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 Social Work: Not for the Meek of Heart Stories…I have a million of them. Okay. Maybe only a couple hundred. But they are all pretty darn deep, pithy and raw. This one is not for the faint of heart. [Either] I was an intern and had been called in with one of the nation’s best neurologist’s…before the nation even knew she was the best. But I knew. The case was a young woman who had lost her child, and consequently her husband. After her husband left her, she decided to go back to school. While there, she fell down an elevator shaft and landed on her head. No…really…she did. She survived, but just barely and she had a traumatic brain injury, aka, a TBI. She was lucky. Yes, I know that sounds ludicrous, but believe me, she was. She had colossal family support and the best Mom ever. I worked primarily with folks who were outpatient during my internship, so they were beyond acute care and living back in the community. Therefore I met the support systems of folks, most of whom impressed me, the others didn't even show up. I met this lady, her parents and siblings on several different occasions. Everyone was so happy she had progressed to the level she had. Thing is…she was still in pretty bad shape as far as her cognitive abilities went. She looked fine, she could converse okay, but she had real problems with short term memory, which is often the case with TBI’s. As an example, we had a group therapy session where several people who were post TBI attended. With TBI’s, people can have all sorts of difficulties afterwards, mostly with memory, but some entirely lose their previous personality. And some who do lose their personality, replace it with one you wish you had never met. Another story for another day. There was this one poor man who had been in a car wreck with his wife and she died and he survived with a brain injury. His memory was horribly affected, but every day he would wake up, seemingly fine. And every day the hab aide (habilitation specialist who helps these folks) would have to remind him of the injury…and tell him again that his wife was dead. See…he couldn’t remember after he slept each night what had happened and asked where his wife was each and every morning, as she was not sleeping beside him. Every freaking day he had to be told all over again. He re-lived that trauma every single morning. Anyway, the poor lady train wreck of a human I was speaking of earlier was part of this same group. Every day we would get a little different group make up, depending on how everyone was functioning. Never a dull moment in social work land. The young lady I was discussing was progressing well. The doctors did not think she would ever be able to function. They weren’t sure she would ever even wake up. But she did. And she did really well, except for the fact that her child was still dead, her husband had still left her because he couldn't handle it, and now she was not really able to go back to school and “change her stars” because her memory retention was gone. Worst part about it was…she was completely aware of this. She knew she wasn’t the same person she was before the accident. She knew she was different. She knew it was two years post (meaning the docs don’t believe there will be much more improvement because, well, there rarely is after this point). She also knew she was driving her parents into the poorhouse...they were close to bankruptcy. She also knew her kid was forever dead and the kid’s daddy had abandoned her in her darkest days even before these darkest days ever began. Talk about a pit of dispair to climb out of. I couldn’t do it…could you? She came to us in clinic one day…suicidal as hell. Her mom was with her and, thank God, so was the miracle worker doctor… (Not the one who just sewed them up with no thought of outcome and quality of life. He was always SO proud that HE saved them. Really? What he did often was prolonging a life of someone who no longer existed, but we won’t go into that dark arena now). Anywho. Angel doc was there. And she was looking at me. What do we tell this young lady? She and I were nearly the same age and both of us had gone back to college looking for something...better? The Mom looked at me as her daughter sobbed that she knew she was a burden and she just wished she would have died. My eyes were full of tears too. The doctor ordered more of whatever anti-depressant she was on that wasn’t working and never would. (See "head meds" are mostly just a cloaking device. They dull or inhibit feeling, they don't cure anything. A pill can't make a dead baby come home or a husband stand by his wife in her darkest days. The reality doesn't change just because of a pill.) I looked at her and at her Mom and said what came to my heart. “If God would have wanted you to go Home s/he would have taken you, which means you still are here to make a difference”. The Mom gave me a wan smile and I gathered up my things before they pumped her full of more drugs. Did I help? Nope. Can’t say as I ever did. But I did remember, and I do remember. And I will remember always and beyond. “God bless her please” is all I can say. I do not know if she ever got her way. I just hope she found some sort of peace, wherever it might be. 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