The sister is a cute button nosed ten-year-old with flaxen blonde hair and a peaches and cream complexion. Paralysed by fear, my first instinct was to run but I had nowhere to hide. I kept forgetting the names of things, and I constantly described objects that I had forgotten the names for. Well, you probably wouldn't get close to imagining how dreadful it could be to find your brain has suddenly messed up big style after a head injury. She has lost all childhood memories, and her new learning is limited and inconsistent.
Imagine it, if you can. I wished they sounded familiar. After three years of living at 74c High Street, I became quite used to misspellings and mistaken identities but nothing had prepared me for the day when I received a letter addressed to: Mr Wendy Auldwood, 74 Sea-High Street. One of the few things I have learned is that I lack hindsight. Courage and perseverance, coupled with her engaging sense of humour, see her through; and her tale will be an inspiration to anyone who has faced similar obstacles.
Later, when I learned and explored my limitations, I could only ache for what I should have been. At school, I hated sharing my name with two other girls and I resigned myself to being called by my surname: Calderwood. The account of a reconstructed identity. Paralyzed by fear, my first instinct was to run but I had nowhere to hide. The account of a reconstructed identity. Voices echoed, ricocheting across the room.
I wished they sounded familiar. This is the story, in her own words, of Lynsey's quest to discover her identity and, eventually, to come to terms with her disability. Clinicians who work with clients who have brain injuries will feel humbled and can but learn from this book. I shuffle through old papers and photos in random order like some private investigator. It is rare for anyone with or without a brain injury to accomplish such an excellent book. She faces devastating setbacks and her sense of loss, grief and rage is movingly recalled. I recall an anonymous nurse who held my hand in comfort while I begged so frantically for my memories.
Most children go through a phase of gradual disenchantment whereas I had adolescence thrust upon me. Of course, to complicate matters further, our class had two Donnas and three Garys. I have no understanding of past events. Long, elaborate and complicated words were easier to remember. The Mental Hospital, Rebellion + Bullying.
She has lost all childhood memories, and her new learning is limited and inconsistent. She says that when we were younger I was the well-behaved child and she was the naughty one. I felt belittled by this overwhelming, overbearing ghost and everything that held a candle to her. Inspiration + The Road Ahead. She faces devastating setbacks and her sense of loss, grief and rage is movingly recalled. Paralyzed by fear, my first instinct was to run but I had nowhere to hide.
This is the story, in her own words, of Lynsey's quest to discover her identity and, eventually, to come to terms with her disability. How I Felt in the Beginning. Going faster, I tried to trick her into making a mistake; finally, I lashed out, tried to punch her in the stomach. I hated this most of all. It is rare for anyone with or without a brain injury to accomplish such an excellent book. My family would tell countless stories about their other daughter, how wonderful she was, how flawless. I still looked like a normal average teenager.
Nevertheless, the book is not intended to elicit sympathy but to allow her expression of both the frustration and the ironies of coping with a brain injury. Voices echoed, ricocheting across the room. This revealing story tells what happened to one not so ordinary adolescent in November 1992. I have to remember the name of her sister when she comes back into the room. The stigma and lack of understanding associated with having a hidden disability is conveyed evocatively.