Tag: family

The Barrette

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Six years ago next week, we said goodbye to my sister Dori after she suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm on Mother’s Day and there was no hope for recovery. The Mother’s Day & Memorial Day holidays always bring it all back for me.

Dori was the only immediate family member to come & visit me in Maine since I moved here in 2000. Two of those trips were for fun and two of the other trips were for MY brain aneurysms. During one of those trips she left a hair barrette behind when staying at our house. I remember letting her know she had left it and asked her if she wanted it mailed back. She told me to keep it.

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One of Dori’s garden fairies

Well, I’m so glad I DID keep it. I realized this week It’s one of the very few things of Dori’s that I have. I asked for one of her garden fairies at her memorial service and I set it out each year. I knew she loved these beautiful statues so there certainly is a sentimental attachment to them. But how can a simple plastic & metal hair barrette fill me with emotions?

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The barrette

This barrette meant nothing to Dori. She used it and it held her long hair. That’s it. And I’m pretty sure when I discovered the barrette in our guest room that it held a strand or two of her hair. It’s ironic since the last time I saw her was in the hospital and all of her hair had been shaved off for surgery to insert a drain. 

I’d prefer to remember her with that long thick hair and, ever so slowly, the painful memories of seeing her in the hospital are being replaced with happier, healthier ones and I DO wear that barrette.

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Dori helping me with my veil on my wedding day – 2010

 

I Hope You Dance

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Our 6th annual Dance for Brain Aneurysm Awareness was held last night. Thankfully, we dodged a bullet with all of the snow storms around us and a cold, but clear night greeted the guests at the legion hall in Westbrook, Maine.

For the first time, we held a “theme” dance and this year the choice was an 80’s theme. Some of the 80’s-inspired outfits were truly fun and brought back a lot of memories for me in my 20’s. Yes, I’m aging myself there.

As people started to filter in, the drinks started to flow, the music started to pick up, and the money jumped out of people’s hands. The numbers haven’t been tallied yet, but we feel there was a great turnout and that a lot of money was raised to go towards education, awareness, and other brain aneurysm events. Granted, we’d still like to get some education and awareness out there, but it’s truly not the perfect event for that kind of interaction. Most of the people are there because they know someone who has been affected by brain aneurysms, and that’s enough for us.

I can only do so much helping to setup and I’m horrible with math and money so I leave that up to the experts.  As a result, I don’t feel very “needed” during this event and the loud music & flashing lights from the DJ doesn’t lend itself to in-depth conversations at the tables. It’s all about the drinking and dancing. I’m just a survivor.

Dancing to a good song is something I love to do and this is basically the only time of the year I do it. The last few years I have only danced to one or two songs throughout the evening. Usually it’s Bruno Mars…I just can’t sit when Uptown Funk is played.

I have taken photographs the last couple of years during the event and try to take photos of people at the tables and on the dance floor. Our committe member LeRay is a 40+ year brain aneurysm survivor and I caught her dancing with fellow committe member, Mira, who lost her daughter Karolina to a ruptured brain aneurysm. It was a poignant  reflection of the evening to see these two dancing hand in hand in the middle of a circle of friends and family.

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Mira & LeRay Dancing

As I was smiling and enjoying watching LeRay dance, a woman I didn’t know came up beside me to indicate she hopes her family drags HER up on the dance floor when she is LeRay’s age. I smiled and said “I hope so to!” And meant it. Then my own story caught up with me.

Perhaps it was the nostalgia of the evening with the music and outfits, but I was hit by a wave of emotion as I thought about my own story and how I loved to dance with my sisters and my mother. Pain ripped through my heart and the tears started to form as I remembered I’d never get to dance with my mom and sisters again…until I meet them again.

Thankfully everyone seemed to be ON the dance floor at that moment so I made my way through the crowd with my camera in hand to get some air. Dave caught sight of me as I was struggling and I tried to tell him what had happened. I’m not sure I did a very good job of explaining and know that there wasn’t much he could say to me at that moment to make me feel better, but he gave me a strong hug and asked if I was going to be okay. I said yes, but knew I just needed to get out of the building for a bit and get some fresh air, which I did.

Breathing in that fresh, Maine winter air was a welcome respite and I was soon joined outside by Rob Kurka, whose mother MIra was just dancing with LeRay. Rob knows the pain of losing a sister (Karolina) to a brain aneurysm as well and he was kind enough to listen and agree with me that it just “sucks”. We also agreed that people who complain about really, really minor things that don’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life, are truly annoying. LOL I almost think Kim and Karolina sent Rob (and perhaps myself) outside for us to have that moment together. Then I went and screwed it all up by asking him a personal/political/military question. I’ll blame the beer.

I went back inside and was then pulled on to the dance floor by a stranger. It was fun dancing with him and I was grateful he insisted. I’m grateful and blessed to be here TO dance. I’m grateful we have our small group here in Maine to bring awareness and educate people about brain aneurysms, and I’m grateful for those who put in so much work gathering silent auction items, selling tickets, setting up chairs & tables, bartending, DJing, and buying food for the dance. I think everyone had a great time!

Even though I suffered an emotional lapse, I know there are many angels watching over me and that they were dancing with me…even when I was dancing all by myself.

”Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance, I hope you dance.”

Lyrics “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack

Dancing at my wedding.
My sisters and I dancing at my wedding.

Life. Support. Music.

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At last month’s brain aneurysm support group, we watched a documentary about a musician from New York City who, against all odds, survived a ruptured AVM. Through the amazing support group around him including family and friends, he was able to not only recover, but prove most of the doctors wrong with their devastating diagnosis’.  Watch a brief follow-up online about the documentary with Jason and his sister HERE.

Tonight, we were able to meet Jason Crigler in person, hear his story first hand, and ask him questions. There truly aren’t enough descriptive adjectives to convey what one feels after hearing and seeing Jason’s story.

In 2005, soon after he returned home from a year-long stay in the hospital, Jason's family (his daughter, wife and father) take him for a walk in the woods.

He is a soft-spoken, warm, and funny man. If you didn’t know his story, one would never know the extent of the struggles he and his young family have had to endure.

Jason’s story was documented by a friend who video taped much of his early recovery and made it into a critically-acclaimed documentary called LIFE. SUPPORT. MUSIC. It’s painful to watch, especially as a survivor of a brain injury myself. He could be me…I could be him. The uphill battles are all very similar, but Jason was very motivate to recover with a new-born baby girl, a budding music career in New York City and a family that sacrificed their own lives and comfort to care for him on an hourly basis.

Tonight was very special and it’s a damn shame more people (even from our own groups) could not attend this widely publicized event. The old adage, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, held true tonight I guess. You get what you give…and some people give more than they have to give, but receive very little in return. It’s a damn shame.

Jason’s story is a story that needs to be heard and obsorbed. I only wish I could speak as eloquently and effectively as Jason does, or I’d take my little stent, coil & clip show on the road too. But who the hell would show up to listen to me? Probably only just a few. I know my story isn’t nearly as compelling. We can’t even get an article written about our group.

There was one article written a couple of years ago. About a woman who only came to our meetings maybe two times. She was certainly very attractive & photogenic and lived in an influential area, so that right there was two up on me. Even the one small TV spot we DID have ended up being shared by a completely un-related disease, so we couldn’t even get a full 2-minute spot for ourselves. Really? What DO we have to do????

But…even if we did…would it make any difference? We met a few new people tonight and we welcomed them with open arms as we always do. I hope we see them again and that they spread the word about our group and our efforts to raise brain aneurysm awareness in the state. Exposure could save lives….WE could save lives.

I think you’d be hard pressed to find a group like ours (or at least that one special person) that gives such personal attention to those who have reached out to us. I don’t think the president of many organizations would send personalized emails complete with moving letters and related photos to someone who writes and donates and expressed great regret they’ll be unable to attend this year’s event after having attended all of the other previous ones. I think it’s the personal touch that sets us apart from other groups. The behind-the-scenes workings are amazing and the hard work that goes into every event, every email, every newsletter, and meeting follow up, is more than most are doing. Does it matter?

People need to DO more. They are not and it could mean lives of people are being lost as a result. Picking up food for an event will feed the volunteers and participants. For one day out of YOUR life, you could help an event run smoothly and make it a success, meaning those who attended and those who heard about it and read our materials will remember what the event was about and LEARN….and potentially save a life of the next person who has the “worst headache of my life”.

(stepping down off my soap-box now)……back to Jason Crigler.

Jason’s positive & simple attitude about his AVM and recovery is truly inspirational. Many things he spoke about tonight touched me deeply and certainly would have touched a lot more people if they had taken the long hour and a half out of their busy lives.

One thing he said was that there is “strength & power in thought”. We can choose to think we’re failing or think we’re succeeding and it can truly effect the rest of your body. He admits to bad days and depression and despair just like the rest of us, but it’s reminding yourself of the struggles you HAVE overcome and how far you have come that one needs to be reminded of. We all have struggles on a day-to-day basis, but it’s how you deal with, and think about them, that can lead you to a path of strength and power.

I needed to hear those words tonight. My 10-year Annie-versary of my ruptured brain aneurysm is coming up on Oct. 4th. I’m lucky to be here. I know that. I also know others haven’t been so lucky and if sharing my story can save one life, I’m going to do it. If complaining about a lack of support can garner a little bit more, then I’m going to do it.

My sister died from a ruptured brain aneurysm. I had to see her lying in a hospital bed completely unresponsive on a ventilator, with her head shaved, with wires in her open skull and a drain relieving blood from her brain. She was basically gone at that point but we held out hope for a miracle. It never came. I may have failed saving my own sister in educating her enough on the signs and symptoms, but I MAY be able to save one other person. I MAY be able to help one person recognize the symptoms and get them to a hospital in time.

I have to hold on to that…otherwise, why was I saved and Dori wasn’t and why was I saved and Dave’s beautiful 32-year old niece Kim wasn’t? Two beautiful, sweet, funny souls who did nothing but good for others. I’m not nearly as beautiful or sweet, so I have funny going for me…and a chance to DO something in this world and get the word out and share my story.

I may not have friends who care enough about me to film a  documentary, come to our events and support me, tour the country and make money from it, but I DO know I am blessed to be here still.

THANK YOU Jason, for sharing your story, answering our questions, and driving all the way up to Portland to meet with us. And thank you for making people aware of the struggles people with brain injuries can endure…and more importantly, can overcome. You’re a true inspiration!

 

The Good, The Bad, and The Tired

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Tonight was my first time back to our brain aneurysm support group meeting since probably last September, possibly August. During catalog season I’m always working late and far too tired to go anywhere during the week. Ironically, fatigue and memory is a common theme at many of our meetings as it was tonight.

As always, it was good to see returning faces and I missed a few who weren’t there. We’re getting a nice “core” of survivors, care-givers, and those who have lost loved ones. The support is always there and we all try to listen to each other’s stories and offer validation for feelings and emotions that only those who have gone through the same thing can appreciate.

Unfortunately, I’ve had the brain aneurysm double-whammy; I myself, have suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm, and I have lost two loved ones to ruptures. I’ve seen both sides of the caregiving aspect, or those left behind, and I’ve also been a part of the survival and recovery part. Each part has struggles and pain.

Tonight, a father shared the story of the night his adult son’s brain aneurysm ruptured. It was a violent rupture and if he had been home alone, he would not have survived. His wife was able to revive him briefly – twice. He survived surgeries and a little bit of rehab and multiple rounds of different medications. He was at our meeting tonight while his father described the night it all happened to us. Even though his short-term memory has basically been lost, he cannot work or drive, and his family continues to endure a level of frustration and pain I cannot even begin to understand for several years now. But he IS alive, walking, talking, and able to function in some capacity.

Hearing a caregiver, and a father, talk about what happened that night, was difficult for me. My sister and Dave’s niece went through very similar experiences….or we can assume. My mind immediately raced to Dori’s rupture and how she lost consciousness on Mother’s Day and her husband was able to revive her while their 15-year old son called 911. But by that point it was too late. The damage from the rupture had already been done.

Then I thought about Kim, who was home alone when her rupture occurred. I can only hope and pray it was quick, but I also always wonder if someone had been there and found her sooner, if she’d be here today and if she were, what kind of life would she be living. The severity of her rupture and the location of it, leads me to believe Kim would not be the same person if she had survived. The same can be said for Dori.

We witnessed tonight the amazement in seeing a survivor of such a devastating rupture, but also the heart-wrenching pain in knowing their loved one will never be the same. That they can no long take care of themselves or their children. That they need major supervision. That they need to be reminded of things on an hourly basis to get through the day…yes, they DID survive, but in a sad way, they’re only a shell of the person they once were.

Is it only by the grace of God, that I am here today? Why did I survive and they did not? Why did I survive with very few deficits when others have continued issues and pain, even years after their ruptures?

I don’t like it when I come away from one of our meetings with these kind of questions. I should just be grateful and keep my mouth shut and never complain about anything, ever again. I AM one of the lucky ones…or one of the chosen ones…or just a person who was in the right place at the right time, with the right set of doctors. Fate? I don’t know.

I suppose those are all questions that will have to remain unanswered. Kind of like “Why doesn’t Fred Flinstone have horribly bloody feet when he has to stop his rock car with his heels?” Why? Why?