professional or carer, you're his wife. You're tried and frustrated after a challenging Christmas (well, a challenging 14 months actually) and what you really want to do is leave him in the car and go to bed with a large gin.
No, scrap that, what you REALLY want is to have spent the day walking on the beach and then sitting in a pub on the Quay getting squiffy, talking and laughing with your pre-injury husband. Fat chance.
I've looked in my toolkit again and again and no matter how many times I look I simply don't have the skills or the resources to solve this problem. It's exhausting and frightening. It's just too big and unwieldy a problem to solve; it's like trying to nail jelly to a wall.
The only thing that keeps me sane is reading the inspiring stories of other survivors and their families and the knowledge that, although it will never be the same as it was, it will get better than this.
So Happy New Year to those survivors and their families and also to those of you with a huge, jelly like problem to solve. Don't give up.
Oh, and if you have any suggestions as to how I deal with these situations I would be VERY interested and grateful to hear them!
Brain injury is 'other', it is different, it exists on a separate plain where the normally resourceful and competent person is completely helpless.
What do you do when your husband, a 42 year old intelligent man, refuses to get out of the car when you are in a hotel car park in the dark and rain? You're 120 miles away from home, it's Boxing Day, he's shouting that he wants to go home, and he is so overloaded and tired that he cannot hear anything you say. He is literally unreasonable.
You're not his health professional or carer, you're his wife. You're tried and frustrated after a challenging Christmas (well, a challenging 14 months actually) and what you really want to do is leave him in the car and go to bed with a large gin.
No, scrap that, what you REALLY want is to have spent the day walking on the beach and then sitting in a pub on the Quay getting squiffy, talking and laughing with your pre-injury husband. Fat chance.
I've looked in my toolkit again and again and no matter how many times I look I simply don't have the skills or the resources to solve this problem. It's exhausting and frightening. It's just too big and unwieldy a problem to solve; it's like trying to nail jelly to a wall.
The only thing that keeps me sane is reading the inspiring stories of other survivors and their families and the knowledge that, although it will never be the same as it was, it will get better than this.
So Happy New Year to those survivors and their families and also to those of you with a huge, jelly like problem to solve. Don't give up.
Oh, and if you have any suggestions as to how I deal with these situations I would be VERY interested and grateful to hear them!
Tuesday, 25 December 2012
What a difference a year makes....
Last year we were here:
this year we're not!
I wonder what I'll be posting next year?
Wishing you all a VERY Happy Christmas and buckets of peace and joy for 2013.
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Bah humbug
This week has seen me rip the bumper off my beautiful car (which means I can't get to see Jake), the toilet become comprehensively blocked (ewww) and my special 'Christmas Cold' gift arrive. Frankly I am not feeling all that seasonal, despite having adorned Korving Towers with an embarrassment of sparkly, tacky Christmas tat.
In a vain attempt to look on the bright side I can report that the new bumper will mean I lose the only scrape I had on the car, I know a very cunning way of unblocking toilets without having to call someone out and getting the cold out of the way now means I won't be infecting various family members over Christmas. Oh, and it's given Jake a chance to be supportive which he excels at and which will make him feel good.
Nope, still feel grumpy!
In other news, work on Korving Towers is moving at pace and the plan is to have the majority of the work done before Christmas. The builders are working incredibly hard and are cheerful, charming and polite, although I imagine the endless supply of tea and biscuits helps. They are all sporting Santa hats this morning, so I shall get them some mince pies as well!
Jake is all ready for his move to the student house on Thursday (thankfully we were always going to use my sister's car for that!). We made a cake together at the weekend to say thank you to the team at the rehab hotel and it took me an hour to clean up the kitchen afterwards; he couldn't quite get that you need to keep the electric whisks IN the mixture, otherwise you pebble dash everything in cake mix! I think it turned out OK though:
The main bit of news I suppose is that I have made a decision about the future. At the last review meeting it was suggested that Jake could be in residential rehab for up to another 12 months. You may think this is really selfish, but I have asked his team to work on the basis that it will be 6 months. Jake and I have only been married 3 years and we have spent a year of it living apart since his accident. He will still be able to access rehab and therapies during the day, but we both desperately want to be back together and so we are working towards him being back at Korving Towers by the Summer; 20 months after his accident.
Life isn't the same without him and I'm sure my seasonal spirit will return on Christmas Eve when he comes home for four days.
I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and remember to cherish this time with those you love; you never know what is around the corner.
Ho, Ho....no sorry, can't do it ;o)
In a vain attempt to look on the bright side I can report that the new bumper will mean I lose the only scrape I had on the car, I know a very cunning way of unblocking toilets without having to call someone out and getting the cold out of the way now means I won't be infecting various family members over Christmas. Oh, and it's given Jake a chance to be supportive which he excels at and which will make him feel good.
Nope, still feel grumpy!
In other news, work on Korving Towers is moving at pace and the plan is to have the majority of the work done before Christmas. The builders are working incredibly hard and are cheerful, charming and polite, although I imagine the endless supply of tea and biscuits helps. They are all sporting Santa hats this morning, so I shall get them some mince pies as well!
Jake is all ready for his move to the student house on Thursday (thankfully we were always going to use my sister's car for that!). We made a cake together at the weekend to say thank you to the team at the rehab hotel and it took me an hour to clean up the kitchen afterwards; he couldn't quite get that you need to keep the electric whisks IN the mixture, otherwise you pebble dash everything in cake mix! I think it turned out OK though:
Life isn't the same without him and I'm sure my seasonal spirit will return on Christmas Eve when he comes home for four days.
I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and remember to cherish this time with those you love; you never know what is around the corner.
Ho, Ho....no sorry, can't do it ;o)
Monday, 10 December 2012
the patronise trap
As we have travelled along this strange brain injury journey, which has swung from a hurtle to a crawl and back again, I have learnt that you need to be really, really adaptable. The problem with this is that I, frankly, am not.
I like structure and predictability; processes make me shiver in anticipation and I get no greater pleasure than from creating a task list or spreadsheet; I plan and prepare for everything in minute detail. For example, I have bought and wrapped my Christmas presents, the decorations are up, the cards are written and sent and the Tesco's delivery is booked for the 22nd. I have even planned this blog (I know, hard to believe).
Life in brain injury land doesn't work like that. Life in brain injury land is like trying to quickly navigate the length of Oxford Street, blindfolded on Christmas Eve and tied to a Japanese tourist who wants to go in Selfridges...again. You can't plan it or predict how it will work out. Anything could happen, none of the other shoppers are interested in helping you get there and you'd better hope you don't get trampled on or trapped in the middle of Oxford Circus.
So, on I go, bouncing off the shoppers, lampposts and beggars half heartedly dressed as Father Christmas, hoping for the best and keeping my fingers crossed that we reach Marble Arch in one piece.
The latest problem I am wrestling with on this bonkers, unpredictable journey is how well Jake is doing. Ha ha ha - I bet you read that twice!
Yes, I did say Jake's progress is a proving to be a problem for me. I have got so used to Jake needing help. Until recently he's needed help to; stand, walk, sit, eat, choose, talk, read, write, understand, cope, remember, open and close things, lift and lower things, tidy up, go to bed, get up, get dressed, shower, shave etc. etc. etc. He still needs support with most of these things, but it is more guidance and prompting than actual help and it seems to have happened when I wasn't looking!
This means I keep getting it wrong, very very very wrong. In fact, I keep falling into the patronise trap. I don't mean to, in fact I 'mean well'...which is rubbish really. What makes it worse is that I get seriously aggravated when someone else does this to him, particularly those who should know better; Dr's, therapists, nurses....and, err, well, me.
Jake is understandably irritated by this and it causes untold angst. The man is a saint most of the time, but even the most understanding and forgiving soul gets pissed off if you repeatedly patronise them.
So, this is my pledge; I will haul myself out of the patronise trap and will try to remember the extraordinarily intelligent, resilient and determined man who CAN do things for himself, rather than the brain injury deficits and frustrations (not just his!) that trip me up and lead to me fussing and mothering.
If you see or hear me doing this you have permission to kick me in the shins.
I like structure and predictability; processes make me shiver in anticipation and I get no greater pleasure than from creating a task list or spreadsheet; I plan and prepare for everything in minute detail. For example, I have bought and wrapped my Christmas presents, the decorations are up, the cards are written and sent and the Tesco's delivery is booked for the 22nd. I have even planned this blog (I know, hard to believe).
Life in brain injury land doesn't work like that. Life in brain injury land is like trying to quickly navigate the length of Oxford Street, blindfolded on Christmas Eve and tied to a Japanese tourist who wants to go in Selfridges...again. You can't plan it or predict how it will work out. Anything could happen, none of the other shoppers are interested in helping you get there and you'd better hope you don't get trampled on or trapped in the middle of Oxford Circus.
So, on I go, bouncing off the shoppers, lampposts and beggars half heartedly dressed as Father Christmas, hoping for the best and keeping my fingers crossed that we reach Marble Arch in one piece.
The latest problem I am wrestling with on this bonkers, unpredictable journey is how well Jake is doing. Ha ha ha - I bet you read that twice!
Yes, I did say Jake's progress is a proving to be a problem for me. I have got so used to Jake needing help. Until recently he's needed help to; stand, walk, sit, eat, choose, talk, read, write, understand, cope, remember, open and close things, lift and lower things, tidy up, go to bed, get up, get dressed, shower, shave etc. etc. etc. He still needs support with most of these things, but it is more guidance and prompting than actual help and it seems to have happened when I wasn't looking!
This means I keep getting it wrong, very very very wrong. In fact, I keep falling into the patronise trap. I don't mean to, in fact I 'mean well'...which is rubbish really. What makes it worse is that I get seriously aggravated when someone else does this to him, particularly those who should know better; Dr's, therapists, nurses....and, err, well, me.
Jake is understandably irritated by this and it causes untold angst. The man is a saint most of the time, but even the most understanding and forgiving soul gets pissed off if you repeatedly patronise them.
So, this is my pledge; I will haul myself out of the patronise trap and will try to remember the extraordinarily intelligent, resilient and determined man who CAN do things for himself, rather than the brain injury deficits and frustrations (not just his!) that trip me up and lead to me fussing and mothering.
If you see or hear me doing this you have permission to kick me in the shins.
Sunday, 2 December 2012
me, me, me
I am about to be really honest...really, really honest. Sadly, it's probably just going to sound like a moan but this blog is about sharing the reality of our journey. So here it is.
In the last 403 days I feel like I have become a non person. Every part of my life is about someone else. Every decision made is based on what is best for that person. I am looked at with suspicion, pity and irritation by health care professionals who seem to think that I should know what I'm doing. I don't.
I get up on a Sunday morning, make a cup of tea and shuffle in my PJ's in to the lounge to watch the Andrew Marr show to find that a Health Care Assistant has put Top Gear on...again. Oh, and they're sat in my spot on the sofa.
I make plans for Christmas dinner with my family which then get debated based on whether Jake will cope by people who will all have lovely, peaceful and private time at their house...HELLO, IT'S MY CHRISTMAS TOO!
I am expected to be able to plan every conversation in advance, anticipating topics and having images available. News flash - this is not possible. I am expected to be able to attend any meeting at the drop of a hat and to understand all the medical jargon and options and make sensible decisions.
I can't go where I want for lunch, decide it's a beautiful day for a walk at the beach, sit quietly on my own in a room, pop into Tesco's for some milk or have a lie in.
Recently a Consultant even tried to say it was my fault that Jake's medication hadn't been reviewed. Seriously, how much are they paying you?!
I have to be a wife, an advocate, a financial manager, a mediator, a housekeeper, a proposal manager (yes, I still have a job). This means I am failing as a friend, sister, daughter, auntie, daughter in law, colleague.
At this point I would like to say that I love my husband more than anyone or anything else in the world. I couldn't imagine my life without him and not putting him first is absolutely a non choice for me. That's the easy bit.
I am only human though and, although it probably sounds childish and selfish, I am finding always coming second, whilst being expected to be a constant and devoted advocate and champion, a little difficult.
My switch is always 'on'. I'm a bit worried that the fuse may blow.
In the last 403 days I feel like I have become a non person. Every part of my life is about someone else. Every decision made is based on what is best for that person. I am looked at with suspicion, pity and irritation by health care professionals who seem to think that I should know what I'm doing. I don't.
I get up on a Sunday morning, make a cup of tea and shuffle in my PJ's in to the lounge to watch the Andrew Marr show to find that a Health Care Assistant has put Top Gear on...again. Oh, and they're sat in my spot on the sofa.
I make plans for Christmas dinner with my family which then get debated based on whether Jake will cope by people who will all have lovely, peaceful and private time at their house...HELLO, IT'S MY CHRISTMAS TOO!
I am expected to be able to plan every conversation in advance, anticipating topics and having images available. News flash - this is not possible. I am expected to be able to attend any meeting at the drop of a hat and to understand all the medical jargon and options and make sensible decisions.
I can't go where I want for lunch, decide it's a beautiful day for a walk at the beach, sit quietly on my own in a room, pop into Tesco's for some milk or have a lie in.
Recently a Consultant even tried to say it was my fault that Jake's medication hadn't been reviewed. Seriously, how much are they paying you?!
I have to be a wife, an advocate, a financial manager, a mediator, a housekeeper, a proposal manager (yes, I still have a job). This means I am failing as a friend, sister, daughter, auntie, daughter in law, colleague.
At this point I would like to say that I love my husband more than anyone or anything else in the world. I couldn't imagine my life without him and not putting him first is absolutely a non choice for me. That's the easy bit.
I am only human though and, although it probably sounds childish and selfish, I am finding always coming second, whilst being expected to be a constant and devoted advocate and champion, a little difficult.
My switch is always 'on'. I'm a bit worried that the fuse may blow.
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