I’ve been home for six months now. It feels as though my life is finally on the up again, ‘normality’ is slowly returning. The darkest days are behind me, though I know I still have a long way to go to full recovery. I have an assessment booked to regain my driving license in two weeks! I’m so excited, like I was when I first took my test when I was seventeen. I have my phone and laptop back. I’m even trusted to boil a kettle of water…
Jason remains in the spare room, though I honestly don’t think he needs to be in my apartment anymore. I’ve already got my sights set on returning to work, maybe in the new year, just five months away. Above all, I feel confident that my old self is still there, and finally winning out.
I’ve been trying to regain my fitness. I started out by running a couple of miles a day along the canals near my apartment. Within a few weeks I was running five miles a day. Two weeks ago I signed up for the London Marathon. I’ll be running for Limitless, a charity for people and families dealing with brain damage.
I’ve just finished a twelve mile run, my longest yet and as I walk up the stairs to my apartment my legs are like jelly and my head is swirling with exhaustion. But I feel relaxed, and buoyed by my progress.
I’m meeting Gemma for lunch in an hour. I haven’t seen her for over a month, and for once I’m looking forward to talking to her, to updating her on where I’m at, both physically and mentally. She’s become a great sounding board for me recently. I’ve never felt so close to her in fact. Jason, on the other hand… we just fight all the time. I’m told it’s a common reaction. That TBI survivors will often take out their frustrations on their spouses more than anyone else, then be happy and amenable with others, even strangers. Something to do with safe zones and security and helping the brain to recover by venting. It goes hand-in-hand therefore that some seventy-five percent of TBI survivors get divorced.
But Jason and I aren’t even married.
What startles me most is that I don’t even feel sadness or regret to know that our relationship is teetering so close to breakdown.
I check my watch as I walk along the corridor. I’d only intended to run eight miles so I’m behind schedule. I have to rush to get out on time.
When I’m ready not long after, I walk briskly through Brindley Place to the French bistro where I’ve agreed to meet Gemma. I see her standing outside the entrance, checking her phone. She looks up and smiles at me. I’m still sweating from my run, though I’ve showered and washed my hair. My heart is pounding in my chest. I’m exhausted and looking forward to some food and a tall, cold drink. Gemma puts her phone away. I see her get ready to embrace me.
Then she freezes.
I realise I’ve stopped walking too. A look of concern sweeps across Gemma’s face as she stares at me.
A strange noise rumbles in my ears.
And then everything turns black…
It’s several hours later when I’m finally aware of what has happened. I’m in a hospital bed. Gemma and Jason are by my side. I’ve had a seizure. I’m told I pushed myself too far, that it was inevitable. It makes me angry to hear that so soon after the event.
Gemma recounts what happened. How I stopped walking and made a strange gargling noise as my body stiffened then started to shudder out of control. I was frothing at the mouth like a crazed animal. She didn’t get to me in time to stop me plummeting to the ground. There’s a gash on the back of my head that’s been stitched. I bit my tongue too and it is badly swollen inside my mouth.
Beside the embarrassment and anger at myself, my immediate thought as I lay there in the hospital bed is one of immense fear. That just when I thought I was on top, I’ve blown it. Perhaps I’ve just taken several steps back in my recovery.
And banging my head? Can my brain take any more blows before it packs in altogether? Have I just lost another slice of Dani Stephens?
Did I ever really get her back?
I can hear Jason talking to me, but I’m not processing the words. Then the room falls deathly silent.
My eyes fall on Jason, then Gemma. They share a look. They both half-smile, awkwardly. They look like they want to be pleased about something but don’t know if they should.
What on earth could they have to be pleased about?
I only realise what the issue is when my arm reflexively lifts up to wipe my face.
To wipe away the tears that are falling.
Tears.
How long is it since I cried? Since the last time I felt this kind of emotion? In fact, the last time I even came close I tried my hardest to shut it away. This time I don’t. I let it come. I let it all out. I sob. I cry. Strangely it feels good to be sad, and the smiles on Jason’s and Gemma’s faces grow.
Perhaps the old me really is somewhere inside still.