I was sleeping when the incident happened five months ago. The kids were in their loft on the other side of our humble 420-square-foot cabin. I remember thinking it sounded like sleet on the side of the cabin, not an uncommon occurrence in February in Maine. But it hadn’t been sleet. I dozed off unaware that my life would change over the next few minutes.
That when it hit me, all at once. I know that’s a saying, but I mean it.
The charming knotty pine boards had peeled away from the wall with help from a heavy bookshelf attached about four-feet directly above me and parallel to the entire length of my body. As it came down in the darkness I thought the ceiling was caving in. As I turned to leap to the floor I was hit again in the face. I dug myself out of whatever was happening and through myself to the floor as Kevin felt around for the light switch over the bed, surely as confused as I was.
I don’t remember screaming, but I did loudly enough to wake young Danny and his big brother, James, who was home visiting from college. James later told me he scrambled over Danny, completely upending his camping mat because he was so worried.
The light went on and I had thrown myself to the floor, I’m not sure in which order. The bed was strewn with books, a box of candle-making supplies, and other odds and ends. I asked Kevin to see if I’d split my head. I don’t recall helping clean up, but I did. Kevin told the kids to stay up in the loft. I assured them I was ok as I pawed through the freezer on my hands and knees. I took out a hamburger patty and began the process of tenderly icing the growing lumps. I know I fell asleep after asking Siri if it was okay to fall asleep after a concussion and placing a patty on the biggest lump.
The next morning I was sore all over. The entire right side of my body hurt. Danny gently parted my hair to apply arnica bruise gel to the three tender lumps. I had a scratch from under my eyebrow to under my ear on the right side of my face. Danny applied healing lotion to that too. He likes to take care of his momma. James made my coffee. Kevin doted on me, more than usual. That was Sunday.
The next day I decided to go to work, but they sent me home. I remember not knowing how to get home. Kevin said he picked me up, but I don’t think he did. I’m full of contradictions and misremembered details. Maybe it was that I didn’t know how to get there. Either way, I went to the doctor and ended up spending my next six weeks in the equivalent of a blanket fort.
Any bright light would produce a ghost in my vision. The brighter, the longer lasting. When I first tried to drive at night, the headlights left traces that didn’t fade fast enough, and I couldn’t see around them after a while.
I had suffered from a fair amount of migraines and with them light sensitivity, but this was a whole other animal. I heard things in my head that I knew were not there. Buzzing, humming like machinery in the distance. When I closed my eyes a throbbing brightness lit up my vision, it was batter to sit in darkness with my eyes open then that. I listened to podcasts and took up drawing and knitting like I used to.
The music was all wrong.
The bands I had long-loved sounded like crappy covers. The beat was too fast, much faster than before. It was garbled garbage. Music had always been a big part of my life. I had playlists for every activity; snowshoeing, milking goats, our trek up north to the solar eclipse. I would only enjoy a select few of those songs in the coming months. My morning commute used to be “Metal Monday”, Tuesday was Sublime and old school Reggae, Wednesday was Lizzo and KIL. Now it’s Otis Redding, Adele, Amy Winehouse and Bill Withers.
Even my favorite colors and sense of style have changed. I used to like drab green and brown, now it’s pink and blue. I’m less interested in long walks in the woods and riding ATVs and more interested in cute shoes and dresses. A couple weeks before my 40th birthday I had my first manicure.
Black flies are more annoying. Mushroom foraging is less fun. Remote off-grid living is taking a toll on me. I loathe my 45-minute drive to work everyday. It feels less worth it. I’m beginning to wish camp was a weekend novelty, not a full time way of life.
I’m slowly slipping into normalcy. With super cute shoes on.
I say the wrong word a dozen times a day. I was at a doctor’s appointment and said 300 pound book instead of 300 page book a few weeks ago. I do it sometimes without noticing too. At the appointment a specialist did eye tests, balance tests, a psychologist examined me who said she could bring memories back. I had a terrible margarine for two days after. I was working outside the next day in my garden, and fell over twice. It might be a classic ‘it gets worse before it gets better’ deal, but I’m not interested in letting this take hold of my life any longer. The brain is a big unknown. I cancelled my followups the next day. I have missed enough work and suffered enough headaches.
I’m much improved, I think.
