Let us consider a letter written by a father whose 19-year-old son had a head injury, in order to highlight, firstly, how a head injury can affect the whole family, and secondly how it can be gieady misunderstood, even by professionals. This āopen letterā was written as a plea to all those concerned, and captures a number of common themes which will arise throughout this book. The letter was entided, The Lucky Onesā.
To whom it may concern
Our plea to the medical world is that although you see us as the lucky ones we still need help and understanding. You see, it does not feel lucky to have a head injury or to have a relative who has one. We appreciate that many people die or have serious brain damage as a result of road accidents, but our experience is of one of āthe lucky onesā who needs understanding and guidance - things which we have found to be generally lacking.
To family and friends we would say that, although outwardly āthe lucky oneā appears well, inside so much is wrong. Understanding, love, time, patience and gentle encouragement are all needed in large measures.
āThe lucky oneā does not feel lucky, nor does the family hit by shock struggling to look after him. Confusion, sadness and desperation are all felt by āthe lucky oneā who feels different from the way he felt before the accident, but does not know why. The family is also confused, frightened and unsure how to help.
Life for the injured is harder than usual - a real struggle in fact as he tries to sort out his thoughts, agonisingly slowly, and remembering even little day-to-day things is sometimes impossible; but he looks so normal that no one understands or seems to care. He is expected to act and think the way he did before the accident, but he just canāt. On top of that he feels so utterly exhausted. Everything is such hard work. Due to the confusion and inability to cope, friends shy away until he is left on his own. He longs for their understanding but he looks so normal and when he says he is having trouble with his memory, people reply, āSo do I, I am always forgetting thingsā, or if he says he is exhausted he receives the reply, āOh yes, I feel tired all the time too.ā But itās different for the head- injured, who eventually says nothing about his memory or exhaustion, and retreats into himself. Of course his injury does not show like a broken leg in plaster - people make allowances for anyone in that condition. He is not seeking sympathy or pity, only understanding or at least some attempt to understand, so that people might realise why he acts the way he does. He canāt put into words the way he feels, but he knows he does not feel right. He is afraid of being left alone in case he canāt cope, he panics in crowds, and is afraid to travel on the road - after all it was a road accident that made him feel the way he does; but to the world he is a ālucky oneā.
He finds new tasks difficult to accomplish. He remembers things learnt before the accident, but learning new things and remembering things he is told is virtually impossible. Likewise, making decisions, even simple ones, is an insurmountable task. He canāt explain why these things appear so difficult for him, but people do not understand because he looks so normal.
To the member of the nursing staff who gets cross with a head- injured patient when he does something he has been told not to do, or forgets to do something he was told to do, we say, āPlease donāt get cross, the patient really canāt help it and he needs your understanding.ā
To the doctors who say he will be back to normal in a few weeks and should be able to return to work then, we say, āPlease find out more about how head injuries affect patients, and the time it can take to recover, even partially, from those injuries.ā Families of the injured hang on to every word spoken by a doctor - after all he or she is expected to have some knowledge of how the injuries might affect the patient, so it is very important that doctors choose their words carefully, do not build up false hopes for the family, and do not make statements that with hindsight even the layman can see are very misleading.
We would also ask the medical world, āWhere is the posthospitalisation care?ā as, in our experience, the patient is sent out from hospital and expected to cope on his own. His only link with anyone āmedicalā is his GP who, with the best will in the world, is unable to offer any help other than to see the patient and ask rudimentary questions without providing any answers or details of where assistance might be sought. Bearing in mind the number of head injuries which occur annually, we were surprised that there appeared to be no one to turn to for help; at least, if there was, then neither the hospital nor the GP was aware of such a person or organization.
Our son returned to work, but even now only part-time, and when his job was changed he felt he could not cope. That situation has still not been resolved yet.
It has been two years now and our son is still not one hundred per cent well; the last two years have been a nightmare for the whole family and we are not through it yet. If only we had known more about what to expect and how to cope when our son was discharged from hospital. It has been a shock and a frightening experience for us all. Our daughter was diagnosed as suffering from post-traumatic stress and was put in touch with a social worker who involved the whole family and, through his sympathetic attitude, was able to help us all.
Six months ago we at last found a professional interested in head injury, although he worked in the neighbouring health district. It was a relief and a tremendous help to find someone who knew how we all felt. The Headway publications he offered us were also greatly reassuring. Our sincere thanks go out to all those who have listened, tried to understand, and did not tell us we were the lucky ones. Time does heal.