: Kelly Bouldin Darmofal
: Lost in My Mind Recovering From Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI)
: Modern History Press
: 9781615992461
: 1
: CHF 6.00
:
: Klinische Fächer
: English
: 224
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

Lost in My Mind is a stunning memoir describing Kelly Bouldin Darmofal's journey from adolescent girl to special education teacher, wife and mother -- despite severe Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). Spanning three decades, Kelly's journey is unique in its focus on TBI education in America (or lack thereof). Kelly also abridges her mother's journals to describe forgotten experiences. She continues the narrative in her own humorous, poetic voice, describing a victim's relentless search for success, love, and acceptance -- while combating bureaucratic red tape, aphasia, bilateral hand impairment, and loss of memory.
Readers will: Learn why TBI is a 'silent illness' for students as well as soldiers and athletes. Discover coping strategies which enable TBI survivors to hope and achieve. Experience what it's like to be a caregiver for someone with TBI. Realize that the majority of teachers are sadly unprepared to teach victims of TBI. Find out how relearning ordinary tasks, like walking, writing, and driving require intense determination.
'This peek into the real-life trials and triumphs of a young woman who survives a horrific car crash and struggles to regain academic excellence and meaningful social relationships is a worthwhile read for anyone who needs information, inspiration or escape from the isolation so common after traumatic brain injury.'
-- Susan H. Connors, President/CEO, Brain Injury Association of America
'Kelly Bouldin Darmofal's account is unique, yet widely applicable: she teaches any who have suffered TBI--and all who love, care for, and teach them--insights that are not only novel but revolutionary. The book is not simply worth reading; it is necessary reading for patients, poets, professors, preachers, and teachers.'
-- Dr. Frank Balch Wood, Professor Emeritus of Neurology-Neuropsychology, Wake Forest School of Medicine
2First Word

It was October of 1992 and my child had been in a coma for over two weeks, and on that day, she did the most commonplace thing in a teenager’s life. She answered the telephone that was attached to her hospital bed. She said... “HEY!” With a feeding tube still down her throat, Kelly spoke her first word. I do not know who was more excited—me, or Dr. McWhorter, who has been quite concerned that Kelly had opened her eyes days ago, but couldn’t speak one tiny syllable. Hope! I knew she would talk. My irrepressible motor-mouthed child was not going to remain in a world of silence. I told them she would speak, and she told me with her eyes. She was coming back to us as fast as she could. Dear Lord, it is hard to be patient!

The next day, Kelly’s friend Mark Giordano brought us a poem he had written, in which he tried to see through her confused eyes:

Encountered by the mural that haunts her

Disclosed to the accounts of man

Spirited by her love untouched

Exposed to a stupor hidden mutually.

Worthy of details yet not enchanted

The altar is replenished, modifying concern

Allowing her to descend into the age

For she is awake, she is awake.

Mark didn’t realize that it wasn’t the beauty of his poem that spoke to me. It was his optimism. He believed. He told me the poem “sums up what is going on in her mind and in ours. Her mural is going away.” If Mark can believe in her future, so can I.

More Firsts

I couldn’t write much at the time Kelly first moved on day three, and first opened her eyes days later. The eleven days she spent in ICU left me paralyzed with fear.

It seemed longer than a week since Kelly’s eyelids fluttered and I saw her blue eyes staring at me. A tiny sweet grin spread across her betubed face, the most precious smile in the world. I saw recognition in her eyes and threw my arms around her. She struggled with her arms, and the nurse released her right arm from the restraint. She hugged my neck tightly, and then patted me gently on the back. It was as if she was comforting me and saying, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me!” Naturally the doctors wouldn’t agree that she recognized her mother, as patting is reflexive. But a parent knows. Bobby was there, too. Daddy got his hug as well, and perhaps breathed for the first time in a millennium.

Tears of a Father

My husband had not yet cried. He was stoic until he found Britt’s letter lodged in our back door. Britt Armfield, a sophomore friend, had not yet been to the hospital, but left us this letter:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bouldin,

I write this letter with a certain amount of regret. I regret the fact I do not have the strength to go to see Kelly. Personally, I have gone through two open heart surgeries and a number of minor procedures, and due to that, hospitals frighten me. However, I want you to know, and Kelly to know