Chuck Norris, Bears and X-Ray Vision. OH MY!

I've put on this "cavernoma" ruse long enough. It's time for me to come clean. Here is the true story of how I got my TBI -

Let's go back to early May of 2009. I was a typical suburban dude - married with a young daughter, good job as a teacher/coach, house in the suburbs, etc. Later on that month, while driving home from work, I came across a giant bear (Bruce the bear) chasing a group of orphans.  I spent my youth wrestling bears in the wilds of Montana, so I stopped to render assistance.

You might be saying, "Jarrett, there aren't any bears in North Texas."
So that we may proceed, let's assume that there are bears in North Texas (now that I think about it, it might have been a VERY LARGE squirrel).

Either way, a large furry animal was chasing after some orphans (hmm...they might have been leaves *shrugs shoulders*).

I sprang from my car like so much Chuck Norris. I then willed my car to pull over to the curb and park. 

I ran and got between the squirrel bear and the orphan leaves. Bruce the squirrel bear reared up on his hind legs and started pulling acorns out of a pouch in his abdomen (perhaps he was a squirrel bear kangaroo? A squearoo) and throwing them at me. Imagine a pitching machine at the batting cages times 57 (give or take).

I deftly evaded the oncoming oak tree fruits (The Matrix style) until the squearoo ran out of acorns, I then ran up to him and we engaged in fisticuffs. I quickly realized why I called him Bruce.The throw-down has since become legend in Sherman, known locally as "The Thrilla in Sherman-uh."

I dealt what I thought was the fatal blow and turned to tend to the traumatized orphan leaves, but that scoundrel of a squearoo picked up a nearby acorn and launched at the back of my head. It struck me, but didn't seem to phase me.

Aside from a slight headache for the next week, I felt fine. Then, the night before I was to meet the president at a ceremony organized by NASA (I don't know?) to thank me for saving the orphan leaves, the headache became more of a head explosion.
The next day, I stayed home. I started vomiting and my headache only got worse. I went to the doctor, threw up in the waiting room. After the upchuck situation I was swiftly lead to an exam room.

The doctor suggested I go to the ER to get a CT scan. I scoffed at the notion of relying on such technology for a diagnosis. I suggested looking into a mirror and using my x-ray vision. I did this and drew an exact replica of this image on a post-it note.

From this very detailed drawing, the doctor informed me that the acorn to the head must have caused some sort of head trauma. Given the location and severity of the trauma, he suggested calling for a helicopter to take more to a hospital in Dallas. Again, I scoffed.

I then lifted from the ground like so much Superman and flew to Zale Lipshy in Dallas.

It feels great to finally get that off my chest. Before you ask, the flying and x-ray vision nerves are in the Pons - that's why I can't do them anymore.

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

The Curious Case of the Impaled Foot and the Inaugural Terd

I'm not sure if I should joke about this. If it offends you, make believe I didn't write it or that it says something you really like (e.g. it's free car day at every car dealer ever, or the forecast tomorrow calls for $100 bills to rain down all day, and so on).

Here goes - I think I found way for men to experience the pain of childbirth. Listen, I got a shot in my foot and it freaking hurt! I've been through a lot: brain surgery, implant surgery, braces, middle school, middle school with braces; I can truly say that nothing prepared me for a shot in the middle of my foot. Think of it like this - a needle shaped object pierces a very sensitive part of your body, we'll say...the back of your knee. Scratch that, the bottom of your foot is pretty sensitive, we'll go with that. When you can wrap your mind around that, you'll have a pretty good idea of what it is to be STABBED on the bottom of your foot - I'll never be the same.

- And now, page two -

What I'm about to write will begin a new segment here at CavernofMyMind, Inc. I like words, I like efficiency (I also like donuts, but unfortunately, they don't figure into this). Let's say that efficiency lay with words and begat a child, that child would be named "Fun with Words". Coincidentally, that is also the name of this new segment.

Technically, the new words conceived this way will always be a cross between two words, this makes it a term, but that word is boring. Therefore, I propose the term "terd" (term + word). The use of this term is something of a paradox - "terd" is itself a term that is composed of two words. In essence, "terd"is the first terd.

The terd for today's Fun with Words is "bangry". This terd is the lovechild of bored and angry. The library lady where I work was telling a story about her mom being "bored and angry". Being the efficiency expert that I am, I conceived "bangry" on the spot. Think of all the time she could've saved if she had said one word instead of two. The effective use of this terd is as follows: let's say you're a dude, and your girlfriend drags you to a girlie play that you have no interest in. You're already angry for having to go and now you have to watch a boring play. The artsy emo chick at the concession booth who wants a part in the play, but doesn't get one so she works the concession booth to be "close to the magic,” asks how you are doing. You reply, "I'm bangry." With the time you saved from saying one word instead of two, you'll be able to get back to your seat in time for the second half of the play. Doing this will certainly make you "bangrier" (or would it be "more bangry"?).

This concludes the inauguration of Fun with Words, and this blog entry. I hope you've enjoyed it and don't come away bangry.

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

Blog of future past

Happy September 10th everyone! I was going to make a joke about this seemingly prosaic day being somehow significant, but it turns out that the US defeated the British Navy at the Battle of Lake Erie during the War of 1812 on this day in 1813 (thanks, Wikipedia!). Since winning is more gooder than losing, I certify September 10 as a day worthy of remembrance. Perhaps, like me, you're thinking such a certification from the likes of me has little merit. You are free to forget this very important event - it's a free country. If I recall correctly, the Battle of Lake Erie was fought because the United Statesians wanted to remember the Alamo, which wouldn't occur for 24 years in a state that didn't exist in the legal sense. The British thought it was silly to remember a battle that hadn't occurred yet in a yet to be annexed state, so they did the logical thing and tried to capture a great lake. Why Lake Erie? The British, being practical blokes, decided to use the alphabet. It turns out that the letter 'E' comes before the letters 'H', 'M', 'O' and 'S'. Naturally, Lake Erie was the obvious choice. Had the British won, they would have taken away our right to remember things that hadn't happened in states yet to be established. So remember (if you like), if someone tells you not to remember something, challenge this bloke to fisticuffs, seek the nearest lake that comes first alphabetically, and throw down.

ITEM! Time makes fools of us all and I'm no exception. It is no longer September 10th, it is some later date, but I dare not record it here for fear that I will be late in publishing this entry. Rest assured that it's not September 10th.

Now, let's go to Jarrett for other news.

Thanks, Jarrett.

September 3rd marked the third anniversary of a local resident's brain surgery. When asked about this milestone, the resident - named Jarrett, had this to say, "The time has gone by so quickly, yet so much has happened." I asked him to comment on how he's coping with his new life; his response - "I like to solve problems. This condition makes it more difficult to do just about everything. I try to find solutions that will help me complete these tasks with greater efficacy. In essence, I get to solve problems all day, I like that."

Back to you, Jarrett.

Thanks, Jarrett. What's an eff-ik-ussy?

I wondered that myself, Jarrett. I didn't have the chance to ask, but I suspect it's a brand name of duct tape; duct tape makes everything easier!

That it does, Jarrett. In sports news, two teams competed in a game of some sort and one of those teams won, while the other lost - the margin of victory was 11 goal units...

I've started an autobiography and will mention some parts here as a sounding board. The premise is not simply "I am born, I grew up." I tried that and got bored to sleep (which was fine, I enjoy sleeping). I decided that, given the statement above about my difficulty with everyday tasks, the book would center around how annoying things are. Don't get it? HOW ANNOYING! I'll add 'explaining things' to my list. It still includes details about my life, they are anecdotally mentioned in relation to the annoyance they are associated with. I'll just jump right in -

Annoyance, the first: plastic wrap. The inspiration for the topic of my book was born out of taking the plastic wrap off a Hot Pocket (sausage marinara, of course!).Before the brain injury (hereafter referred to as BBI), plastic wrap was just a minor obstacle between me and my food, but now it's like trying to break into a bank vault.  Aside from the barrier that I can't chew through, there's a very specific combination of unwrapping that must be observed or, like with a bank vault, you'll have to start over again; there have been a few occasions when I've considered eating the shrink wrap on a sandwich. Opening the bag inside a cereal box practically requires the jaws of life. When I eat the last of a box of cereal, a small part of me dies inside; not only have I consumed the last of my box of Special K Red Berries, but I'll need to break out my chainsaw to open a new box.

Like many items and/or actions on this list, this annoyance stems from my lack of fine motor skills. Being "all thumbs" is not so bad when doing things like clumsily scratching your dog's head with your left hand, but that lack of manual dexterity is nothing but cruel when you're hungry and your PBJ is wrapped in a layer of plastic armor.

As I understand it, the pons on the brainstem (the location of my hemorrhage/surgery), is the "bridge" (pons = Latin for bridge; thanks again, Wikipedia!) between the cerebral cortex and the cerebellum. The cerebellum is responsible for fine tuning the movements that the frontal lobe has decided to make. Think of it this way - you tell a friend to tell another friend to meet you at your house at 7:15 with 12 Buds. The doorbell rings at 5:17, you open the door to find your friend standing there with 21 potatoes ("spuds"). He got the message, but the info was a little mixed up. In the case of plastic wrap, my frontal lobe tries tells my cerebellum to help with the finer movements. The pons, responsible for delivering that message, mistakes the words "finer" with "shaky" and "help" with "cause to be more clumsy." Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

This entry has taken far too long, I will publish more annoyances later.

Until then, ciao!

@JarrettLWilson

The Sh*t List, Fart #1

I make a lot of jokes. People say I inspire them because I am still jovial despite my situation. Being funny is nice, inspiring people is also nice. Truthfully, living with a brain injury is not nice. This blog will be my pity party and shit list all rolled into one. I was really going to try not to make light, but the way I like to combine words has inexorably led me to tell you that this entry could also be called the "shit party".

We'll get this party started shortly - there will be shit everywhere, I promise. Before we commence, I must tell you that I will NOT pull punches. If you think that I'm talking about you - get over it, and while you're at it get over yourself. Also, I've decided that I can't stifle my need to make jokes. I'm not very good at being angry, but I'm pretty good at making with the funny, so I'll use that to bolster my angst. Here goes:

1.I hate how I CONSTANTLY think about trying to walk normally or that I should be using my left hand. I could be thinking about something fun to do with my daughter or how to increase the life of a lightbulb, but I devote most of my immediate thought to making my left hamstring work so my left leg won't snap forward - it doesn't work, I've been like this for three years now. The only thing that has really changed is my thinking that if I focus on it it'll improve. More on this later, I'm going to use the topic at hand to segue into...

2. I HATE HATE HATE it when people tell me to be patient. Here's the difference between patience for someone like me vs. everyone else. Everyone else orders something from Amazon, it comes in three days later and they complain about how it took forever. Someone like me put that same order in three years ago and we're still waiting. While we're on the subject of the stupid things people do/say...

3. I can't stand it when people say "everything happens for a reason" or "it's all part of God's plan". I've heard people say this when they lose their job or something like that - which sucks, I won't dispute that. But try losing - your ability to do what you love, your wife, all thoughts of life as you once envisioned it, articulate physical movement, and the voice you once had. Why did this happen? As near as I can figure it happened so these people could stroke themselves by offering platitudes to someone while saying "I'm glad I'm not that guy.”

The shit list is certainly longer, but I need to clean my apartment. That'll be #4 - I hate how it takes so long to do everything.

@JarrettLWilson

Potpourri

...And Jarrett decided to blog and title it "Potpourri", and he saw that it was good. He named it thus because he will ramble on aimlessly - that is to say, there will be no unifying theme. Words will spew from his mind the way vomit might spew from the gullet of a drunkard. Like the contents of that upchuck, the thoughts of this blog will spill out in the order that they are cued. First, that ham sandwich from breakfast, then the Elmer's glue he at when he couldn't find anything to eat. Oh! And here comes a fiesta - the beef chimichanga, rice and beans he had for lunch. All of this is surrounded by a brownish green sauce composed of the Equate chocolate weight loss shake he had just before binging, bile and the various alcoholic beverages he has imbibed.

The Academy is turning up the music, suggesting that I wrap up my extremely wordy and verbose intro. That being the case, I shall now vomit with the written word.

The following could be a true account of how tangential my thinking can be: Neil Young's "Keep on Rockin' in the Free World" starts playing in my car. I hear the line "Keep on Rockin in the Free World" - my mind skips to Sean Connery in "The Hunt for Red October". He's giving a speech to his crew and says that they will conduct missile drills while the Americans listen to their rock and roll. From there, Sean takes me to his role as Henry Jones, Sr. in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and we run through some of the lines of that one. After that, I hitched a ride with Harrison Ford to Raiders of the Lost Ark. In that film, Indiana's arch nemesis is a French archeologist named Belloq. Now I'm thinking of France and would like some French fries. I go to McDonald's to satisfy this craving, but need gas for the car. I drive to the nearest gas station and see how much the gas costs and get upset. Moral of the story? Gas costs too much.

I hate the microwave, it always has the correct time which is ALWAYS at least +30 minutes from the time I would prefer or expect.

The playlist on my phone always works its way around to "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" by the Stones that Roll. It's symbolic - I can't get no satisfaction from that song over and over again.

ITEM! I just remembered that I did a dye test and am happy to report that I got an A. It was a tough one, too; at one point he showed me a piece of fabric with a bright color on it. The doctor asked me "what color is this?" I really wanted to say blue, but I went with my gut and said yellow. I jest. The dye test showed that there was no obstruction in the catheter. As such, I will not have to have surgery. This further suggests that I have a VERY high tolerance for Baclofen. This fact is actually very annoying, I have to get refilled about once a month - when I first got the pump, it was my understanding that I'd need a refill every 4-6 months. As annoying as this is, I feel an odd sense of pride about this abnormally high dose - I can only speculate as to why. My guess is that it's related to my college days, where being able to consume a lot of *something* made you cooler. That's neither here nor there (what is?), the current plan is to try something called "flex dosing" - this is where the pump puts out more medicine at certain times and less medicine at other times (obviously). If you catch me between 6:30am and 6:30pm, I'll be relaxed and noodley, after 6:30pm I'll be as stiff as a board. If you catch me after midnight, I'll be in bed so get out of my room, weirdo.

One last thing - it's HOT outside (I should be a weatherman).

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

I can't think of a clever title, just read!

The time has come for me to write another entry in my blog. If you are reading this then I've published this entry and you are reading it - you are probably aware of this, but I told you anyway.

In medical news, Jarrett has been scheduled to undergo a dye study. This is a simple procedure where the patient stares at a series of shirts that have been tie-dyed and describes them (similar to a Rorschach test). This could be as simple as describing the color (for instance, "blue") to going into great detail about your feelings (for instance, "this shirt makes me feel blue"). Raise your hand if you believed that. Now put your hand down, no one can see you, weirdo. Here is what I understand a dye test to be - First, some background: in my abdomen lives a hockey puck. This hockey puck is connected to a tube that leads to my spine. The hockey puck, by some process that is best described as magic, transmits magic juice to my spine via that tube. The people that dress like doctors and use big doctor words (i.e. "magic tube", "magic hockey puck" and "magic juice" and so on), they tell me that I might possibly have a kink in the magic tube that leads from the magic hockey puck to my spine, thereby obstructing the flow of magic juice. If this is the case, I blame that dark wizard I saw driving past me in a Daewoo the other day (I don't know his name, for purposes of this blog I'll call him "Stephen". Aside: if your name is Stephen and I've offended you, I apologize, all the Stephens I've known have been good people with the exception of the Daewoo driving dark wizard). Back to the point, if there is a kink in the magic tube, they'll have to use surgery magic to replace the magic tube with another more magical (magicaler?) tube. If no kink- I will continue to receive a dose of Baclofen that would turn an elephant's legs to Jello.

In other news, Jarrett is going to get serious for a short time (not long, I promise). I make a lot of jokes, I like to laugh. I suppose I could let this condition defeat me - in many ways, it has. The one thing I can do to say "up yours" to my situation is to keep laughing and think happy thoughts. These aren't easy to do. There are times when I want to crawl out of my own skin and, if only for one moment, experience life as I once did. The more I think about it, the more it seems to me that the "old Jarrett" is ready to emerge, but I've forgotten how to be that guy - I've been locked inside this stiff, clumsy body for three years now.
I do tend to dwell on the things I can't do and get angry when I see a dad effortlessly tossing his kid into the pool. However, at the end of the day, I'm thankful to be alive to watch my daughter grow up and I'm hopeful that one day "old Jarrett" will emerge and I will know how to greet him.

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

Gas is Good!

Happy June 30th to you all! This is a very special day. Today is the fifth anniversary of the June 30th that happened five years ago! Why is that day so special? I can't say for sure, but being the "glass half full" kinda guy that I am, I think it's entirely possible that something awesome happened that day. Perhaps I had some donuts or I found $20 on the ground. 

ITEM! We interrupt this trip down possible memory lane tO bring you breaking news. It turns out that cars need gas to function properly. My older sister, Jessica, and I decided to put this "fact" to the test. Turns out, the conventional wisdom on this subject is true; much the same as a sandwich needs mayonnaise (not Miracle Whip, dammit!), a car needs gas (not Miracle Whip, dammit!) Fortunately, we were very close to my parents' abode and a source of that precious fossil fuel. We hoofed it to the nearest station of gas and other modern conveniences (Twinkies, air fresheners, Miracle Whip (dammit!) etc.), and procured the world's most expensive gas can and filled it with dead dinosaur juice. A very nice fella by the name of Cornelius (I don't know his name, I just thought it'd be cool if that was his name), offered to drive Jessica back to the car. I waited while Cornelius drove her to the car. Moments later she drove up and picked me up at the gas station. Isn't gasoline great? (statement sponsored by Exxon Mobil). 

Fast forward to today (Saturday, June 30th). Jessica and I made it to my parents' house and are celebrating the fifth anniversary of me possibly eating donuts or picking money up from the ground. To help commemorate this (potentially) awesome occasion, family has come from as far away as Kansas City(!)
The multitude of visitors might have something to do with an annual fourth of July celebration at casa de Wilson and/or all the food and booze. Either way, we have to "Stack" people on top of each other bc there are so many! (You see, that's funny bc my mother's half of the family has the last name 'Stack'. As such, Stack has a double meaning - to make a pile as for storage purposes and people with the last name 'Stack'.) Why did I explain all that? Bc I'm trying to make this blog entry longer through artificial means, a technique known as "rambling". For instance, did you know that Shel Silverstein wrote "Boy Named Sue"? 

The problem I have when I start a blog entry is that I don't know when to stop. So I'm going to try something new.

FIN