Stacey Hamilton

My life was going exactly the direction I wanted it to go. I was working as a nurse in the recovery room of a busy trauma center. On my days off, I hiked, snowboarded, and read books. With my vacation time, I traveled the world. Saving for a comfortable retirement was my priority.

On January 8, 2025, a snowboard accident changed my life.

Within three weeks post-accident, I didn’t recognize myself. I suffered from blinding headaches, constant nausea, and persistent dizziness. I had horrible neck pain that prevented me from looking to the right unless I moved my whole body. I had the brain fog of a new mother, insomnia that made me feel crazy, and I picked up a scary reaction of crying at everything.

I had the attention span of a small puppy, distracted by anything moving. I had the hearing of the Marvel character “Daredevil”, but I was no hero. Impulsivity was one of the most frustrating symptoms. I spent $13,000 that I didn’t have on a bunch of furniture I didn’t need.

The worst part was the denial that there was anything wrong.

Several diagnoses were shoved upon me: Traumatic Brain Injury, Migraines, Vestibular Deficit, Post-Concussive Syndrome, and Whiplash. So many things to fix. It took time for me to hop on my long train journey to recovery. One year after the fall, I am told by doctors that my deficiencies may remain as they are. I hold on to the hope of improving some symptoms. Time and neuroplasticity will tell.

My life looks different now.

Almost a year after the accident, I figured out that I couldn’t do my job. My reaction times were terrible, and the stimulation of the unit was not healing me in any way. I didn’t want to hurt a patient or myself. I spend the days in appointments and therapies.

There was no ski pass this season, but I crocheted several blankets and other projects. I’m afraid to travel because being in the car for 10 minutes makes me want to vomit. My love for reading has to take a back seat; I can only concentrate on a story for 20 minutes or less. Saving for retirement is no longer possible, as I can barely make ends meet on disability.

Despite all of this, I am finding a way to accept what has happened. Looking at this situation as an opportunity for something else. I’m writing a book about my experience. It started as a therapeutic exercise and has become a full manuscript. In it, I share my journey and offer guidance on self-advocacy and resources for others with TBI. If my story helps even one person feel less alone on this isolating path to recovery, it will be worth it.