Reclaiming Life After TBI

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve found myself looking back over my life. Sometimes it’s a quick glance over my shoulder, looking at yesterday. Other times, I look back further—much further.

The picture on the left was taken back in 2005. I had just emerged from warm Hawaiian waters after scuba diving with sea turtles. At the time, I was still two years away from a diabetes diagnosis and four years away from our wedding day.

I was a different person then—mentally, spiritually, and physically. Close to the peak of my weight gain at just under 300 pounds, my wetsuit was most likely either 3X or 4X. I was a pretty happy, rotund guy whom many called "Big Dave" at the time.

An avid lover of undersea adventures, I went diving a couple of times a month for years.

Then came the accident with those seven life-changing letters: TBI. With a traumatic brain injury and PTSD, hanging out 50 feet under the Atlantic was no longer an option.

But the call of the sea was unrelenting. Its soft whispers grew louder as the years passed.

Enter the picture on the right.

A couple of years ago, I heeded the call. A new—and much smaller—wetsuit was bought. I dusted off my mask and snorkel and took a ride to the rocky New Hampshire coast.

For the next couple of hours, I paddled about, free-diving, flipping over undersea stones, watching sea life, and smiling around my snorkel—kind of like my grandson smiles behind his binky.

It was just glorious.

No tanks, no compressed air, low risk, lots of fish. Just me and the ocean, with Sarah sitting on the rocks, watching.

It took me over a decade, but I was able to reclaim a part of my life that I thought was lost forever. How can that not be a reason to never, ever let go of hope?

Let’s unpack this a bit...

A diabetes diagnosis became the impetus for a sea change in lifestyle, including a 100+ pound weight loss.

A TBI opened the door to opportunities to serve humanity in ways Sarah and I never expected. Sarah occasionally says that “the curse becomes the blessing.”

In 49 hours, I meet my new cardiologist for the first time. Being newly diagnosed with a heart defect is unsettling. But when I look back over my life, it was unsettling to learn about my diabetes. It was unsettling to grasp the implications of having a TBI.

But my hope is that this will be another opportunity to come out on the other side of something big. And probably the best part of it all is this: My attitude of hope beyond challenges is evidence-based, not some unrealistic pipe dream.

And now, it’s only 48.5 hours until I meet my cardiologist. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers.