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I start writing this blog post a month ago and couldn’t finish it because I felt like I was being a whiny baby. Wha, wha, I can’t go on a boat. Boo-freaking-hoo.

I decided to finish it now because it’s how I feel. What’s a blog for if you can’t be honest? Besides, I have perspective. I understand that my lack of boating is nothing compared to the months and months I spent in bed, rocking, spinning, vomiting, and wincing in pain. And it’s certainly nothing compared to what other chronically ill people put up with daily. And so…my missive…

Recently, someone on the TBI/Migraine Facebook page I am on asked the following question: What are the things you feel that you have lost since your TBI? More than 131 people answered.

My answer: Friends. A lot of friends. Confidence. A sense of safety. The ability to do yoga, go on a boat, play sports. Muscle mass. The ability to eat gluten, sugar, potatoes, beef. My eyesight (I have convergence insufficiency). The ability to stay up past midnight. The ability to sleep on my side.

Looking back at the list, the loss of the boat should have gone at the bottom. It still tears me up inside, though. Today my family is out on my husband’s new-to-us boat. They are rafting up with a few dozen of our favorite folks. I am here feeling slightly sorry for myself. And angry.

I can’t remember the last time I went on our boat. I could probably figure it out if I looked back in my photos. We always memorialized our trips around the Great South Bay whether we were at Tobay Beach or just hanging out in the cove near 0ur beach club. In fact, I am reminded of those trips weekly since they they often pop up in the On This Day Facebook app.

When someone gets injured or sick they must get over the fact that their lives are different. They are different. I am no longer me. I am the “after me.” And that’s okay. I may never get back on a boat, but I still have plenty of blessings. In the end that’s all that matters.

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