Victorious Secret

Above is a photo of my soccer team Victorious Secret, which started up recently. During last week's game I took a serious hit to my kisser. Instantly, my eyes started watering and I walked toward the edge of the arena. The blow was pretty hard, and I was incredibly shaken up. It wasn't the pain, although it did happen to split the inside of my lip, that scared me. It was the fear of the possible damage to my brain.

Although, I'm recovering pretty quickly from the blow, I still have a headache which scares me. Since the surgeries, I've been reluctant to give up the things that I love. Probably since I've been told time and again that quality of life is the most important thing; which I took to mean, do what makes you happy. I guess, now, after getting blasted in the face, I'm starting to wonder if maybe my quality of life isn't just about the here and now.

I don't want to rattle my brain that has so lovingly carried me out of the abyss. There are always things that we desire that aren't good for us, and for me, that just might be soccer.

According to my doctors, the only option would be to wear a helmet, which is exactly what my parents urged me to do in the first place. The style of helmet would be a soft helmet that wraps around the head and has a guard along the face. If that's not embarrassing I don't know what is. I guess the joke is on me. I don't remember our last season of soccer to be such a contact sport, and I wasn't expecting it to be so aggressive - at least not at this level of play. Unfortunately, I think in an adult women's league we're probably even more aggressive than most professionals, but without the insane soccer skills. After my doctors told me that a helmet is necessary, several of the girls from the team offered to wear them with me (ski, and bike helmets that they already have) but apparently hard shell helmets are against league regulations. They tried to join me and that's all that matters. I've got a pretty great group of friends!

With that blow to the face, my body, and the world, is reminding me that I'm only six months out of surgery and that I need to tread lightly.

My Challenge

Well. Unfortunately, according to the tests I'm not a genius. Danny was thrilled by the results, but I was pretty disappointed.

I'm glad to report that I show not that many neurological deficits, any more, I'm getting better even though they said I wouldn't. However I have "weaknesses" (his word) in all areas. The doctor believes that I still have some recovering to do, albeit little. He does not believe that I will reach my previous mental abilities that I had before the surgeries.

Everyone fears the statement, "She has a great personality," when referring to a blind date. Which is how I felt when the doctor said that I'm very compassionate, and personable, and will fare just fine in society. When discussing my future in the academic world, he was on the fence regarding my ability to succeed. Basically, he doesn't believe that I will have the attention, retention, or energy to ever earn another degree.

I know it sounds crazy, but I can understand his reasoning. I am still exhausted and have to take 2-5 hour naps after work. I'm still struggling with higher level thinking. Things are definitely tough, but at the same time it has only been 6 months and to write me off at this point is ridiculous. I'm sure he's just going off of statistics, and personal accounts, but each individual is different and I'm pretty damn stubborn. Just because I can't use more than two syllable words in my speech, or pronunciate words I should know, doesn't mean I'm stupid. That it isn't in there.

I guess I thought I'd do something challenging and impactful with my life, and I always thought it would be achieved through the academic world. Even though I've never been a genius, whatever lack of knowledge I had I knew I could compensate with hard work and perseverance. Unfortunately, I can no longer power through tasks, both physically and mentally. I get exhausted and my mind shuts down completely. My life has immeasurably changed. My mechanics have shifted, and I'm learning to adjust my system. Now, all I have is my story. Maybe that's my challenge, sharing it. Maybe if he saw my blog he'd see that I'm smarter than he thinks. His test was by hand and I still can't use a ben or pencil well or write stuff, my hand is funky. But I type. I can do that.