The Ghost of Christmas Past
It has been seven years since the ghost of Christmas present waltzed out the door.
Without knocking-which would be out of character for a ghost-but certainly without invitation-in walks the ghost of Christmas past-not long past-my past; taking up permanent residency.
Every year it lingers just outside the fringe of my consciousness, around the corner, creeping out of the shadows and into my present like an unwanted guest. Most of us are haunted by unsolicited memories of some sort, but my ghost haunts me with the memories I wish I had-the ones that I lost. It happened on New Year's day 2001, skiing Mary Jane in Winter Park. I took a bad fall on the catwalk, sustained a concussion, didn't know how badly I was hurt, got up and attempted to get to the lodge but skied over a ravine and acquired a closed head injury: AKA, TBI (traumatic brain injury), and changed my life forever.
This Christmas I felt sentimental nostalgia resonating in the jingling of bells attached to my front door wreath. It wafted through the air as I baked goodies, and lingered in the soft light of the candles that graced my mantle. Anticipation of my first Christmas with my new guy, mingled with the mirth of old friendships created a concoction of dazzling delight. I felt more ready for Christmastime than I had in many a long year.
The stockings were hung, the pine strung, the tree in glorious array. Dangling overhead is the magical mistletoe, tied up with a big silver, red, and green bow.
I hung it between the dining room and kitchen where I knew there would be loads of traffic and lots of opportunity to sneak a kiss with my honey or hug a long time friend. Like the Burl Ives-speaking snowman on Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, I shivered every time I stepped under it. I didn't want to think about it, but I knew my TBI lingered just out of reach-somewhere overhead-with threats of the reappearing ghost called "fatigue."
Still, this year, more than ever, hope filled the air. On several occasions I paused in the midst of my harried activities to smile deep within and announce to anyone or no one, "I'm doing SO well this year!"
With a little help from my newfound friends; neuropathy, cognitive, behavioral, occupational, and speech therapists. I faced off with my nemesis: Being torn between the old and new me (the person I was before TBI, and the one I have been forced to become)-- and decided that I could handle both.
I checked my energy gauge, it appeared full, so I swung into gear-full steam ahead! Guests came and went. Having a long list of "must do's" I began with a cozy fireside evening with my boyfriend accompanied by Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol on the tube.
Next was a white elephant party, a smashing success. Friends filled up every inch of empty space in my living room and we laughed ourselves silly over who ended up with the child's toy handcuffs from Restoration Hardware. The following evening I had another group of friends over for movie night. We all squeezed onto the couch and love seat and ate pizza, chips, fudge, and cookies while we watched the main attraction, "The Nativity."
No one was in any hurry to give up their snuggly seat and weather the blowing snow, so we decided on another "must" in order to kick-off the season. Hope rings anew when I hear the lovely Clarice sing, "
There's always tomorrow for dreams to come true . . ." Any guesses? Rudolph of course!
Christmas Eve arrived.
I awoke early, put on some coffee, donned my apron, and started baking pies to accompany my Christmas dinner the next day. Cranking up the CD, I sang along with Bing, "
I'll be home for Christmas you can count on me . . ."
I had special plans with my guy and wanted to have everything ready by the time he arrived.
When he called to say that he was leaving work early, I was delighted. He walked into the kitchen-looking all that-and asked what I wanted him to do. I smiled seductively and handed him an apron-which he declined, as he started washing dishes.
We had claimed Christmas Eve as our special night-knowing Christmas day was for family and friends. Our dinner menu, a sumptuous grilled crown of lamb would be topped off with a dessert of champagne and strawberries. It was promising to be the best Christmas Eve ever. We planned to go to the afternoon church service, giving us plenty of time to relax and enjoy our evening. However, a trip to the nail and hair salon, and to the grocery store, pushed our scheduled back until by 7 o'clock we still hadn't eaten and ended up walking into church late. By this time we were getting cranky, but we paused to remember those who were less fortunate; without food and shelter, on this of all nights. We were happy to count our blessings and to reverence the meaning for the season.
After dinner I tried to relax, but was wound up tighter than a drum. Frustrated from my frenzy, and wanting to get on to more important things, my boyfriend gave me that "look" which told me to get a grip. I went upstairs and changed into a lovely red and black silk dress that I had chosen for our special evening and sauntered downstairs, surprising him wildly. His passionate embrace told me that I had given him a very special gift.
He cracked the champagne and toasted our first Christmas together.Snuggling on the couch, he dropped bits of chocolate dipped strawberries into my mouth. I put my flute down and he wrapped his arms around me. Neither of us noticed when the ghost of Christmas past crept into the room. Resting my head on his shoulder, I fell fast asleep-not part of the plan. It was the first indicator that I was sliding down the slippery slope toward the dark side of fatigue.
My sleep disturbed by haunting restlessness, I awoke with a tone of regret in facing the day.
I wanted to hit the pause button or put Christmas on hold all together. I just need more time to rest! Alas, I had pears to poach and a turkey to stuff.
My boyfriend arrived at about 10 o'clock and found me elbow deep in stuffing. Announcing that he was going to pick up his kids and bring them over to open presents, I went full swing into gear getting everything ready before they arrived.
The pressure was mounting and the fatigue, starting at my ankles was slowly making its way to my mid-section. I felt my steps move more slowly and my thinking was blurred. Words came with hesitation, edgy and easily angered I threatened to blow a gasket on my undeserving guy. Too late, I realized that I hadn't task analyzed my day (a must for TBI survivors) so I quickly grabbed a white board and chiseled out the dinner menu so that I would at least remember what I had planned for my guests.
In the middle of the gift opening ceremony my dinner guests arrived and I was nowhere ready-but smiled with forced energy as I greeted them at the door,
"Merry Christmas. Come in.
Can I take your coat?Would you like some Wassail?" The day went merrily along as I reached deep into the archives of my past pulling out the remnants of what I know I used to be on such an occasion as this.
On the second day of Christmas I took my energy pulse again and decided that I was ready for more merry-making, so I called my girlfriend whose husband was out of town on business, and invited her to bring her wee-ones to spend the night. Things were going smoothly until the 4-year-old spilled wine on my white couch-from there on it was one mishap after the other, but we laughed it off and curled up on the couch with the baby and chatted about our plans for the New Year.
She had to work the next day so I kept the kids for a couple of hours. After the scrambled eggs were mopped up from the kitchen floor and the smashed cereal vacuumed in the living room, she arrived to welcome arms-mostly mine. By this time, an indescribable numbness resonated throughout my system. My fingers and toes started cramping, and I struggled to maintain a cohesive thought.
I was over-tired. About that time another girlfriend showed up smiling widely and begging for leftovers.
While they sat in the kitchen eating pie and drinking coffee, I went upstairs to take a hot shower, but would have preferred to climb into bed.
A sinking feeling, like a water-logged sponge began settling over me. Still I pressed on engaging in conversation and chuckling over girl chat.
When we said our goodbye's I closed the door behind them and leaned against it for a long moment, too exhausted to move. Finding my way to the floor beside the fireplace I curled up into the fetal position-my TBI fatigue was here-as it were-to stay.
It is nearly impossible to describe TBI fatigue. All of us, from time to time, are over-tired, over-stressed, and worn-slap-out. If you can relate to those feelings then you are an inch of the way close to comprehending what TBI fatigue is like. Because your brain is the conductor for where feelings, thoughts, and emotions are processed, it tells you when you hurt, are sad, or feel tired. As it turns out, there isn't anything to tell the brain when it is hurting. TBI fatigue is a phenomenon that medical science has very little answers to.
Because it is trapped inside the broken portion of the brain, it is left to the TBI survivor to describe-which is nearly impossible to do when you can't even think. Suffice it to say that it consumes you from the inside-out. The Betty Clooney Foundation states, "
Mental Fatigue or Cognitive Fatigue is a special kind of fatigue that can happen after a TBI. Somebody with mental fatigue might say, "After a while, I just can't concentrate anymore. I just can't think." It's possible that this happens because the TBI forces you to concentrate harder to do tasks that were easier before the injury. Just like hard physical work tires you out, so does hard mental work. Unfortunately, mental or cognitive fatigue is the kind of fatigue that we know the least about, even though it causes problems for so many people with TBI."
As I packed up my Christmas decorations and prepared to return them to storage, I placed this story on top of the bin. I won't remember how far down I spiraled from the fatigue, I may not even remember what I did the Christmas of 2007. But maybe, next year when I pull out my decorations and prepare for another holiday, it will serve as a reminder to be more prepared to entertain my unwanted ghost.