The litany of a Brain Injured Warrior's life;

When I was 5 years old I turned over in bed. It was the unblocked top bunk of a bunk bed. As I fell I landed on my the corner of my toy box striking my left temple. For a day I was blind.

     - But I will go on.

When I was about 12, I got a clue that my brother was not my friend. We were traipsing, at a run, through South Philly's Italian Market to return to our parents. My brother led, Tommy & I followed. I remember one moment where we ran over some ground laying pallets and then a few moments later my Mom was screaming.

A police officer snatched me aside while she screamed and proceed to inspect my gaping scalp wound. I then realized that my face and chest were being covered by blood. Apparently, just over the laying pallets was an iron weight holding down an awning of a section of the market. My brother, being about 4 inches shorter than me (Tommy too), took us that way - perhaps with the nefarious hopes that paid off.

     - But I will go on.

A female friend of mine approached me between classes to tell me that Big Fred, a gargantuan fattie of ill repute, wanted to talk to me to bury any hatchets that we may have. Seeing Big Fred behind her I told her I had none and little time between classes to chit chat. I then turned back to my actual girlfriend, who was getting some of my books out of her locker, when Big Fred struck me from behind.

His fist slammed into my skull from behind, striking me just under the left ear. My head then proceeded to rudely introduce itself to the nearby locker causing the lock to strike me around the right ear. Sudden unconsciousness ensued that lasted about half an hour.

- A common flaw the average person makes is thinking that my body requires conscious thought to engage in physical activity. IT DOES NOT! -

As I arose from the School Nurse's bed my girlfriend grabbed my arm to stop me. She told me that I turned to her and said, "Let go" with such a blank face that she thought I might be dead. I then proceeded to respond to Big Fred. All of my friends were outside the nurse's office, waiting for news, and my closest one realized my mission. He shouted, "Grab him!!" 20 guys tried to restrain me and failed. None were wounded but all of them were quite embarrassed at how effectively I avoided restraint without seriously hurting a single one of them.

Using my arms and hands to block restraint or divert tackles I then proceeded down the hall until the Vice Principal, with good thought, locked my hands in his arm pits and clenched down with his arms then shouted in my face, "Stop!" Having a moment to thinking about stopping, I then returned to an unconscious state.

Big Fred was an awesome trumpeter in the school's band and I was the most skilled IT geek in a 1985 Ghetto school. Big Fred got a week of detention for his actions. I got suspended for a week for the hooplah "I" created afterwards. No wonder I have issues with Authority.

     - But I will go on.

Military service. Then Combat service. The injuries are numerous and brain injuries common.

     - But I will go on.

I returned home from Combat service and found that the backyard to my apartment had become a shuck and jive point for a local teenage gang. I proceeded to tell them that they could no longer use my yard as a drinking party spot which they, at that time, left without any display.

The next night there was a knock on my door. The oldest gang member, surrounded by a dozen other ones, was shouting and screaming for me to come out and answer for my ignorance. Since I had a girlfriend over at the time, I could not just let them trash the outside of my apartment (as they were starting to do) so I stepped out into the street.

The gang started circling me as the leader took a boxing stance facing me. I did not take one. The leader tossed a jab (which missed) and I just looked like a country bumpkin (which they let my Kentucky accent mislead them) and they teased me about not even knowing how to box. "Nah, my pah-pah just taught me how to wrestle the cows down while he branded them," was my response.

The leader did not realize he had a bad boxing habit. He let his feet cross as he moved sideways... and he'd do that when jabbing. One time he jabbed while his feet were cross and I struck. The jab lined him up for my Tyson-like upper cut. I felt his jaw break but as he fell he shouted, "I'm down!" Then the gang member who stayed lined up behind me hit me in the back of the head with a golf club.

The common flaw engaged: The look of terror on my attacker's face when I turned around and struck back was phenomenal. I then had 8 more teenagers try to put me down with fists and feet. I gently cleaned my street with them. I then had a close neighbor offer to help me. I got into his car and said, "Mom". He started driving to my mom's while I lost consciousness. I have flitting memories of being transported from his car into a Temple Police car. My first firm memory was of a Temple ER Doctor flashing a light into my eyes.

There is more I could share on this but the important thing to note: The attack and lack of conscious event happened within a 20 minute time frame. That is Philly for you. You can be thinking about what you are about to do to your Girlfriend's fine body and 20 minutes later be unconscious after having to spank almost a dozen kids.

     - But I will go on.



September 2013 I join Boston's Hub on Wheels event. Sign up to do 20 miles and something happened around 15 miles. That is all I know and that is mostly second hand information. My first conscious thought was when I was strapped into a device that had me on my stomach, with my arms (which were mangled) outstretched and restrained, being cleaned - even in some quite personal areas.

On and on, on and on, ... ....


     - But I will go on.

I'm debating a kick-starter.

The eventual goal, not the dream, is a recumbent trike. My accident happened on a bicycle so I must eventually face wheels again. Why? Because TBI did not end my life but I am stuck in half-panic mode. I remember biking, I remember the gathering that led to the huge biking event, I even remember some moments of that bike ride.

Always with tears coming out of me when I talk about my last memory ... that last memory was glorious. I can't see how that a God given moment has anything to do with the accident but I can see how such a wonderfully glorious moment can stay inside this old Soldier.

So it is my opinion that I must, at some point, face certain things again. That section of Boston, or nearby Boston, has not been faced yet. But I did drive myself to the hospital where I was treated. Facing that was hard... but successful. It released some tensions in this soul. That experience made me realize my "face the music" mechanisms are right on target. So I must bike again at some point.

Caveats:
- My balance has not returned sufficiency. Bicycle itself is out as I'll likely lose balance and do myself harm again.

- I am disabled. People are not banging down my doors with employment opportunities sufficient to my lack of abilities.

That being said, a recumbent trike is not free nor should it be. It is a worthwhile item to utilize and should thus be treated as such. That leaves me sitting here pondering methods of accomplishing what I can with what means are available to me.

Now there are many doors I can drop my knuckles onto:

- Freemasons, as I was a Master Mason before my accident;
- Veterans of Foreign Wars, as I am a veteran of a foreign war;
- American Legion, as I am a legionnaire;
- Goodwill of New England, they considered me a "protected veteran" and they have a veteran fund;
- Eve Online: even across the seas from my many well wishers from that community (Shar Tegral, one of the E-Bank founders).
- Even upon the Ingress community, as I am an Enlightened Agent (SharQTegral) and that community has been wonderful in mental and social support as I recover.

There are so many doors upon which I could knock. In fact, too many for me to remember or realize that I've knocked upon it. Such is one of the problems with Brain Injury. But, I do think I know the category I could aim for as a Kick-starter project: Art.

Two forms of art are at my disposal, possibly three. Firstly, getting this old Airborne ground trooper back on wheels is, in itself, something of a miracle. Walking, talking, eating, is also a miracle given the extent of my injuries but having wheels under me again would be a miracle of personal delight.

Secondly, I've been writing my autobiography. Granted no publisher has been contacted nor has any tapped on me. But I have been writing it, in fact this here will likely be a part of it. Irony being, you can influence if this segment has a good ending or not.

Thirdly, a presumption on my part, I am a sporadic member of the Berwick Artist Association. I have influence but only from the talent of my passion. You will not meet people with as much passion for life and art as me. I grew up in a school just a few city blocks from the Philadelphia Art Museum. While some people will say it is not the height of art, this kid descended from Frenchmen disagrees. It is not the height, yes, but it is up there.

Next step, figure out reasonable rewards for donating to this cause.

This month in 1987

This month in 1987:

- My daughter had been born almost on Thanksgiving

- Completed Airborne School

- Recovering from walking Pneumonia

- Devastated that I was disqualified from West Point (and all the promotions that came with that!)

- Reassigned from the 82nd Airborne to the 101st Airborne (now Air Assault)

This was my life 27 years ago. I thought North Philly was hard, and it was, but what I was to endure the next 18 months was beyond what North Philly ever did, or tried, to do to me. Pssst, Desert Shield/Storm was 27 months away and that was easy in comparison to my first tour of duty (tho it still sucked serving under peace time Jeniuses).

The reason this is relevant now (???) is because I'm struggling with my current recovery. Depression pointed out to me something odd about my accident. In one moment, one flash snap of time, I was aged (mentally and physically) about 25 - 30 years. So I ponder all the things I experienced, accomplished, endured, and enjoyed the past 25 - 30 years of my life and realize that while I may have been aged that much, >snap<, I have not "lived" that much. Just been reduced to a senior citizen in almost every aspect and not given the benefit of any reason to be bitter.

Much.

To this day, still don't really know what happened to me. I don't remember much of the 15 miles I traveled on my bike to be one time for my accident. I remember some of the event, the build up, the start, and some of the vistas the Lord let me enjoy. The last thing I remember was having climbed up a hill to a gorgeous vision of this wonderful Earth. As I started to descend, I raised my voice in joy (along with my arms) to the Lord for this wonderful gift.

That is my last memory and my warmest, most emotional, memory.

To Yaz, I'm sorry that your Mom denied me parental privilege the way she did. I can only hope that I have shown you love and appreciation for the impact your life has had upon me.

27 years ago I was a recovering North Philly hood. My Dad did what he could whenever he could but between me and the streets he was vastly outnumbered. Following his footsteps I choose to serve but I was still 5 kinds of deviousness. Then you were born and I was transformed. From the pupae I was to the person I was then. The person I still am today.

Why I'm dismayed...

... yesterday, today, and (quite probably) tomorrow.

I am DISABLED.

My primary agrees, I am disabled. Not as much as initial reports had cautiously warned my wife I would be. I don't dribble saliva unwanted, my eyes track like normal, other than the scars on my forearms no marks. If you don't talk to me, or shuck up my sleeves, I look normal.

But I am NOT.

Where the significant disability comes into play is.... my psychology. In thought, many times, I forget that I even had the accident. I've got little, or no, memory of the event I was attending. Zero memory of the accident, completely. Sometimes my brain will be zipping along unhindered and than >BAM< I remember.

I try to interact with you people, everybody else, and it becomes apparent to me as I try. In my own head I am reflecting on my behavior and thinking "OMG, what an idiot!?!" It is in behavior that I have been significantly reduced as a person. In many ways I have been reduced to a teenager. Impulse control, social awareness, even language is not under my control as is expected of a grown man.

However, if you ask Social Security if I am disabled they will tell you no. Apparently going to war for this government is all fine and dandy when the bullets are flying but when you need your government to have your back - "Tough luck sucker"!

This is where my disability becomes apparent. I still suffer some Aphasic moments and this is complicated in the workplace. Heck, just one aspect of my personality (before accident) is a workplace complication at times. I am a Gentleman. I want to be a "gentle" man but if you are not careful you may realize how ungentle I really am.

Sadly, in some aspects of our society (Lifetime channel is a good place to point) being a "gentleman" is flirtatious. It is also deceitful among the many other "flaws" of masculine aspects. Combine respectful by nature with Aphasia and life gets complicated. A fine example is my recent attempt to rejoin the workplace via Home Depot. In retrospect, I had no reason to be grateful to a co-worker (female) however expressing inadvertent gratitude gave her a sexual harassment compliant.

Did I offer or ask? No, but that has nothing to do with "complaint" from a woman. Apparently, our legal environment is only concerned with the possibility of complaint, not the validity, to create drama and financial woes. And that is just one aspect of my disability in the workplace.

However Social Security, AMERICA the land of the free and the brave, sent me a rejection letter for my claim. I think it is a rejection letter. On the phone, via voice, I was totally rejected. I got a letter to that effect however I have not opened that letter. I got it 1 year ago, in fact. I realize that it is not for me to open that letter. That is for my attorney to do.

That is the next aspect of my disability. Today I am going to look at getting one here locally. As I am not from New England, I have little resources or history to work with in this regard. I've asked my brother, who is in the legal profession, for guidance but alas I have not gotten any. However a good friend of mine (about my age and another Desert Storm Veteran) has some recent legislative experience and I am going to go with his suggestion. "Word of mouth" after all... ...

However I am dismayed by how many ways society has abandoned me. I'm a veteran, who has not been seen by his VA doctor in a year. I'm a freemason, who is considered of ill worth because my psychology is not as staid and stuffy as the other guys (anymore) and that my financial wallet is not as open as it used to be. I'm male, and the list of problems associated with that grows daily - ask any female misanthrope. (Who are more common then they themselves realize.)
I am dismayed and disabled.

Help...

... I need.

One of my problems is I can't slow down my thoughts however I have lost the ability to do proper follow through. Or, put like this, I have become the equivalent of a 7 yr old. Impulsive as crazy but dedicated to little.

This means, there are a lot of plans and activities that I have thought through, in detail. Sometimes I ask questions and do things to test the waters of my plans. However, something shiny or flashy will enter my attention and there I go... off like a Magpie chasing it down.

This behavior is disruptive to my finances and my marriage. Finances, easy to understand. Marriage, with a strong, organized, powerful woman as my partner how can being married to a Magpie NOT frustrate and annoy the hell out of her. She stands by my side, without question, however how can I not feel pain watching her love & commitment be tested.

I've tried turning around me for shoulders to lean upon but so far only one shoulder has proven to be sufficient. My church, God bless them, has striven to be that shoulder yet there are memories coming out of me that I should not share with them. They don't think about such things and many of them has never even been close these things. American Legion or the Disabled American Veterans, always there however like my church - things they should not have to worry about. Even the state of New Hampshire has fallen short of the mark: Krempels Center, an organization of con artists, and a couple other brain injury support groups has tried but one qualification necessary to understand is a qualification that "normals" discriminate against.


Veterans of Foreign Wars has proven to be sufficient. It is a place where people gather together to help each other where they can. Help each other to bear memories that are very heavy. Irony being, like prize fighters, old soldiers deal with brain injury on the regular. After "x" number of explosions, "x" number of parachute crashes... errr... landings, "x" number of mild, or severe, concussions, where does the "brain injury survivor" badge gets put on that chest as a medal?

As an example, this is an example of how much thinking I do. I've thought these things many times but each time I start I forget that I've thought about it. Until about now...

And just about now comes the realization that, for the most part, none of you gives a damn.

I think that is what bothers me about being gracious to the gratitude expressed by civilians. I feel damned awkward when someone thanks me for my service. Why awkward? Because I refrain from asking them how do they show that thanks? Voting on worthwhile Veteran issues? Nah, that would dip into my pocket! Nah, that would require effort and thought! It is much better to just say the words "Thank you for your service" and dismiss you out of hand as if you were part of the wait staff. A waiter who does not even get a tip!

Some Research...

... into Brain Injury as a plot device/mechanism is what I am doing. I've been intrigued by the common nature of the mechanism (Galahad is the term I think). Where the memory is wiped so that re-introduction to the main character is also an introduction to us at the same time.

Now, this mechanism is rife in literature and movies but I'm interested in making a list of Video Games that use this mechanism. I.e. Fallout New Vegas, Lost Planet (#1), on and on.

So, if you know of an entry to this list please email john paul lavelle at gmail dot com (remove the spaces). I'll make a google doc listing what comes up at some point when I can remember how to do so. Pardon me while I go play a session of life with brain injury. :-)

My trip to Philly brought more awareness...

... of how bad the Krempels Center was for me.

Becoming my friend, via social media, Brie was able to reach out and offend everyone I knew. This was "news" to me. I had dinner with an old high school buddy whose wife is a professional in the disabled support industry. She was astonished at my recovery levels, made me smile, but expressed concern regarding Brie. Apparently Robin had to De-friend the crazy ho-bag who engaged in copious amounts of "not safe for work" activity. It got me trying to think back on how Brie became my friend.

Brie is a brain injury survivor that I met at Krempels 7 months after my injury. Now, granted, I took myself there (remarkable ability of mine) however they should have told me to come back in eight (8) months. 7 + 8 = 15 months AFTER my traumatic brain injury.

That is important as the first three (3) months after such an injury there is little, to none, cognitive recovery. Then it takes twelve (12) months after for sapience to properly return. At that point, the injured should be tested for social re-integration. Any brain injury professional will tell you, this process is important and should NOT be violated as it may cause issues, or the appearance of issues, in the recovery.

Seven (7) months after my injury, six (6) months after enduring comatose states, Krempels introduced me to a Piranha without any warning of any kind. In fact, complaining about the Piranha got the local police involved.... at Krempels' request. Going to my local police to stop a stalker got police after me... by the stalker's good friends at the Krempels' Center.

Still, what enabled me to be so gullible as to allow Brie access to my life, my computer, and my money?

Marijuana is what.

Brie regularly smokes. 2nd Hand smoke re-ignited my nicotine habit. But she doesn't just smoke tobacco. I had to regularly ask her to stop smoking weed in my car. I grew up around it and I know the dangers of it but my wife grew up near it and hates the smell of it. Without realizing the specific smell... she still hates it and when the whiff of it enters the air she gets hostile. So, Brie wanted my wife hostile to me (by smoking it around me) but also to impair my thought process via 2nd hand smoke.

And this is what the Krempels Center did for me. Introduced a weed smoking pot head to a brain injured person, complain to the Police when I asked her to stop stalking me, and made me Person-Non-Grata at the Portsmouth Community Center. So much so that when I showed up, quiet and reserved, at the Governor's (of New Hampshire) Public Hearing on treatment and discrimination against the Disabled... police officers escorted me from the hearing.

I guess the Krempel's Center Staff (who called the Police) was concerned that I'd complain about their violating my HIPAA to the Police. I have never had any interaction with Portsmouth Police, in fact any nearby Police Department until I reported a stalker, however the Portsmouth Police readily had information that was only available from my Medical Records, which the Krempels Center snatched a few pages from... without consent of me or my wife.

And I should be a big man and forget the harm that they did to me? I would do so if not for my concern that they would do this to any brain injured veteran (like me) that may cross their door. After all, my being a combat veteran was much ado when I showed up. Silly me, I should've shut up and acted as disabled as they wanted me to appear instead of trying to ask intelligent questions.





PS: Irony being, she regularly carries weed into the Portsmouth Community Center, one time I saw a whole ounce, which is supposed to be a safe place environment. Using the "safe place" aspect to slander my reputation.... ironic wot?