Where Did My Brain Go? tells your story about being involved in a car accident that left you in a coma, how you went nine years with an undiagnosed traumatic brain injury, and the long road to rebuilding your life. Why was this an important book for you to write?

I started writing this memoir in 2007 because I was angry. For nine years, I wandered around confused, asking friends if they thought I’d changed. They laughed. I got drunk to stop wondering what was wrong with me. When a specialist finally diagnosed my traumatic brain injury in 1995, I learned that a note in my ICU chart had said “Patient is confused. Someone should check his head.” My physician wife read that chart. She checked me out of two hospitals before anyone examined me.

I needed to write this book because every brain injury memoir I found featured helicopter evacuations, loving families, and treatment teams fighting for the patient’s recovery. Mine featured an angry wife who didn’t want a brain injured husband, a charlatan psychiatrist who prescribed legal speed, and years of stupefying drugs that kept me profitable and dependent.

The book took 18 years to finish. Confronting these memories was harder than learning to walk again. But I kept writing because professionals wanted me drugged and living in supervised housing. A charming employment counselor encouraged me to work on a factory assembly line for $3.50 an hour with her other disabled clients. Slick salespeople described the joys of “clubhouse” parties.

One exceptional surgeon gave me back my ability to walk. One dedicated social worker helped me escape the system. But most professionals wanted to keep me dependent. I said no. I found a job and relinquished my disability benefits.

This book is proof that recovery is possible even when nobody’s helping. Even when the person who should protect you is the one who betrays you. I wrote it for people in pain who need to know they can reclaim their lives outside the system designed to keep them trapped.

What is a common misconception you feel people have about Traumatic Brain Injuries?

One day, while overmedicated and feeling hopeless, I remembered reading that people only use half of their brain. At that moment I realized I had to ignore medical advice, stop taking stupefying pills, and rejoin the world.

Most professionals don’t know how to help brain injury patients. Others don’t care. They support themselves by keeping people dependent on pills and living in supervised housing. There’s more profit in dependency than recovery.

The common misconception is that the medical system wants you to recover. It doesn’t. Professional athletes get unlimited physical therapy until they’re healed. Regular people get cut off after a few sessions and sent to pain clinics for legal narcotics.

Two professionals helped me recover. One surgeon restored my ability to walk without requiring health insurance. He provided unlimited physical therapy for over a year. One social worker helped me escape the disability trap when others wanted me working on a factory assembly line for $3.50 an hour.

Recovery isn’t about finding the right pill. It’s about finding the right people, learning acceptance, and refusing to accept dependency as your only option.

What was the most challenging part of writing your memoir, and what was the most rewarding?

The most challenging part was confronting my wife’s betrayal. She saved my life after the accident. She found the surgeon who fixed my ruptured diaphragm and kept me breathing in the ambulance. But she also checked me out of two hospitals before anyone examined my head. She watched me struggle with memory and confusion every day. Instead of seeking treatment, she helped me stay drunk. She brought me extra long hospital straws to suck vodka through my wired jaws while I played computer games in the basement.

Writing about that took 18 years. I had to accept that the same person who saved my life also sabotaged my recovery. She didn’t want to be married to a brain-injured husband. She wanted a software developer to help her retire early. I was demoted to babysitter.

Every chapter forced me to relive moments I’d rather forget. The confusion. The screaming in my sleep. The nine years of wondering what was wrong with me while friends laughed when I asked if I seemed different. Getting drunk to stop caring. It was harder than learning to walk again.

The most rewarding part is hearing from people who recognize the system I’m exposing. Several readers have praised me for writing a book that shows how the medical system wants to keep people with brain injuries overmedicated and useless. They see what I saw: there’s more profit in dependency than recovery.

Medical professionals are especially delighted to hear that one person actually relinquished disability benefits. They rarely see anyone escape the system. Most of their patients stay trapped, overmedicated in supervised housing, shuffling through medication lines twice a day.

I wrote this book to describe the awful medical treatment I received, my wife’s awful behavior, and to show that I escaped the disability trap. That’s the story I needed to tell.

What do you hope is one thing readers take away from your story?

Trust your abilities. Measure your progress. Don’t trust people who ruin your judgment with stupefying drugs or want to limit your freedom.

The system profits from keeping you dependent. Psychiatrists promise to “fix” you with pills that make you too calm to get dressed. Once you’re overmedicated, employment counselors cheerfully suggest factory assembly lines for $3.50 an hour. Once you’re working, salespeople describe the joys of supervised housing and “clubhouse” parties where your salary goes directly to the facility. You lose your salary, your freedom and your ability to make rational decisions.

Recovery means refusing to accept dependency as your only option. You might not recover completely. I lost 32 IQ points and most of my impulse control. But I escaped the disability trap. You can too.

Author Links: GoodReads | X | Facebook | Website