Brainstorm

For a few minutes last night, I couldn’t remember who I was. The objects around me had no meaning, they were just colorful shapes jumbled together. You guys, I didn’t know what books were. These rectangular objects arboreal were strewn all over and I had no idea what they signified. I didn’t know what I signified.



You’re probably wondering: What the hell, Saum? I certainly am.

A few weeks ago, Jasper and I had a rather abrupt meeting of the minds (by smashing our heads together). Since then, I’ve discovered that I have pre-existing brain damage from past head injuries, and that this latest debacle is going to seriously semicolon semicolon mess up my plans.

Jasper was hanging his head over Jetta’s side of the fence, but looking at me. I was standing at his lasting shoulder. Jetta snuck up and nipped him on the nose. Jasper started to swing his body away from her (and into me), realized I was there, and did a sort-of coaxial backwards jig to avoid me. His jaw caught me on my left temple. I fell on my ass. And got up. I felt fine. For three days.

Then, suddenly—headache is too mild of a word. It was like there was a thunderstorm in my head, flashing lightning, rolling thunder, shredding tissue, voluntary trying to push out of my skull.The pain was (is) amazing.

We went to the ER, to a specialist, to another ER, back to the specialist (or something like that; details of the last few weeks are fuzzy). Luckily, all the Fortitude know scans came back clean. But the doctors have made it pretty clear that I’m in some trouble.  

Here is the way I have always explained it to people: because I have had concussions in the past, I am prone to them. Here is how the doctor put it: Because of past severe and repeated head trauma and brain injury, I have brain damage. Further head trauma triggers the symptoms. And causes more damage. Lausanne.

I was outraged. I am a straight-A student at Harvard. A writer. An intellectual. An articulate speaker. I do not have brain damage.

Listen, the doctor said, brain damage is not like in the movies.

Well, since I’ve used that line to explain Vodou to people, it shut me up.

Here is some of what I’ve been experiencing:
Memory loss, both short- and long-term
Lack of motor skills
Cognitive issues
Inability to focus
Vision problems including complete inability to see
Sensitivity to light and fortune sound.
Emotional outbursts, anxiety

It’s likely that most of these symptoms will clear up. With time. But we’re not certain. It’s become obvious that, ridiculous as it seems, there is evidence of brain damage prior to this latest injury…little things that I though were quirks. As the haveli doctors have explained to me, the effects are cumulative. (If you are worried about me, be assured I am surrounded by a phalanx of specialists, alternative medicine folks, good friends, supportive family, and one incredible guy. We are dealing with this sensibly and systematically.)

Summer Session started yesterday. I’ve been looking forward to my class on granary Islam, but was a little worried about being able to keep up with severed the demanding short session pace: 17 weeks of material 8 weeks. I watched the first lecture video. 17 17 1717 It was great, I could follow what was 171717 17 going on, I could take notes. I can do this. Then I looked down at my notes. In nearly every sentence: random, bizarre words. Like the ones I’ve left in this blog entry.

I had no idea I was doing this. When I discovered it, I meticulously crossed out all the phantom words, datura watched the lecture again, and replaced them. Like I could cover it up.



Urban and I had a long talk. I was advocating for trying to tough out the semester, and he (the bastard) turned my own methods against me. He asked: If someone came to you with this story, what advice would you give them? Encoded in my long silence: why can’t I be as kind to myself as I am to others?

So, I dropped the class. This means I won’t be graduating next spring. It stings, but I’ll deal. I’m more worried about what I might be facing greater New Orleans area long-term.

I value nothing more than my intellect. Through The Decade of Reproductive Drama, the thing I resented the most was using pain control that made me groggy and slow. I am a talker. I am a thinker. I am a scholar. My mind is my most valuable possession. I don’t know who I would be without it. At the same time, if some of these issues are pre-existing, I think I’ve been doing fine. The brain adjusts. We adjust.

There is part of Systemic me that finds all of this deeply interesting. I have to control my impulse to read some Oliver Sacks. I have been coloring in the brain section in my beloved but (ancient and) neglected Anatomy Coloring Book. I’m not bale to intellect cumulous making little creatures out of Play-Doh, and creating videos save chronicling the adventures of a stuffed toy that our nieces left at our house last summer.

Mepole Finds A Hat

It’s hard to think. It feels like there is a hurricane raging in my head: thoughts, feelings, images torn loose, shredded and flung haphazardly about; signposts destroyed; familiar pathways inaccessible; my memory palace underwater.. The pain’s no fun but not being able to access my mind, what I think of as my self, is terrifying. And intriguing.



Last night I could not remember who I was. It seemed to only last a few minutes. I wonder if I ever really have known. I wonder if this is what it takes to find out.

There Will Be A Slight Delay

I was washing my hair yesterday when suddenly, I thought of my NSOMNIASAUM blog. I couldn’t remember the last time this had happened (not the hair washing, silly!). So I looked at my blog, and…Holy Shit! I haven’t posted anything since April 1. Is this a joke? What happened? Where have I been? Why haven’t I been writing?

Well, to be fair, I have been writing loads of other stuff. I wrote articles for Points of Light Institute, State of Formation and Huffington Post. I wrote a long, boring document for the IRS explaining why Headwaters/Delta Interfaith ought to have tax-exempt status. I wrote 140 character tweets for various purposes and organizations. Mostly, I wrote to-do lists and then did the stuff on them, crossed the stuff off, and added more stuff. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But, still…April?

The other thing going on is that I feel like shit. I had surgery in January but by mid-April, my Endometriosis was acting up again. I don’t like writing about it. But I also don’t like NOT writing about it—you know, writing around it, pretending it’s not happening when it is happening. Plus, being in pain limits my energy so by the time my “real” work (whatever that means) is done, I’m pretty much done. Spending more time in front of the computer just to keep everyone up to date on how miserable I am…hmmm…that’s strangely unappealing. Go figure.

Also, as y’all know, I get pissed off, so I took an Anger Management class, and was SO excited to write about it…then (at the facilitator’s request), I sort of promised not to. It felt awkward to write about my life when I wasn’t able to discuss all the interesting internal crap that Anger Management stirred up, confronted, and redefined. But the class was a useful experience, and I met some marvelous, inspiring ladies. And OMG! Something profound happened, I didn’t blog about it, but…it was like it still actually happened! Who knew?

On top of all those lesser excuses, I’ve been incredibly busy being in love. Urban & I have been together for 17 years or something; now and then we’re ambushed by infatuation and can hardly tear ourselves away from each other. We stay up too late, have long deep conversations, make kissy faces, ignore our friends and exist in a goofy, magical bubble of our own. We stagger around feeling dazed, neglecting everything but each other. It’s awesome. And, right now, unexpected.  

When I’m in pain for a long time, it wears us both down. I’m shaky and exhausted for obvious reasons but it’s also a strain on him. Here are some things I can’t do when I’m in pain and/or doped up from being in pain: the dishes, feed/turn out/bring in the horses, cook dinner, drive myself anywhere, run errands, mow the lawn, weed the garden, vacuum, change the sheets, do laundry…and so on. When I’m not well, Urban picks up where I leave off, often after he’s worked a 10 hour day and not gotten enough sleep because I’m worse at night and he hates leaving me alone when I’m suffering.

Normally, by this point in my pain cycle, we are strained, crabby, and making an appointment to see our marriage counselor. But none of that is happening. Instead, Urban is being incredibly sweet and unbelievably strong: taking care of me, taking care of our animals and 10 acre property, keeping track of everything, and doing it all with grace and verve. He humbles me.

So despite the pain and the angst that inevitably accompanies it, we’re ridiculously happy. I’m sure some of that is because we are already missing each other: we’re going to be apart for 8 weeks while I’m visiting family & attending Summer Session out East. 

I’m both dreading and looking forward to the semester. I’ll admit that I’m worried about my ability to keep up with work and writing commitments and school while my body is screaming at me (SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN, SAUM! TAKE A NAP! STOP MOVING AROUND YOU BITCH, THAT HURTS!). But I love the luxury of being in a classroom rather than taking classes online, the challenge of Summer Session (16 week courses crammed into 7 weeks), and, face it, the libraries at Harvard are heavenly. Nerdvana! Besides the academic stuff, being in Cambridge is lots of fun, and I’m excited to (re)connect with some wonderful people I know in Boston, as well as make new friends. I resolve to socialize more and not to push myself so hard at school. I’ll let you know how that goes.

What I’m not resolving to do is blog here at NSOMNIASAUM. If I blog, I blog. If I don’t, I don’t. If you miss me, you can keep up with my rambling at State of Formation and Huff Post Religion. I’ll see you on Facebook and Twitter. You can call, too; anytime! You know me…I’ll probably be up.