Factual story telling

Hello Stranger 

Foggy dew covers the streets, an early morning blanket of dullness thick in the air. The road is a buzz with traffic, tradesmen off to jobs in utes packed sky high, mothers rushing tired, wingy children to school and trucks hustling loudly through town to far off depots.  It’s just another morning.

Frown lines cover his straining forehead, clear green eyes narrowed and sharp, clenched fists around the steering wheel. The hive of activity on the roads generates frustration, like a flame under a seething pot, boils a deep anger inside him as he waits anxiously at the red lights. Finally the heavens open and the light flashes green, some serenity re-enters his mind until a pushy commuter cuts sharply in front of his car. The inner windshield is covered with spit, bitter words fly fast out of his contorted mouth, a sharp pain, spasms a headache only fuelling the fire. Amongst the tension of driving he misses his turn, drives on to the next set of taunting red lights with a new pack of rage fuelling driving buffoons. Pulling in with the pack of sheep at the lights the process is continued for the seventh time this morning, the hundredth time this year. Like a record going around and around: scratchy, revolving, endless frustration.  

Warm light fills the brick home and the homely smell of cooking is heavy in the air. A wife, a mother, the “go to woman” stands comfortably carving food in a nostalgically burnt orange kitchen. Little bearded dogs’ wonder around anxiously awaiting dinner or any scarps that escape the bench. Mockingly adult children scurry and scamper waiting for their dinner also. A husband, father, the alpha male is outside reading in the fleeting summer warmth. Everything is perfectly peaceful, just another carefree late afternoon, just another suburban family.

Just as night descends so does something else ominous, darkly looming in the distance. Plates filled with food litter the dining table, cutlery clangs enthusiastically as they all slap their dinner. Conversation and laughter fly easily and cheeky grins fill full faces. In a moment like a cool snap something dramatically changes in the air, the atmosphere is lost. Lines fill familiar crevices of his forehead, his eyes seem to somehow recede back into the hollows of his sockets. Pasty skin glows green, you can visibly see him recoil back inside himself, like a snail escaping predators in its shell. Someone attempts to focus him with some playful banter, he stares unknowing into the distant expanses of his mind. He’s gone. They have lost him once again.

The air is cool but filled with the burning threat of bleach, fluorescent light consumes the room in artificial control. Tubes escape his skin attached to monitors and his limbs are wrapped up tightly like a new born baby in it’s cot. Starring at the ceiling trying to ignore the tossing and turning of stirring patients in adjacent beds, he’s trying to plot how to hide his third degree burns from his family. I could wear long sleeves? Go on a short but sudden trip? I could down play what they are? Feeling pitiful and useless he lay limp in his bed, knowing none of this would have ever happened before. Frowning at this realisation his eyes focus on the beaming light above... Where did I put those keys? Ah did I leave the hose on? The gate open? Streams of questions fill his mind, paranoia takes over with a slow swallow of acceptance he attempts to forget about these nagging questions and let the trickle of morphine take him away. I should have listened they told me not to…

A lamp in the corner of the room shoots strange light across the doctors face, his stubble however short casts small shadows across his skin. Weathered caring eyes stare out in attention in front of a wall of awards and achievements. He opens his lips, like leather pulling tight and directs softly at his patient:

How are you feeling today? The new medication settling in alright?

I’m a bit shaky, the dizziness is still there but I have been sleeping better. I don’t really like it though; I don’t feel any different inside on medication. 

That’s the problem with post concussion stress syndrome, just can’t be fixed with surgery just stabilised with meds. How’s the pain though? Better?

My head over rides everything, I don’t even notice the shoulder or the foot anymore. The stitches are a bit itchy too. 

How’s home life treating you? You still feeling on edge?

Everyone’s trying hard, but they don’t understand they can’t really ever understand. What’s going on in there, in here. 

Ah yes, it can only improve it's early days yet. This session would we be able to delve into how you feel about the change? Only if you’re comfortable.

I guess so, I’ll try.

How different do you feel now compared to before the accident?

Well, um, I woke up a completely different person, everything changed...my entire life was flipped over and I could do nothing. I was helpless, I am helpless.

What has changed would you say?

You think your doing the same thing but your not.

You think your saying the same thing but your not.

You think you can still operate the same but you cant.

You can try but it doesn’t work.

And it gets frustrating.

Yes, frustrated would be a good word for it.

Do you still feel in control of your life?

Sometimes. It’s hard to operate as a normal human being if you cant be independent. I can’t be left alone, it’s dangerous I end up messing everything up. It’s like being a child after being an adult, going back wards in life without your control.

{Pausing, staring away from the doctor’s face, out to the window, the strain of the accident, brain damage and subsequent daily struggles are apparent on his middle aged face, his eyes snap back in complete clarity}

Its like someone has taken away your abilities and skills you’ve had all your life. 

Going from being an independent self employed worker to being on an invalid pension.   

Not only is it hard it’s disappointing too you know.

 But I can’t ever go back to what I had, it’s too late and what’s left is only going to slip through my fingers until it’s all gone.

The strangest part of it all, I guess, was waking up a different person. I had to re-meet myself, get comfortable again. I was a stranger to everyone I knew, a stranger to myself.