What Lies Ahead

I don't know about you but I worry about the future more now than I did before.  If, almost two years after my auto accident, I'm still in a great deal of pain, I'm still not able to do many of the things I used to do, and I'm still experiencing issues with the TBI and PTSD, what will life be like in five, ten and thirty years?

Will the injuries to my hip, shoulder, lower back and neck be more likely to develop arthritis?  Will the focus, fatigue, being over-stimulated too easily and all the rest of the brain injury symptoms continue to cause me problems?  Is there really a connection between mild TBI's and the risk of developing Alzheimer's? 

What about my writing?  I've written fiction since I was fifteen years old (not gonna say how long ago that was!).  

In twenty-two months I haven't even written a chapter in the book I was working on at the time the accident occurred.  I haven't been able to write anything else in the fiction genre either.  But, five months before I was hit, from conception of the idea to the final editing, I wrote a 45,000+ word book.  Two or three weeks prior to the accident, I wrote a short story and submitted it to a national writing contest.  (nope, there were two winners and I wasn't one of them)

Twenty years from now am I still going to be spending the majority of my time hiding out in my office because it's easier than being around people?  Because crowds, or too much noise, or whatever are still almost more than I can bear?  Because I sometimes fear being beat up should I ever give in to the urge to run a particularly rude person over with my shopping cart? (that urge rises up more often than you'd think-like every time I step inside a grocery store!)

Will driving around to look at fall colors, or holiday decorations ever not make me feel exhausted?  Will I ever host another bonfire (a years-long tradition) for my mother's birthday?  And what about my annual New Years Eve party?  Just games, pizza and sodas, but it used to make for an enjoyable-and safe-celebration.

Then there's Christmas.  I have more decorations than anyone I know-and I used put them on anything that didn't move.  I also spent the end of November and all of December baking cookies, making candies, watching any and all manner of Christmas movies, reading all of my favorite Christmas books (which even have their own special shelf), listening to Christmas music from dawn until dusk...and just generally loving every single minute of the holidays.  It's the only time of year when I didn't mind shopping-because I loved buying gifts.

I don't even remember the first Christmas after the accident.  Well, except for two stand out events.  One was baking one batch of three different kinds of cookies with my daughter because I promised.  The previous year we'd been packing in preparation for a move to our new house in mid-January, so we didn't celebrate much.  The first Christmas in our new house was supposed to be special, to make up for the last one.  But I wound up in bed, and in severe pain, from that too brief baking session.  

Then there was my family's Christmas Eve party, something we've done every year since I was a kid.  That year my baby brother hosted it.  And I was scared.  I'd wound up in emergency Thanksgiving night because it hadn't registered yet that I couldn't bake and prepare for the holiday for two days without consequences.  But Christmas Eve I knew what might happen if I overdid things again.  

My biggest fear was that the party was being held in the basement rec room, which meant a steep flight of stairs.  They offered to move it to the main floor, but they have white carpet and I didn't want to be responsible for any damage to that.  So I didn't eat or drink anything all day because I knew I'd be lucky to make one trip down and then back up.  If a visit to the bathroom became necessary, the party would be over for me and my kids. 

But the party never really started for me because food preparation and the trip downstairs did me in.  I had to take a pain pill-and required help from two people to get back upstairs when it was time to leave.  Pretty sad memories of my favorite holiday.  

Six months later, after a miserable, disastrous, and painful Easter dinner, I stopped inviting people to my house.  Not that it was much of a dinner.  I made minimal effort and my daughter did most of the work on the scaled down menu.  That was the first year in my entire adult life that I didn't make four or five from scratch pies.  I didn't even make one.  Instead I bought two pretty little frozen cakes.  And homemade rolls...forget it!

These are the things I wonder about.  And you may wonder about me reminiscing about Christmases past in August.  But that hasn't changed about me.  I hated summer before the accident and I hate now.  And one of the ways I get through these unbearably hot, humid days is to think about Christmas.  

 Only now I'm not looking forward to it.  Now I dread it with all my heart.  

Are these the kinds of things I have to look forward in my golden years?  Nothing to look forward to?  And let me tell you, a life mostly alone in my office isn't even remotely close to the life I had planned.