Fixing Boo Boo
A Story of Traumatic Brain Injury
Pat Stanford
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Copyright 2019 Pat Stanford. All rights reserved
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Kindle Edition
Dedication
This second edition is dedicated to my husband Gary Stanford, without whom I could not have remained sane throughout our experience, let alone during the writing of it.
Contents
About the Author
Introduction
BRAIN INJURY IS not an easy topic. Caregiving is not an easy topic either. This is a book with both of these. Wait! I know, it sounds like a downer, but I lived it and I can assure you that you can get through a similar situation with a sense of humor. If you dont have a sense of humor when you first start a caregiving journey, you will develop one!
This is my story and a second edition at that. Why do a second edition? Mainly to update the resources list that appeared in that back. Not resting on any laurels, I wanted to update the book for the same reason I wrote it in the first place, and that was to help other caregivers understand that they are not alone, and you can get through it with grace and humor. Theres that humor thing again.
As I have told many people, I am not an expert on brain injury; I am an expert on taking care of a sister who was brain injured. I have become more knowledgeable about brain injury, and I can help someone just starting out to get pointed in the right direction, but I do not claim any expertise on any frontonly to be a veteran of the experience.
Is this book only for those who are caregivers? Just for brain-injured families? Nope! You have no idea if and when something like this can happen to you or a family member. And Im not here to scare you into reading this book. Im just putting it out there; you never really know.
I hope you will laugh along with me (my husband didnt find quite as much humor in the journey) and maybe even cry a little, but you will see that there is hope in the journey, regardless of the outcome.
I had a dog. Hed been shot, stabbed, run over, lost a leg and one eye, broken his tail and had his ear clawed. I called him Lucky.
Anonymous
I had a sister. She had cerebral palsy, hammertoes, psoriasis, glaucoma, COPD, hearing loss, and a brain injury. I called her Boo Boo.
Her sister
Chapter One
NOVEMBER 9, 2007 was the beginning of the end. Wed made many trips to Gainesville, Florida before, but this time was for a memorial service. It happened at a small Baptist church for a man named Bill, whod never attended there. Hed married my older sister, Barb, and while she expected this day, she still hadnt prepared for it. Whoever does?
My brother, Scott, and his wife, Penny, came up from South Florida and met us at the church, arriving in the tiny parking lot just moments after we did.
Hey there! How did the drive up from Delray go?
Long, Scott replied, stretching. This time, he smiled at another of the short answers hed always given throughout our childhood.
Off in the distance, a hint of smoke from someones chimney smelled of burning wood, a scent I loved. We walked into the church together, and several sweet ladies greeted us. They apparently had been assigned the task of making sure that we were properly welcomed. They assured us that this was indeed, a very sad day.
There wasnt much to this church, but in the tiny foyer, a planning box partially blocked the entrance to the sanctuary. It contained a mock-up of what the church would look like after they built on another wing. The pastor had grand plansa vision of how the church could be a better beacon unto the community. Plans called for the purchase of the scrubland on either side of the existing church. New education space and a larger sanctuary could be built to accommodate more people. Existing space would be utilized for what the pastor hoped to attractyoung couples with children and youth.
Scott and Penny were gracious and found nice things to say in most instances. They made small talk about the mock-up as we stood there for what seemed like an eternity, waiting to be seated. Then they thanked the pastor for ministering to Barb and trying to do the same with Bill. Both well-educated and impeccably dressed, Scott and Penny were a sharp contrast to Bill and Barb. My husband Gary often referred to our few get-togethers as the meetings of the Clampetts and the Windsors.
Youve got an excellent model here, Scott said to the pastor over the small wooden church inside the planning box. I hope you have every success with the expansion.
The pastor beamed, happy that someone finally gave a word of encouragement for his plans to grow and improve. He bore the look of someone who seldom received positive feedback from his congregation, which, unfortunately, did not have the same vision.
As with many small churches, some congregants wanted to keep it that way. They had a private club mentality to exclude outsiders, and it resulted in a stagnant membership. There were few families with small children or youth, and the gatekeepers at this church saw to it no more wanted to join. Sour looks greeted newcomers instead of warm smiles. These bad apples didnt want to do what a church is meant to dominister to the community and this attitude worried the pastor. I later learned that the church split and that the building would be used for something else.
Scott dressed in the same preppie-style clothes hed become accustomed to while attending Princeton. Almost six years my senior, his hair was gray, and he kept it so short he looked bald at a distance. Like many men trying to figure out what they should look like when they are older, he sported a short beard.