It was a year ago this month that I made a decision that probably saved my life. I had recently marked the 13th anniversary of a cycling accident that changed … well, everything. Living with a brain injury brings with it a unique set of challenges. Add a solid dose of PTSD, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.
Last December, I had bottomed out with PTSD. Like brain injury, people with PTSD each have unique challenges. My ongoing challenge has been ongoing nightmares. Nothing like anything I had ever experienced before my injury, PTSD nightmares are vivid, almost hyper-realistic, and they are terrifying. The nighttime two-step has remained largely unchanged — I awaken, usually around midnight, screaming, yelling, sobbing, and in utter terror.
Last December found me back to square one with three-to-four PTSD episodes a week. Life felt unsustainable. I would climb into bed already terrified about what the night might bring. Weeks of sleep deprivation had pulled me and my wife, Sarah, into seemingly unending exhaustion. Unlike the suicidal desperation that defined the early years after my injury, there was no ideation. That ship sailed long ago. But there was the realization that I needed help.
“Sarah, I need to throw everything I have at this,” I told her. And so, I defined a course of action, one that I hoped would bring some relief. Looking back over the last 13 years, I had tried most everything recommended. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), EMDR, prayer, mindfulness, and meditation. While some brought about a bit of relief, they were only short-lived. My PTSD was clearly treatment resistant.
I started by immediately finding a new therapist. This was followed by a new EMDR practitioner. While they were clearly doing all they could, there was no relief in sight. We didn’t really “click,” so it was time to try another therapist. My second therapist this year was — and remains — a perfect match. Amazingly, like me, she is a brain injury survivor. And, like me, she lives with the ravages of PTSD. When we speak and I share my challenges, I know I am genuinely understood. I have never before had a member of my care team who gets it “from the inside out.” It has been a game-changer. And as a prescribing physician, she started me on medication that showed clinical promise in treating PTSD nightmares. She asked me why I had never tried the medication option. My answer left her a bit slack-jawed: “No one ever suggested it.”
Here we are, a full year into treatment. And although it has been two steps forward and sometimes three steps back, life is certainly better than it was a year ago. In fact, this November, I had only one bad night the entire month. It was like hitting the sleep lottery.
This past year has been a bittersweet year. Two new grandsons now define our lives; I’m growing into my new role as Papa. Grandparenthood is amazing. But pendulums swing two ways. In April, my dad passed away at 90. He was not only my dad but also one of my closest friends. The loss was devastating. And just last month, an unexpected health scare changed things again. I was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect that will, at some point, require heart surgery. To make it through November with just a single bad night, in spite of the medical challenges, is nothing short of miraculous.
In what amounts to a harsh reality check, the last two nights have been back-to-back tough nights. I have a head full of exhaustion and hope. Exhaustion comes with the territory. But looking back over last month, it’s hard not to remain hopeful. And if there’s one thing that I’ve learned, it’s this ... recovery is not linear. There will be gains and there will be setbacks. But equally important, I know that attitude is everything. And despite how tired I may feel, I remain full of hope. And that covers a lot of ground.