When a harrowing heart attack and cardiac arrest robbed Alan's brain of vital oxygen, he lost his abilities to read, write, walk, talk, think, and remember. In a flash, Alan went from being a successful physics professor to a brain injury survivor fighting to relearn everything he once knew. So began seven years of intensive rehabilitation, re-creation, and redefining priorities and goals. Alan also faced the huge challenge of shaping a new identity and life. Above all, our book is the story of a marriage that transforms and triumphs, but is never defeated by catastrophic illness. In a memoir brimming with information, Janet explores the mysteries and miracles of their new world from her perspective as Alan's wife, Interpreter of the World, and rehab partner. Alan shares his eloquent tour of the shattered and healing universe inside his brain as few people can. "Professor Cromer Learns to Read" shows that it is possible for a person with an injured brain to continue to heal and improve for years with the right treatment. It is possible for love to thrive and adapt to challenging circumstances. It is possible to build a life with meaning and gusto even with a devastating illness. Our process of gracefully and grudgingly accepting the roles of chronically ill person and caregiver will resonate with many families. The universality of our situation transcends diagnosis and age to salute the human spirit. Please visit www.janetcromer.com to read advance praise for the book.
Professor Cromer Learns to Read
A Couple's New Life after Brain InjuryBy Janet M. CromerAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Janet M. Cromer
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-6419-8Contents
Foreword I.........................................................ixForeword II........................................................xiIntroduction.......................................................xiii1. July 5, 1998...................................................12. Lessons from the ICU...........................................113. Shattered Identity.............................................214. Initiation into the Brain Injury World.........................335. Professor Cromer Learns the Alphabet...........................456. Coaxing Memory, Connecting Cognition...........................517. The Surging Tides of Emotions and Behavior.....................618. "Who Am I if I Am No Longer Myself?"...........................719. "Listen to the Sun on My Face".................................8110. Molly the Rehab Dog............................................9711. Mending Broken Hearts..........................................10112. Lurching toward Equilibrium....................................10913. Narragansett Homecoming........................................12514. Ceremony for a Second Marriage.................................13115. Crafting a New Retirement......................................13916. "All of the Above Is True".....................................15117. The Quest for Upwardness.......................................15918. Baptism in Provincetown........................................17319. Descent into Parkinson's Disease...............................18120. The Loneliness of an Intimate Marriage.........................19721. "Alan's Quality of Life Analysis"..............................20522. A Place to Belong..............................................21323. Coping: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly........................21924. The Most Tragic Year...........................................23125. Parallel Paths.................................................23726. "Less Grief, More Green".......................................24127. The Dementia Chronicles........................................24528. "Am I Dying? I Forget".........................................25529. May You Rest in the Sweetest Peace.............................263Acknowledgements...................................................273References and Readings............................................277
Chapter One
July 5, 1998
One night in early October, I arrived home from the hospital, exhausted and depressed. Flipping on the answering machine, I was deluged by a cascade of messages from my husband, Alan. In rapid succession, he said:
"Hi Janet, just want to talk to you before you go to sleep. Lots of things to tell you about if I don't forget them. I love you!"
Click.
"Janet, you were here today, right? When will you be back?"
Click.
By the fourth message: "First time I've called. Just want to see if I know how to use the phone. Nothing special going on. Forgot what I wanted to say. Call me."
Click.
"Hello? I'm lost. Come get me. They won't let me leave."
Click.
The eighth message really grabbed me: "Thank you for everything you've done for me and half the things you've done I don't even know about." That was the first time in four months he'd thanked me.
Click.
"Where are you? Are you ever coming back to me?"
Click.
The last message was in a tremulous voice: "Hello? It's Alan. Is anyone there? Call me to say hello to me, okay? Calling to ask you a question about something. I forget."
Click.
In the thirty minutes it had taken me to drive home, Alan left twelve messages. As soon as he hung up, he forgot he had called. So he called again. Alan called me from his bed on the Brain Injury Unit of Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital in Boston. As I listened, questions ricocheted inside my head: "How did this happen? Who is this person, this man posing as my husband? Where is the life we knew so well and were so happy to be living?"
* * *
Everything changed on July 5, 1998.
Alan and I had traveled from Boston to Chicago for a family reunion to celebrate the fiftieth wedding anniversary of Alan's sister, Barbara, and her husband, Sanford Kahn. We arrived Friday, and on Saturday, family and friends from across the United States gathered for a gala party at an Italian restaurant. Alan used his new digital movie camera to film the guests and record their messages to the anniversary couple. He always bought the latest technology and then enjoyed mastering the manual. While I sat at the table talking to his cousins, I could hear Alan's hearty laugh from across the room.
A few weeks earlier, Alan said, "I want to update my look for the party. I need some new clothes." Now my handsome, dark-haired husband looked like a PBS documentary director in his stylish black silk tee shirt and pleated linen trousers. When Alan buzzed by our table, I said, "Hey Larry, take a picture of Alan and me." Alan wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we added our congratulations to Barbara and Sandy. We looked like a happy and thriving couple in the prime of life. Indeed, we were. At sixty-two, Alan was a professor of physics at Northeastern University, prolific author, and developer of many educational programs. I was forty-eight, a psychiatric nurse, teacher, and registered art therapist building a private practice. We had been married for eleven years. Although we did not have children, we cherished our close relationships with several nieces and nephews.
All of the guests offered high-spirited tributes and reminiscences. Later that night, the family gathered back in the Kahn's yard for more conversation while fireflies flickered like stars.
On Sunday, the extended family shared lunch at a Japanese restaurant before dispersing back across the country.
Alan and I were running late as we drove to O'Hare International Airport. We weren't concerned. If we missed the flight, we could just take the earliest flight out on Monday. Alan was scheduled to start his favorite teacher-training program, Project SEED. I was due to facilitate support groups in a cancer program. We were in the thrall of the joyous weekend that put us back in touch with what mattered most: spending time with the people we loved.
Just that morning, we'd made love in our hotel room before joining the family on a three-mile, multigenerational walk. Alan jogged part of the route and then walked while quizzing the children about math and astronomy. Ever the science teacher, he was always good for explosive demonstrations and tricks that turned out to be elegant experiments.
I should have known something was wrong the second time Alan got lost trying to find the rental car return as we approached the airport. After the first wrong turn, I said, "No, Alan, Hertz is to the right." Even with two wrong turns, we made it to the terminal as the last boarding call sounded. We sprinted down the long corridors of O'Hare to the farthest gate.
As we handed in our tickets, Alan said, "Oh, I feel so sick to my stomach."
I replied, "I'll get you some Dramamine as soon as we get settled."
We figured he was paying the price for running on a full stomach, and it would pass. The flight attendant shut the door the second we...
