I apologize. I had a brain injury, and I don't understand any of this.
Panic When My Brain Disconnects
A few years ago, I had a day of appointments at Cleveland Clinic. Afterward, I’d be driving for several hours for a business trip in another state. Either of those things alone would be completely exhausting. Having to do both was going to be a real challenge.
After my appointments, but before I got on the road, I stopped at my favorite smoothie bar. They have numerous locations in Cleveland as well as in my town.
I arrived at the location a few blocks from Cleveland Clinic. I walked in and was the only customer. I ordered my two favorite items: a peanut butter-chocolate smoothie packed with 40 grams of protein, and a tuna wrap. I planned to eat while I drove. I’ve ordered these items for years, sometimes one or the other, sometimes both, so I knew exactly what I wanted.
I ordered my smoothie first, and then the tuna wrap. The friendly young man behind the counter asked if I wanted my tuna to be on a wheat, tomato, or a spinach wrap. That’s when things turned south for me.
I’m sure you’re familiar with the soft-shell tortillas that are made mostly of wheat. Some are light green because spinach was added, and others are light red because tomatoes were added. I tend to think that’s just for color more than for health benefits. I’ve seen them for years, and eaten them for years. Who hasn’t?
Since my cardiac arrest caused an anoxic brain injury, the way I understand and process information is just plain unpredictable. I can have a conversation about something complicated one minute, and the next minute, not understand basic instructions. When he asked if I wanted my tuna on a wheat, tomato, or spinach wrap, it’s difficult to explain what I thought.
Before heading to school, he'd have to remind his mom of his name.
An Injured Brain Sees the World Differently
Tomato wrap? All I could imagine was a mess of tuna sitting on top of sliced tomatoes. That would be impossible to eat at a table, let alone while driving. The tomato wrap was out of the question. I said, “Um, just give me a minute.”
Spinach wrap? I eat fresh spinach in salads and other dishes. I envisioned baby spinach leaves wrapped around tuna. How would the leaves even stick together? How could they even call that a wrap? The spinach wrap was also out. This was my favorite smoothie bar, but now I was beginning to feel frustrated. Eating this on the road would be impossible. So I said, “I need another minute. I can’t decide.” The truth was, I wasn’t able to process any of this.
My last option was a wheat wrap. I’m very aware of all things wheat and gluten. By now another customer came in and was waiting behind me. There is nothing visibly wrong with me, so it’s not like the customer behind me might feel compelled to be extra patient like they would for an obviously disabled person. I felt stressed that I was taking so long and started to sweat. Who doesn’t understand a wheat wrap? At that moment, I didn’t.
I kept trying to picture what a wheat wrap might look like. The only wheat that came to mind was wheat in a field, you know, like amber waves of grain. That wheat. Were they going to cut wheat stalks and put my tuna on it? It just wouldn’t work, and I definitely couldn’t eat wheat stalks on the road, or at all. At this point, I looked at the young man and said, “I apologize. I had a brain injury, and I don’t understand any of this.”
Suffering people understand suffering people.
A 17-Year-Old Kid Who Stepped Up
What that young man said and did next was the kindness I wasn’t expecting, but needed. He held up the three wraps—tomato, spinach, and wheat—and named each one. I chose wheat.
He then shared that he understood what I was facing in that simple decision. He was only 17 and said his mother had a severe brain injury from a car accident. Right when I was feeling overwhelmed, and frustrated that my brain wasn’t very dependable, his story became my focus.
His parents were divorced, and his dad was never in the picture. His only other sibling, an older brother, was in the military and serving in another country across the globe.
Every day, this 17-year-old kid went to high school. After school, he drove directly to the smoothie bar for work. After work, he went home to make his mother dinner because she couldn’t use the stove. Then he cleaned the house. Around 10 pm, he started his homework. He’d wake up exhausted every morning and make breakfast for his mom. Before heading to school, he’d have to remind his mom of his name. That was his life. Every day.
That young man, just 17, showed compassion to me exactly when I needed it. He understood me. At that moment, I felt so much compassion for him. I could not fathom the weight of his responsibility at his age.
As much as most people can’t understand everything I face, that young man did. I also know this: suffering people understand suffering people. I’ve often said—only half-jokingly—that I wish I couldn’t relate to suffering people. The fact is, I can. You might, too.
I wouldn’t expect the customer behind me to know I needed extra grace. I assumed the 17-year-old worker wouldn’t know or understand. He did.
The customer in front of you might look fine. The 17-year-old kid serving you might look like any other teenager. Both might need compassion.
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