Freedom
By Shana Ogren Lourey
I hate doctors. I always have. I hate someone else being in control of my body. It is typical for me to ask many, many questions during appointments – "What is this for? What's the purpose of this?" I only want to be a patient in the same way that I am willing to be a student in a classroom—actively, interactively, and collaboratively.
Now, of course I don't know what my doctors know. I also don't know what my teachers know. But I know myself. So I know how I feel. And I know how I learn. I know how I work and how I don't work.
A year and a half ago, I got "broken," as a friend of mine describes. I became severely brain injured from a car accident, and I have had to see a variety of doctors since—neurologists, speech therapists, primary care doctors, optometrists, epilepsy specialists, physical therapists, psychologists, dental surgeons, acupuncturists, and neuropsychiatrists. They all try to rehabilitate me. To make me whole again.
The nueropsychiatrist was the hardest doctor to see. My brain and my thoughts were tested. I spent four hours taking small quizzes to assess my sense of focus and measure my ability to memorize.
The tests were hard, and I knew that they shouldn't be. Just practicing trying to be normal depressed me. Since injuring my brain, I knew was no longer normal. I could tell you that. Proving it by seeing how I now failed at tasks did nothing to enable my recovery. I've always hated assessment. Especially when I don't ace it.
As the testing sessions concluded, the nueropsychiaitrist ran through my paperwork and my testing scores. The meeting was finished with the strong suggestion and diagnosis that I should not make any important decisions for the next two years.
I found this to be the hardest part of my brain injury—the feeling that my ability to make choices had been taken away from me. What kind of life is a life without important decisions?
I'll never know, because I didn't follow the diagnosis. Instead, I got married and I became pregnant. I believe getting pregnant is the biggest decision I have ever made in my life. My baby will be born on the second year anniversary of my "broken brain" accident.
Clearly I have violated suggested doctor treatment. But that's okay. Being traumatically brain injured doesn't mean I'm not still Shana, me, the one who doesn't always follow the rules, the tests, or the suggestions, but goes by her own book.
Some things don't change, no matter how broken you may have become.
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