Wednesday, September 23, 2009

PTSD

I teach. And the lecture today was about some things about how the brain develops. There's some "chatter" about synapses and density and such and there is info about what age certain things happen in the brain. It's here when I hear myself say, "until about the mid-70s, unless there is a disease that may interfere with the healthy density of synapses and rapid firing of those synapses in the brain." Then I look down and hear myself speak, "and of course PTSD affects that too." And my brain takes a worm hole back to the past, when a year ago, I was struggling to spell words on the board as I lectured from this same spot in the room, and began stuttering as I struggled to stay focused and not feel so scared, and where I tried--desperately tried to think. During that acute grief, I simply could not think.

When we teach we typically use an anecdote to illustrate a point. It sticks when the students know the person whose telling the story. But, this anecdote of

When my daughter died, my brain stopped working well. I experienced Post Tramatic Stress Disorder. It was like slog. I couldn't remember anything. I couldn't spell. I couldn't speak. Numbers were gone from my memory; I even forgot the date of my anniversary. And the fear, the overwhelming fear.

Wasn't shared. I stared at the floor for what seemed like an eternity to me. While the slog returned, and finally lifted my heavy head, and asked with blank and tired eyes, "Any questions?" I begged in my head that no one would speak.

22 comments:

  1. You are a wonderful teacher to teach something that hits so close to home.

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  2. Teaching is one profession in which we bring all of us to work. We bring our values, joys and sorrows. We give anecdotes and talk about parts of our life that relate to the topics we teach. Like you, I have never been able to bring my lost baby part to the classroom. That is the one thing I keep tucked away in the recesses of my heart and always keep my fingers crossed that my dam of control never breaks in front of my students.

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  3. Think this anecdote will stay with me all day. I know exactly what you are talking about, unfortunately. With love.

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  4. I didn't realise that PTSD interfered with synapse density. How interesting. On the other hand, it might have been one of the things I did know before my poor synapses got a good old traumatising and is now lost to me.

    I don't know how you manage to teach subjects which are so close to you with such grace. I hope that I can manage the same when I have to speak about infant mortality rates and so on as part of my own job. xo

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  5. I have a confession- I cheated. I assigned group presentations for the unit on infant and toddler development. I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't explain all of those moments that I missed to the class. My brain took off when Levi died too. It's coming back but it's still not the same.

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  6. It is so hard. Standing up in front of a class and talking about things that bring up emotional memories, then holding it together takes such courage.

    Thinking of you.

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  7. My brain has deep wells with my memories at the bottom. Sometimes it takes a minute to bring back to the surface things that I would have previously been able to recall as easy as counting to 10. I find it embarrassing. My co-worker told me today that I was having a menopause moment. I didn't like that at all.

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  8. I totally understand the PTSD - I have moments where I totally forget things, can't form sentences, lose track of what I am saying literally in mid-sentence. I thought for a while it was the anti-depressants. Turns out it was worse without them...It's so embarrassing...I hate it. Big hugs to you.

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  9. I'm exhausted just thinking about how you were able to hold it together and push through this. And, well... not share your anecdote! I'm glad you felt a bit stronger this year, but I know the memory of the prior year remains. I wish you had no real-life knowledge of how this works.

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  10. Its amazing when something not related (but yet related) shows itself to us in the course of a regular day, conversation, lecture, etc. I applaud you for teaching this lesson and somehow bearing the pain it brought to you. I cannot imagine your pain and loss and hope you continue to heal... - ICLW

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  11. Sending hugs to you. Trauma on top of trauma. Peace to your broken heart, and mine. You are a beautiful writer and I hope that helps with the healing.

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  12. So sorry for the moments that bring the pain back to the surface. Thank you for sharing with us, I know it isn't easy.

    ICLW

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  13. So sorry - I lost my youngest son's twin at 18 weeks. I understand it is a different situation, but I do relate to things seemingly innocent that bring the pain back to life. (hugs)

    ICLW

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  14. I can't even imagine how hard that was for you, and how even today, it still hurts so much. My sister lost her second baby a couple of years ago and she still mourns her loss very much. I am so sorry for your loss.

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  15. I'm so sorry for your loss. And the mundane things in life that brign it so close to the fore again and again.

    xxx

    (ICLW)

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  16. {{{Hugs}}}, I think you are doing an amazing thing teaching those classes.

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  17. That must have felt like a strange moment, a moment where you had to focus on keeping it together. Sending hugs.

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  18. Everything I can think to add has already been said. Hugs to you for forging through what must have been a very difficult topic to discuss.

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  19. I've been thinking all week about all the conversations those of us who've experiences traumatic loss don't have day to day, and this becomes especially acute in the classroom. (I teach first-year college students.) As a graduate student I would have looked at myself and thought about those unsaid conversations that I just wasn't willing to be brave and honest with my students. Now, I know bravery is something a lot more complicated.
    Congratulations for getting through the lecture intact. That, I know without a doubt, took the real kind of bravery.

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