Makes me think

As hard as we try to convince ourselves that our lives are more tragic or difficult than anyone else's, we're wrong. Here are some inspirational bits from normal people, that will make you both laugh and cry...

http://makesmethink.com/

Leaving Day

I've had a hard time bringing myself to writing this blog post because, quite frankly, I don't really want to think about it. As long as I ignore the fact that my delicate, recovering brother and the rest of my family are across the country, I'm completely fine. But here we go, just for you guys...

Trevor got discharged from the hospital on Wednesday, April 20th, National Weed Day. The night before, he kicked everyone out early so he could get some sleep for the big day. When I walked into the room to pick him and my mom up that morning, he was sitting in his wheelchair, bonsai plant in lap, ready to go. He had the biggest smile I've seen on his face since the accident. He was ready to get out of there. And so were we.

On the car ride to the airport, Trevor of course got shotgun. He immediately turned the awful radio music up and danced-- well, wiggled his head around to his own imaginary beat-- the entire way. He would take a few breaks in order to tell me which way to go, like I hadn't been the airport a million times before. It's crazy how six brain surgeries later, he still knows his way around Salt Lake. He then got mad at me for not dropping them off curbside, forgetting that he obviously needed assistance.

Once we were parked, my mom told him to wait for her before getting out. Testing her, he kept sticking his leg in and out of the door, and then tried to get out on his own. My poor mom! He absolutely loves freaking her out.

Trevor was excited to go on the moving walkway, or whatever you call it. The entire time, he was trying to walk super fast and was making this exotic cooing noise, which we're not sure the origin of. It's almost like he was aiming for the Stewie voice from Family Guy, but it sounded more like an elderly woman whining about her missing dentures. When my mom tried to help get him off the escalator, he decided it was a good idea to try to ollie off. He lost his balance and nearly tipped over. At least he thought he was funny because it scared the rest of us to death.

After checking their bags, an airport employee came over with a wheelchair for Trevor. He wheeled Trevor directly to the front of the security check line, which was longer than I've ever seen at the Salt Lake airport. Just another advantage for the handicapped!

This was when we had to say goodbye. I tried to get Trevor to give me a hug, but as usual he refused, giving me a high-five instead. Then I hugged my mom. I couldn't look either one of them in the eyes because I knew I would break down. As soon as I turned around to walk away, I lost it. I'm generally okay with goodbyes, but this was indescribably difficult.

I bawled my eyes out for a good five minutes, and then a sudden feeling of relief took over. I no longer felt obligated to go spend my nights at the hospital instead of doing homework. I now had the opportunity to do what I needed to do in order to get my life together. Since they've been gone, I've driven toward the hospital completely out-of-habit three times. It's weird not having somewhere to go in between classes or during the random breaks in my day. But, it's unreal how much I've gotten done since Wednesday. I've written papers, applied for jobs and figured out that I'm somehow graduating in May!!

The reality that my brother is still recovering from his brain injury, struggling with walking and talking, has completely escaped my thoughts. It's been a really nice two-day mind vacation. And to be honest, I don't think this nightmare will become reality again until I'm back in Michigan in two weeks, which I'm completely okay with. Out of sight, out of mind.

And now I'll give a blunt and possibly offensive addition to what my mom said. Being Trevor's friend may not be the best way to be Trevor's friend during this recovery. What do I mean by that? Well, there's a good chance that a lot of you will want to let Trevor do things we aren't okay with in order to be the cool friend. But that is going to do nothing but hurt him at this point.

During Trevor's first rodeo, many of his "friends" found it appropriate to let him do a number of brain-damaging activities without my mom's approval. They took it to the point of even blocking my mom and I from their Facebook albums displaying pictures of Trevor drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, etc. They took Trevor away from the house and failed to check in with us to tell us what they were doing or when he would be back. Their excuse was that it was an invasion of Trevor's privacy. However, when someone has gone through six brain surgeries, even if they appear normal, their judgment may not be. So no, it is not okay for Trevor to be anywhere without his family's approval.

The poor attempts at being Trevor's friend didn't kill him last time; but this time they will. If you feel the need to hide what you're doing with Trevor from his family, there's a good chance you shouldn't be doing it and there's a good chance you aren't actually his friend. If you think we may be overprotective or if you think you know what's best for Trevor, then you're wrong. We've been here for the past 75 days and trust us, Trevor's life isn't something that can be put on the line anymore.

So if you want to be Trevor's friend, then be Trevor's friend. Help him recover but don't let him do the normal 22-year-old activities that you probably enjoy. Don't try to take him away from the house because although it may be fun for him, it's not going to help him. He's a porcelain doll stuck in a grown-ass man's body, and we don't want him to shatter. It would be quite the mess to clean up!

While wheeling Trevor to the cafeteria, I asked him what his plans are for when he gets home on Wednesday. He replied, "Sure." I asked, "You're going to 'sure' when you get home?" He laughed and then snapped, "Skateboarding."

My stomach dropped. I told him that there is no way in hell any of us are going to let him anywhere near a skateboard when he gets home. I then explained to him that after one brain injury, he was four times more likely to have another; after two brain injuries, he is now 16 times more likely to have a third. His eyes widened, but I wasn't done preaching. I informed him that if he gets the smallest jolt or bump to his head, he won't survive. He will die, no ifs, ands or buts about it. With a huge portion of his brain and skull already gone, he absolutely cannot afford anymore loss of brain cells. That means no more drinking, smoking or anything else that could cause damage. So, no, he will not be skateboarding when he returns home.

I was beginning to sound like his mom, but he seemed to get the point. He looked at me with a look of surprise and said, "Oh shit!" I replied, "Oh shit is right. So are you going to skateboard when you get home?" He said, "Nope." From his facial expression, it seemed like he was finally starting to realize the seriousness of the situation...

After his first rodeo, we had a really hard time finding a balance between safety and freedom. Given the fact that he is currently in the same situation again, we clearly failed to find that balance. This time, however, there is no room for error. We have to put his safety first no matter how mad or annoyed he gets because if we don't, well I don't think there will be a next time.

Having said that, here is some advice (and by advice, I don't mean it's optional) from my mom to those of you who plan on being there for Trevor during his recovery. She has been by his side for the past 75 days and unarguably knows better than anyone else what's best for Trevor. So listen up, homies:

If you plan to be with Trevor:

Stay as close to him as needed so that if he starts to stand up, you can be there to help him if he loses his balance.

Even in the bathroom, no matter if he says “no,” don’t be too far away.

This might help motivate you: If he falls, he WILL hit his head, and he WILL die.

Always watch his right arm and leg because he forgets they are there. Always make sure his right foot is positioned correctly. Make sure his right ankle isn’t twisted. Always check his right foot when he’s about to stand.

When he walks, gently hold his right upper arm. Let him sway as needed for balance but be prepared to catch him if he trips or if his right knee buckles. Always watch his right foot to make sure it doesn’t get caught on the floor as he pulls it forward. Always watch his right hand to make sure it doesn’t get caught on something extending from the wall, corners, a door knob, etc.

If he tries to talk but can't say a word or the right word, or if he says something that doesn't quite make sense, give him some time and then give him some choices. "Do you want 'sprite' or 'lemonade?' Don't be dependent on his nos meaning "no" and his yeses meaning "yes." In fact, he's less than 50% accurate. He has "expressive aphasia." Google it when you have time; it will help you understand.

Closely watch for inappropriate actions, especially when eating, such as drinking the ketchup (google "apraxia"). Nonchalantly, replace the ketchup with something to drink. Absolutely don’t laugh or make a big deal of it. Just quietly correct it. There will definitely be a time in his future to laugh at silly things he used to do (I think that showing him that he is constantly improving is great for his recovery) but not right when it is happening.

Television seems to be very therapeutic to him but not when anything else is going on in the room. Mute the TV when there are other conversations going on. He gets very frustrated when attention is not paid to the task at hand.

Keep in mind that Trevor has been inside a hospital for over 75 days. His eyes will be sensitive to light and the stimulation in the car or a restaurant might be overwhelming. Remember, if you are with Trevor, it MUST be about Trevor. When there is a lot of other stimulation, make sure any conversation or music is quiet.

Remember: no caffeine, nicotine, sleep deprivation, jolts to the head, or alcohol. So if you are a smoker, chewer, drinker, or late-night partier and you cannot refrain while you are around Trevor, then DON’T BE AROUND TREVOR.

Don’t say, “if your mom finds out, she’ll kill me.” Although I’m flattered that you care about me, I’d rather you care about Trevor. He needs to know that you care about him. That means that if you come to my house, I should be able to offer you a drink, and you should have the courtesy to turn me down SO TREVOR CAN SEE THAT IT IS YOUR CHOICE. He needs to constantly witness his peers making these choices. Please help teach Trevor how to say “no” to the things that could kill him! I will not judge you for the choices you make while not around Trevor. I completely get that this stuff is super fun and I hope you completely get that it isn’t an option for someone that has had six brain surgeries!

Jolts to the head include getting hit by a basketball, baseball, or any other kind of ball with the exception of a nerf ball. So if you cannot guarantee that Trevor will catch a ball being thrown at him (by the way, YOU CAN’T), please don’t throw it at him.

Definitely not least or last, unless you hear differently FROM ME, Trevor will not snowboard, skateboard, wakeboard, or ride a snowmobile EVER again. I am sure you understand how devastating this is for Trevor. Therefore give this some thought. Try to figure out how you are going to handle these subjects in a conversation.

If you disagree with the importance of any of the above, then please let me know. I released Trevor to the world last rodeo, and the world did not take care of him. Please help take care of him this rodeo!

So, there ya have it. We really appreciate your support and your being there for Trevor, but please help us keep him alive! We like him and would REALLY like to keep him around...

Trevor is officially being booted from the hospital April 20th. Yes, as in this coming Wednesday. So for all of you Salt Lake City folks who have been meaning to come visit but haven't had the time... Get your butts over to room 2613! Sundays are not fun days here at the hospital, so please come visit him and convince him to get out of bed.

It is absolutely unreal to me that he's finally leaving. We've been here for the past 74 days. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do when I no longer feel obligated to go to the hospital during each and every tiny break in my busy schedule. Although I'm really happy for him (REALLY REALLY happy for him), I'm having a minor heart attack myself. It's going to be extremely hard to get my stuff done when my mind is back in Michigan, where my brother is recovering from all this nonsense...

Thinking about Trevor having to go to the airport and participate in society on a regular basis kind of makes my stomach hurt. He looks perfectly fine; he doesn't look like he wouldn't be able to answer a simple question. What's going to happen when the stewardess comes by and asks him what he wants to drink. What's going to happen when the person at the baggage claim asks to see his ID? Is he going to respond with something along the lines of "penis" or "siamese twins?" Because I really hope not. He can rarely communicate but nobody in the general public would ever know that.

And in reality, we don't know whether or not embarrassment is an emotion his brain allows him to have. I don't know anyone that can help them self from staring at someone passing by in a wheelchair, especially someone as young as Trevor. It's not a normal thing. Is he going to know that all these people are looking and feel ashamed?

The other day, my friend Megan and I were talking about a presentation that Nicholas Kristof, a New York Times journalist, recently gave about people with disabilities in Africa. In many third world countries, where there's no money to care for those with disabilities, they are treated as outcasts. Often times, handicapped people are kicked out of their villages, neglected, severely abused and left to die.

But here in the wonderful US of A, those with disabilities are given better opportunities-- healthcare benefits, movie discounts, etc.-- and thank God for that. Not to mention Disney World... People in wheelchairs get to cut to the front of the lines at the most fun place on Earth! I'm really trying to convince my parents that a Disney World trip is in Trevor's best interest this summer.

SURPRISE!

So, after spending the majority of the day at the hospital, I rushed home for what I thought was a dinner date with my dear friend, Megan. She called to say she was 15 minutes away, which I thought was a little out of the ordinary but didn't really think anything of it. Soon after that, I saw her headlights shining into my kitchen window, so I ran outside to say hello.

As I was prancing outside, I spotted my mom helping Trevor get out of the car, which caused me to literally stop in my tracks. I caught myself second-guessing whether or not I was actually awake because I often have rather realistic noontime dreams. But no, I was definitely awake. Megan looked over to Trevor and said, "Trevor, what did we practice saying?" and he responded with a casual, "uhhh." The whole car ride over, they practiced saying surprise, but clearly I blew the surprise by running outside.

We went to Ichiban, Trevor and my favorite local sushi spot, for their going away-- or returning home-- dinner. Apparently they had this outing planned for the past week and were able to keep me out of the loop. Regardless, I was stoked and more importantly, so was Trevor.

It was a pretty interesting experience taking Trevor out in public. With the help of my mom and his handy dandy cane, Trevor wobbled himself up the steps to the restaurant. In a way, I think he feels embarrassed when people see him struggling to walk or talk. Whenever he knows anyone is looking, he makes a sarcastic grunting noise similar to what you would associate with a lower-functioning person. It may seem like a good technique, but I'm pretty sure it makes people think he's actually lower-functioning. Although, I'm not sure if he would be considered lower-functioning, handicapped or disabled at this point. Personally, I'm going to wait until he's fully recovered before I try to label him.

Anyways, once we were seated, he immediately tried to drink out of the empty water glass in front of him. The waitress came over and asked us what we wanted to drink. He thought for a second and then replied, "pop," which took us all by surprise. Then my mom had to go through all of his options (which are limited because caffeine is frowned upon for those with severe brain damage). He said, "sure." My mom asked, "lemonade?" He said, "alright." Then, he looked over at Megan and me with his 'I'm about to say something hilarious' smirk, and asked, "uh, you guys want drinks?"

Then things got a little awkward. He tried to dip the edamame in his lemonade. He got a bad pod in his mouth, leaned over and spat it on the table. He poured water in his soy sauce. He took his chewed up edamame pods and threw them in the bowl with the un-chewed ones. He reached over and tried to take a drink of my beer. He tried to eat his ice cream with a straw. Oh well! Etiquette, shmettiquette; that's what I say...

After dinner, we stopped by Walgreen's to buy Trevor a cane. Megan and I tried to convince him to get the cheetah-print one, but he obviously chose the murdered-out, black one. While we were waiting at the cash register, he decided it was the right time and place to start dancing. There is absolutely nothing in the world that makes me laugh harder than Trevor trying to dance. He has a hard enough time balancing when he's standing still, so dancing is quite the sight. I have no words to describe it but it's hilarious; just take my word for it.

Normally I hate surprises, but tonight was quite the exception. Being able to free Trevor from the hospital for a night to go out to sushi was the best time I've had in a while. I love my mom, brother and best friend to the moon and back (and then to the moon and back a few billion more times)!!!

For the past five days, I've been struggling, trying to come up with something mind-boggling to say about Trevor's recovery, my spiritual learnings or anything along those lines. Clearly, I've found nothing. Not because Trevor hasn't progressed and not because I haven't been enlightened by millions of little occurrences each day, but because I don't know the words to express what I'm feeling or what's going on at the hospital.

During the past couple months, I've made it seem like I actually thought Trevor was going to recover from this. By convincing all of you guys that he was going to be fine, I thought I would also convince myself. But I was wrong. I honestly never thought that Trevor was going to survive this; I never thought that he would be the Trevor Rhoda that we've all come to know and love. And I think that's why I was struggling so much, ignoring my life to spend time with him.

But things are different now. I may be over-optimistic, but I'm absolutely convinced that Trevor is going to pull through and return to normal. Eventually. I have no idea how long it's going to take-- a month, a year or a lifetime-- but I know he's going to be fine. Even though he still struggles with communication, his personality is all there...

He still looks at his friends and tries to be the cool tough guy, despite the fact that he's completely vulnerable, lying in a hospital bed. He tries to act all nonchalant when they enter the room, like them being there isn't the highlight of his day. He still laughs at their jokes but rolls his eyes when they say anything remotely serious.

He still looks at my mom like she's babying him and tries to hide his sincere gratitude for everything she's done. He still wants her to think that he's independent and can get by without her, but knows deep-down that he can't. When he wakes up, he still looks over to make sure she's there, and has a look of relief when he realizes she's been sitting there the entire time. He knows that he wouldn't have come this far if it weren't for her, fighting like hell, with his best interest in mind.

He still looks at me like his pestering little sister, pretending to be annoyed but then eventually cracking a smile or laugh. When my friends or his friends come around, he still tries to convince everyone that he's cooler than me. He still refuses to give me a hug or tell me he loves me (even though he did both at the bar three days before his accident). Truth is, I'm still his baby sister and always will be. Even though I've had to spend the past two months taking care of him-- helping him eat, go to the bathroom, etc.-- I still look up to him. I still want to grow up and be just like him, because he's my brother and I love him.

He's still Trevor, and nothing-- not even two traumatic brain injuries and six brain surgeries-- will take that away.

GRATITUDE

Since there's not a whole lot to update you all on, I thought I'd do another post about remaining positive. I've never been an advocate for self-help books by any means. Nobody is the same and the idea of a step-by-step instructional manual on how to be perfect seems a little outlandish to me. However, the book Happier completely changed my mind.

One topic that caught my attention was gratitude...

Along with happiness comes gratitude. We need to realize what positive things we have in our lives that give us meaning, and focus on those. Although our lives don't always go as planned and although there are many obstacles that come flying our way (sometimes bringing everything else to a halt), there are always things to be grateful for. Once we begin to pay attention to the positive things in our lives, the negative things will start to wither away.

During Trevor's recovery, I have realized how many things we truly take for granted, like being able to walk to the mailbox or being able to eat ice cream with a spoon. If we take the time to appreciate all the positive things going on in our lives, we will without a doubt be happier.

According to research done by Robert Emmons and Michael McCullough, "those who keep a daily gratitude journal-- writing down at least five things for which they are grateful-- enjoy higher levels of emotional and physical well-being" (Ben-Shahar, p. 10). And who's not down for some higher doses of well-being?

I honestly don't remember the last time I sat down and thought about all the things I'm grateful for. It was probably during the typical Thanksgiving dinner when everyone has to go around the table and say something along the lines of 'I'm thankful for my family, my friends and the food on the table.' But that's definitely the extent of it...

Putting actual thought into it, here are a few things I'm grateful for during this crummy situation:

First off, I'm thankful that Trevor, who was given a decimal of a percentage chance of survival, is alive today. I am thankful for the crazy amounts of progression he has made during his recovery. I am thankful that I can walk into the room and see his smile every day. I'm thankful for the positive attitude he has had throughout all this. But most of all, I'm thankful that I've had the privilege to have him as my brother.

I'm thankful for my mom, who has proven to be the best mother on Earth. Not only has she been there for Trevor and myself during all this chaos, but she has literally given up everything in her life. She moved across the country, away from her dog and all of her fancy shmancy outfits, to spend each and every minute of each and every day by Trevor's side.

I'm thankful for my dad, who despite all the drama within my family, has taken a few weeks off life in Michigan to be here for Trevor and myself. I am thankful that he has sacrificed some booby-sales to support us during this hard time.

I'm thankful for Walker, my stepdad, who has gone through hell and back with my family. After years of torture from Trevor and myself, he has stuck through and proven to be the best, most sincere person I know. He has been a rock during this crisis, the hard foundation that keeps all of us standing. I don't know how he does it, but I am very, very thankful for him.

I'm thankful for all my closest friends, Megan, Ian, Claire and everyone else, who have provided shoulders for me to cry on during everything. Even though I've been an utter shit show, and have been terrible at returning phone calls, they've been awesome and I definitely couldn't be doing this without any of them!

Lastly, I'm thankful for all of you guys-- friends, family, friends of family, and family of friends-- who have proven to be a great support system for Trevor and the rest of the Rhoda/Walker clan. There is no doubt in my mind that the reason Trevor has progressed so much is because of all your kind thoughts, prayers and positive vibes.

So thank you!

Now go home and make a list for yourself. Write down five things you're grateful for. According to Ben-Shahar, "[t]he key is, despite the repetition, to keep the emotions fresh; imagine what each item means to you as you write it down, and experience the feeling associated with it. Doing this exercise regularly can help you to appreciate the positive in your life rather than take it for granted" (p. 11). It helps; I promise.

HAPPINESS

Today, I woke up sick, skipped my first two classes and was feeling especially sorry for myself. It took me a few hours to motivate myself to do homework and the rest of the day to convince myself to go to my “Real-ationships and Emotions” night-class. In fact, I probably wouldn't have gone had my stepdad not come over and questioned whether or not I was going. He pays my tuition, so of course I had to go.

Although it took a lot for me to get in my car and drive to class, I am exponentially glad I did. It was by far the most impacting class of my entire college career and entirely changed my perspective on this dreadful situation my family is going through...

The topic of the day was 'happiness.' Oh, great! The last thing I wanted to hear was someone rant on about how we need to appreciate every second and find the positive in everything we do. My brother is in a wheelchair, my family is broken and my life is in shambles. I don't want to sit there and listen to someone tell me to find the joys in that; there aren't any.

So, I was sitting there half-listening to the group presentation, when the presenter read a quote which caught my attention. “Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived” (Star Trek: Generations, 1994).

This was interesting to me because at this point in my life, it feels like time is, without a doubt, my predator. Time is constantly out to get me. Time is trying to ruin all of my hopes and dreams. I have three weeks until I'm supposed to graduate. During this time, I am supposed to complete two entire semesters of work. My brother is currently in the hospital with only a certain amount of time that his insurance will cover therapy for, but he clearly needs more than 60 days of it. We have a constant battle with time, and it seems to always take the win and then continue to rub it in with a long, drawn out victory dance without any “unsportsmanlike conduct” penalty.

The presenter then started talking about Aron Ralston. For a little background information, Ralston is the climber who was hiking around in southern Utah when an 800-pound boulder became dislodged and pinned his hand against a canyon wall. He was stuck there for five days, until he ended up having to amputate his own arm with a dull pocketknife. This split-second event, that he never anticipated happening, changed his entire life.

Okay, so what does this have to do with happiness or time? Well, we never know when an 800-pound rock is going to fall on us, or someone we care about. We never know when our time or someone else's time is going to be up, and our lives are going to be drastically changed. And for this, we must cherish every minute with every person we are privileged to have in our lives. Time is our friend, not our predator.

According to Henry David Thoreau, “[t]he greatest tragedy in life is to spend your entire life fishing only to discover that it was not fish you were after.”

I absolutely love this quote. Lately I have had the mindset that I will be happy once I'm graduated and once Trevor has recovered. I have kept these goals in mind, and have accepted the fact that until these goals are achieved, I will remain unhappy. By doing this, I have been drowning myself in negativity, in hopes that I will be able to come up for air when it's all over. But that's not the way to live life. I don't know when this is going to be over, or if it will ever be over. And when that happens, will I just be looking for some new goal that will somehow create happiness?

Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar explains this topic much better than I could even dream about. In the book Happier, he says "[g]oals are indespensable to a happy life-- to be happy, we need to identify and pursue goals that are both pleasurable and meaningful. Happiness grows less from the passive experience of desirable circumstances than from involvement in valued activities and progress toward one's goals" (p. 65).

So, although it is really good to set goals, we will never be happy if we depend on the achievement of these goals. We need to find happiness along our journeys, not assume it will be at our destinations. Basically, we will only be happy once we are able enjoy the little things in life. Happiness isn't something that is found; it is something that must be created.

Wow! I don't know if any of that got to you, but it definitely hit close to home for me. After class, I got in my car and dreaded the fact that I promised Walker I'd stop by the hospital. The song "Don't let it get you down" by Spoon came on, and my mind all of the sudden became clear. I can't let the fact that my brother is in the hospital get me down. I need to stop taking life for granted and start creating happiness with each little thing that happens in my life.

Once I got to the hospital, I got the best spot in the parking structure. Then, I went up to room 2613 and saw Trevor's big, crooked, half-paralyzed smile. He lifted his hand up to give me a 'high five.' My mom, Walker and Payton all came over and hugged me. All of the sudden, I burst into tears. I left the room, cried the entire way home and for a little while after I got home. I don't know if it was a sad or happy cry, but it was exactly what I needed, exactly what I've needed this entire time. After that, I went out and had a really fun night with my friends. It was the first time since Trevor's accident that it hasn't taken me hours to fall asleep.

Life is good.

of Trevor Rhoda 's speech therapy...



Trevor wheels himself over to the table, locks his breaks and begins to wipe off the table. Michelle, the speech therapist, asks, "Trevor, aren't you going to give me some kind of greeting? Awkward silence. Michelle then suggests, "Hello? Be quiet? Go to-?" Trevor replies, "church." Not exactly what she was looking for, but hey, we'll take it! Most people would probably finish that phrase with 'hell,' but Trevor went with 'church' instead.

The therapist then tells Trevor to say the months of the year. He starts with, "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday." She then helps him by saying, "January, February-?" He responds with "July, August, September, November." For a third attempt, he says, "January, March, April, September, November, December." Then he gets all of them right, just forgetting October.

Next, she wanted him to count from one to 50. He began with "March, April, May" followed by "29, 10, 30 (pronounced 'thitty'), 31 (pronounced 'thitty-one'), thitty-two, thitty-seven, 60" then, "50, thitty, thitty, thitty" and then finally successfully counted from one to 50 with little clues from the therapist. Trevor is awesome. His progression absolutely astonishes me.

The therapist talked about how Trevor needs to find the balance between automatic and accurate speech. Everything that he says is really automatic, such as finishing the phrase "go to" with "church," or reciting the months of the year. But what he needs to work on is making sure he's saying things correctly, not just listing off whatever flies from the back of his head. To me, it's really similar to a toddler reciting the alphabet, where they maybe can't decipher from letter to letter, combining LMNOP into one word, but they have the entire song memorized. That's pretty much how Trevor is communicating right now, if you can call it communicating, that is...

Trevor was able to place cards in numerical order from two to seven. He couldn't distinguish between red and black. But all of the sudden some sort of genius power switch turned on and he was able to turn over the numbers she told him to, follow basic commands with few errors and even hand her the cards in the specific order she told him to. Yup, I'm pretty sure he's actually fine, just trying to trick us and stress us all out for a few months.

The therapist held up picture cards and had Trevor describe what was going on. The picture to the left is the first one she held up. He noticed the short shorts and then shouted, "Whoa, no!!," shoved it back at the therapist and moved on to the next one.

She held up a picture of someone washing dishes and asked Trevor what was going on. He said, "jelly." She cued, "washing off the-?" He replied, "cable" and then after a little help, said, "dish."

She then held up a picture of someone playing cards. He said, "pancakes" and then "blueberries" and then "lawn mower." She asked what the person was holding. He replied, "cereal," laughed, and then said "pancakes" and "peanut butter." She cued, "playing-?" He replied, "dice" then "cards" then "pancakes" and finally, "playing cards."

Next was a picture of someone washing their hands. He said, "pancakes" of course. She told him to fix it. He said, "pancakes" and then "laying down" and then "brushing" and then "washing." She helped with, "washing what-?" He replied "chairs" and then laughed. The therapist asked, "washing hands with-?" He said "soap!" She asked him to repeat, "washing hands with-?" He said "hope."

For the picture of someone digging in the dirt with a shovel, he said, "shoveling the sidewalk" right off the bat. Fantastic!!

The best part of Trevor's speech therapy went exactly as follows:

For a picture of a lady playing the piano...

Trevor: Soft bed
Michelle: Pi-?
Trevor: Penis [laughs hysterically]
Michelle: She's looking at the-?
Trevor: Penis [laughs again]
Michelle: Mus-?
Trevor: Museum, music

And then for a picture of a man playing the guitar...

Trevor: Penis, bandaid, penis
Michelle: Playing the-?
Trevor: Piano, guitar

Yup, I might have a middle-school sense of humor, but that was hilarious. I really hope the word 'penis' doesn't get stuck in Trevor's head for the rest of his life. On the other hand, maybe it would brighten things up a little...

Check out the obstacle course that Trevor conquered in physical therapy! It's interesting to me that they are having him walk on mats and weave between objects when he hasn't even mastered walking on tile yet. It takes a ton of effort for him to drag that right leg forward, and he gets worn out quickly. Walking the length of a football field is like doing a marathon for Trevor.

He's still not moving that right arm on his own yet, which is terrifying to me. They shot him up with Lidocaine (which is what triggered his right leg to move) but it was unsuccessful. He ignores his arm completely, almost as if he doesn't even know it's there. He does everything with his left arm and doesn't even consider trying to use his right one for anything.

Imagine trying to eat a delicious salad with one hand; it's nearly impossible. Trevor ends up with a pile of lettuce in his lap and random scraps all over the table. He has no way of holding the plate still so he has to play a stabbing game with everything sliding all over the place. He will drop his utensils in his lap and then forget where they are and continue eating his meal with his hands. I absolutely hate watching him eat. We seldom have to put thought into how to be smarter than our food, but Trevor does. Oh, the things we take for granted in life...

The thing that probably blows my mind the most is the fact that Trevor will go all day saying only random words that make no contextual sense, and then all of the sudden, BAM!, he says a full blown sense-making sentence like, "I'm sick of the eggs and sausage" or, "Turn the damn light off!"

After therapy, I tried to help Trevor get from his wheelchair to his bed. He rolled his eyes, gave me a death-stare and firmly said, "Alyssa, Alyssa!" He gets really mad at us for trying to help him, but forgets the fact that he can't actually get up or walk on his own. The nurses are trying to convince us to leave him alone for a while to see how independent he is. In theory that sounds great, except for the fact that Trevor will try to walk to the bathroom on his own. And I know they're all really good at caring for people with brain injuries, but quite frankly, we're not ready to go through this again. So no, we will not be leaving him alone with the high risk of him falling and getting yet another brain injury.

Some interesting events that went down in the past few days:

Me: Trevor do you want to rent a movie?
Trevor: [Shrugs]
Me: I saw Jackass 3 down there. What do ya think?
Trevor: Yusss! But um, [mumbles something in gibberish and then points to our dad]
Me: You think Dad won't like it?
Trevor: [Laughs]
Me: Should we just get it anyway?
Trevor: Yes [but shakes head]
Me: Yes or no?
Trevor: No [but nods]
Me: Trevor, I'm getting a lot of mixed signals here. Should we go get Jackass?
Trevor: [Laughs] Alright.

Later, my dad asked Trevor he wanted some of his ice cream. Trevor responded with a firm "no." About two minutes later, he sat up and shouted, "I want some!"

Our sweet, innocent, little ten-year-old brother, Payton, was running around, dancing and making a bunch of ruckus. Trevor put up with it for a few hours and then all of the sudden looked at him, said "F*ck you!" and then continued to watch MTV. He has quite the potty mouth lately, but who could blame him really?

Happy Brain Injury Awareness Month, y'all. According to the CDC, "[A]n estimated 135,000 sports- and recreation-related TBIs.. are treated in U.S. emergency departments each year." That's right, 135,000. So do your friends and family a favor; wear a helmet when you do super fun things! Trust me, TBI's aren't all they're cracked up to be...

I was convinced that yesterday, the one-year anniversary of Trevor's first accident and two-month anniversary of his second, was going to be hell. For the most part, I was right. Generally the word 'anniversary' has a positive connotation, with images of happiness, love and good memories. This anniversary, however, includes none of those things.

It has officially been a year since all of our lives have been drastically changed. The first accident was really hard in the fact that we had no idea what to do or what to expect. The second accident has been a million times worse. Although we sort of know what to do, we have no idea what to expect. There is no way of knowing where Trevor's going to be a year from now, and to me, that's the scariest thing ever.

I believe that God throws each of us about five percent more than we can actually handle in life, just to test us. But in my family's case, I'm almost certain he got his math messed up. During the first accident, we were tough as nails and had full control over our emotions. This time on the other hand, we are a chaos-filled disaster.

After Trevor beat death once, we thought we had a bunch of good luck coming our way. But apparently we were wrong; we're on some sort of nasty streak of bad luck. We were planning on throwing him a huge one-year anniversary bash, thinking that he would be all fine and dandy and that we could celebrate a new year and move forward. But instead we're stuck in another hospital having to go through everything we've already gone through, but exponentially worse.

It's like a sick form of déja vu that none of us are quite ready to handle...

Trevor amazes me, both with his recovery and with his attitude. Obviously he gets frustrated several times a day, but look where he's at and what he's gone through. I would be nothing but negative in his shoes. I wouldn't have half his motivation to move on or get better. But somehow he never gives up. When he realizes for the eight-millionth time of the day that his right arm isn't going to move, or when he spills ice cream all over his lap, or when he says the wrong word, he simply takes a deep breath and moves on. Over and over again. Multiple times a day.

I truly believe that although Trevor's stubbornness is a pain in the arse most of the time, it's the reason he recovered from the first injury and is going to recover from this one. He doesn't take no for an answer. The doctor told us he wouldn't be able to walk, but he's walking with a leg brace and a cane. The doctor told us he wouldn't be able to talk, but he's saying more words than your average six-month-old. Do you think it's a coincidence that he has a much easier time saying "no" than "yes?" I don't know.

As for the update, this is all I got...

Trevor's speech is improving a ton. And by that, I mean he's saying a whole bunch of words that generally don't make sense. When you ask him a question, he thinks for a minute, mumbles something that sounds like it could be a word but definitely isn't in the English dictionary, realizes he didn't make sense and then repeats in that order. Although, he has taken me by surprise with random bursts of sense-making sentences, like "I don't really care," "Damn, that's good," or "I'll take either." The brain is a crazy thing!

Trevor's walking gets better each day, with more control and weight-bearing on that right leg. The physical therapist wants to order him a $1,000 ankle brace, but I'm convinced he'll be walking on his own by the time the brace even ships.

The doctor injected Lidocaine in Trevor's right arm in hopes that it gives his arm the same reaction as it did his leg. Good news is the doc didn't mess up and inject it on the wrong side again. Bad news is Trevor got so light-headed and green at the gills that he nearly passed out.

Here's how the two minutes of speech therapy that I sat through went today:

Michelle: Trevor, what would you sew a button on with?
Trevor: School, spoon, knife, uhh..
M: Nee-?
T: Needre [in an Asian accent similar to the stereotypical "herro prease" or "raugh out roud"]

M: What would you use to wipe up a spill?
T: School, spoon...

M: What would you use to start a fire?
T: School, knife, moo.
M: Ma-?
T: Mattress, match...

M: What would you use to cut grass?
T: Charge, spoon...
M: Mo-?
T: Ped, moped, school...
M: Lawn?
T: Mother, mower.

M: What would you use to measure how tall someone is?
T: Melakin.
M: A tape -?
T: Medicine, school.

Tomorrow will be the one-year anniversary of Trevor's first brain injury and the two-month anniversary of his second (and hopefully last). You think this calls for a celebration? If so, I think I'm going to blare the song 'It's my party and I'll cry if I want to' while bawling my eyes out in the corner of room 2613. Party on!