As I sit here, I’m not quite sure how to write this. My new life is so different and yet I struggle to describe it to the people who live with me, let alone the casual observer. How do you describe life with Post-Concussion Syndrome? How do you describe life with chronic fatigue and chronic pain? How do you really describe life as a Spoonie?

I guess the difference is found in the minutia. So here goes. In the morning I:

• Set myself up for a bad eye day just by scrolling through Instagram like the rest of the world does before they even leave bed
• Go to rehab for either my neck, brain or eyeballs
• Do the home exercises from the rehab appointments I didn’t have
• Sing and rock out to one song in the car and then feel like a zoned-out zombie for the rest of the ride
• Only remove 1/4 of the pet hair from the entry rug so I don’t exacerbate symptoms
• Have to get up from lying/sitting/squatting/bending over slowly so my vision doesn’t go black and my legs don’t buckle

In the afternoon I:

• Take a butt-ton of vitamins
• Have trouble holding a conversation while trying to measure the correct amount of cat food
• Sometimes feel so nauseas and/or weak at lunch I have to ask my family members to serve me my food
• Don’t want to put my plate in they dishwasher because that means bending over. I do it anyway.
• Take a nap for at least 45 minutes

In the evening I:

• Often have to sit in the shower so I can wash my hair without getting too dizzy or fatigued
• Want to take another nap after I wash my hair. I don’t.
• Scrub one thing at the sink after dinner then have to rest for 5-10 minutes
• Stutter and have trouble articulating and finding the right words
• Don’t watch TV if I’ve looked at my tablet or phone “too long” earlier in the day

One of the most telling differences between my old self and concussed-self are the said and unsaid questions I never imagined asking:

• What happens if I get whiplash again or another concussion?
• Will I be able to connect with new people because I don’t live a 9-to-5, drinks after work, “Netflix and chill,” hit the beach on the weekends kind of life?
• Will I ever be able to whip my head around and dance freely again?
• Will I ever be able to date? Get married? Have children?
• Will I ever be able to survive without government assistance?
• Will I ever be able to cook for myself? Drive myself places?

*Note: This piece is not as fleshed out as I would have liked. Writing it triggered a depressive episode where I didn’t want to get out of bed one morning, so I’ve decided to leave it as is. I’m sure one day I’ll write an updated version.

Love Always,

Elisa