Bruschi
As in “BREW-ski” ( the beer); except that it’s Tedy Bruschi, linebacker for the New England Patriots (Patsies, Pasties; whatever).
Bruschi had the same sort of stroke as me: a clot passing through a hole in his heart (a “patent foreman ovale”), thereby clotting his brain causing partial brain-death.
It’s the same sort of occurrence I fear with my brothers, since they too may have a PFO. I think my grandfather Connor had a stroke — it was never really clear. His ability to talk was compromised — contrary to the mighty Connor heritage he didn’t say much. Spawn were always making excuses for him.
Bruschi is featured in the Sunday “Parade” magazine that came with the Messenger today (Sunday, September 24). It’s purchased, “Sunday Messenger” printed on the cover, but it isn’t local.
Inside is a picture of Bruschi exiting the hospital. He’s holding onto his wife to not fall, and looks like he’s been hit by a Peterbilt.
Which is what I used to say: “I feel like I’ve been hit by a Peterbilt.”
I predict sonorous blustering from Boston about how Bruschi did much better than me (motivation I predict); this from the same guy who so little understands brain-injury that anyone with one deserves the ice-flow.
A stroke is generally misunderstood. The part of one’s brain killed can’t regenerate, but quite a bit of brain-tissue is still left. So that if what’s left can relearn what was previously controlled by the part killed, that’s “recovery.”
All brain-injury is like that: hitting the pavement with your head, falling in a church sanctuary, getting hit over the head with a pipe (tube; whatever).
Enough brain-tissue is left, so the idea is to get what remains to take over for what was killed.
It’s called “rewiring your brain,” “running on what’s left,” “running on seven cylinders.”
Bruschi was apparently able to get what remained to take over playing football. I was able to get what remained to take over riding motorbike. We were both told such things were beyond-the-pale.
You have to be ornery: not accept disability. My mantra was “I used to be able to do this.”
So now we have to get my siblings to admit it could happen to them: and that if so, they got three hours to receive clot-busting drugs.
Both Bruschi and I missed the boat.
Bruschi had the same sort of stroke as me: a clot passing through a hole in his heart (a “patent foreman ovale”), thereby clotting his brain causing partial brain-death.
It’s the same sort of occurrence I fear with my brothers, since they too may have a PFO. I think my grandfather Connor had a stroke — it was never really clear. His ability to talk was compromised — contrary to the mighty Connor heritage he didn’t say much. Spawn were always making excuses for him.
Bruschi is featured in the Sunday “Parade” magazine that came with the Messenger today (Sunday, September 24). It’s purchased, “Sunday Messenger” printed on the cover, but it isn’t local.
Inside is a picture of Bruschi exiting the hospital. He’s holding onto his wife to not fall, and looks like he’s been hit by a Peterbilt.
Which is what I used to say: “I feel like I’ve been hit by a Peterbilt.”
I predict sonorous blustering from Boston about how Bruschi did much better than me (motivation I predict); this from the same guy who so little understands brain-injury that anyone with one deserves the ice-flow.
A stroke is generally misunderstood. The part of one’s brain killed can’t regenerate, but quite a bit of brain-tissue is still left. So that if what’s left can relearn what was previously controlled by the part killed, that’s “recovery.”
All brain-injury is like that: hitting the pavement with your head, falling in a church sanctuary, getting hit over the head with a pipe (tube; whatever).
Enough brain-tissue is left, so the idea is to get what remains to take over for what was killed.
It’s called “rewiring your brain,” “running on what’s left,” “running on seven cylinders.”
Bruschi was apparently able to get what remained to take over playing football. I was able to get what remained to take over riding motorbike. We were both told such things were beyond-the-pale.
You have to be ornery: not accept disability. My mantra was “I used to be able to do this.”
So now we have to get my siblings to admit it could happen to them: and that if so, they got three hours to receive clot-busting drugs.
Both Bruschi and I missed the boat.
posted by BobbaLew at 10:15 AM
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