Gunshot Wounds

I invited my Uncle to come with Vin and I to the library to check out the Chinese New Year celebration. My uncle is more and more himself every time I see him, which makes seeing him more and more fun. Last week he sent me a piece of creative writing he had written. Before going to the library, we met for coffee so we could talk a bit about his piece, the point of which was to explain to other social workers how he, a drug counselor, became a user, and how he got clean again, without rehab.

Since I work a lot with brain injury, I see a lot of similarities with what happened to my uncle after prolonged drug use and a person recovering from brain injury. He had problems finding words, his short and long term memory were gone, he couldn't control his impulses, he was easily confused, unable to perceive his own limitations, unable to see how to do things in steps, and unable to track time. The combination of being unable to follow directions in steps and to keep track of time led to several fires while he was cooking.

Since he couldn't control his impulses, he was unable to have access to an ATM card or a credit card. People at the bank continually offered to set him up with either, to make his life easier. He kept telling them no; they kept offering. Finally he told them: Look. I can't. I have a brain injury and I can't own a card.

Oooh, what happened? One of the tellers asked.

I was shot in the head, he responded. He laughed telling this story. Now when I go in, I hear them whisper: Look, it's the guy who was shot in the head. You know what? he asked. It's actually true. I might as well have shot myself in the head.

It's amazing to see someone come so far in what is relatively little time. But there are still moments when I worry. Like when he called me on the phone and couldn't remember if he had told me the big news he had called to tell me a few days before, and referred to my sister's boyfriend when asking about my weekend plans.

This weekend though, he was his old self again. Until Vince and I stood up together and he looked at us and said, "Look at you two! Like salt and pepper shakers!" Those of you who know me, may have noticed how white I am. And those of you who know Vince, may have noticed how brown he is. I think I flinched. "Oh no! I didn't mean that!" my uncle said immediately. "I meant you look like you belong together. My god, I did not just say that!"

The next day, my uncle called to thank us for inviting him to join us, and to apologize again. Vince had already shrugged it off and wouldn't have thought much about it, but it was a good introduction to a discussion on brain injury.