Plot Twist: Me Through My Husband’s Eyes

I first met Angela when she and a dozen other ladies gathered at my parent’s home on Lake George in New York for my cousin Joanna’s bachelorette party.  At that point, I was newly single, and was just getting comfortable with the idea of not having a partner.  None of us knew then that this young lady would become my wife three years later.

I learned about Angela’s traumatic brain injury (TBI) during one of my first visits to her apartment in New York City.  She handed me a book written by Bill Ramsey that was released few months earlier called “Me Now – Who Next?”, which documented her tragic accident and difficult recovery from a TBI.  As I started to slip it into my bag, she said “that will be $15 dollars please.”  I smiled and appreciated her business savvy, then pulled a $20 bill from my pocket. 

I am not much of a book reader, however I finished this 244-page book in a matter of days.  I couldn’t believe my luck.  I had privately asked God that the next woman who comes into my life needs to come with a book… and here she was.  I learned about her family and got play-by-play insights into the difficulties she faced and continues to manage.  There was no room for ambiguity, it was all right there in black and white.

Angela talks about the loss of Angela1 and the birth of Angela2.  I never got the chance to meet Angela1 and probably never would have if our paths didn’t cross in this extraordinary way.  She shares memories of her previous life as a vice president of a New York City PR firm, and about her prior marriage.  She mentioned how much I remind her of her late husband Rich Betancourt, although she does not compare us beyond our appearance and that we’re both bald guitarists. I feel as though Rich helped guide us to that Adirondack lake house where our love story began.

Oh, the many lessons we have taught each other along the way!  I had to learn the signs that are unique to her brain injury.  For example, one of her biggest challenges is organization.  The first time I became aware of this deficit was when she forgot to bring the tickets to our first date.  I made a mental note that night: always be responsible for tickets to future events.  Stand Up For Heroes is a fundraiser that benefits veterans living with brain injury and is hosted by Bob Woodruff, a television journalist who sustained a brain injury himself while covering a story in Iraq.  With some creative problem solving on the fly, we made it into this memorable event held in Madison Square Gardens sans the tickets.

I also learned she cannot hold her liquor, and sometimes Angela refers to herself a cheap date.  She told me that before I came into her life, she would fake drinking in a bar with her friends by ordering a tonic with a slice of lime.  After I came into her life, she felt that she had a large bodyguard and was able let down some of her guard.

We were both surprised by how a single Manhattan might impact her, and one night at an Irish Pub in Inwood it was as if the bartender had slipped her a mickey.  I remember thinking, did she down a whole bottle of bourbon in the bathroom?  It didn’t make sense because she only had one drink.  Angela got what I call “stumbly” and needed to be closely guarded on the walk home.  I kept her from stumbling into the street as we walked along Broadway.  This experience made me realize I need to understand how to read the signs that are shown by her injury, which can be different day-to-day. 

This grew my desire to keep her safe, which can sometimes come close to my becoming overprotective.  Now that public transportation is not as wildly available here in Asheville as it was in NYC, I am still letting go of my over-protectiveness around her driving, which she never did in New York.  I don’t want to prevent her from further healing. 

I also know that I cannot keep her safe from everything.  While building our home, I returned to our apartment after spending a few all-nighters at the property, and Angela expressed a nervousness for my personal safety.  She shared these fears with her counselor, and they discussed my various abilities and skills that helped address her concerns.  I would not bring up the occasional close calls that I faced, or how uncomfortable I felt when I was working 40 feet up on shaky scaffolding.

One day she made me promise I would not die before her.  As I searched her eyes that were growing glassier, I could see in them that she realized it was an impossible request.  I recognized she was afraid of being left behind again.  “I promise,” I answered although we both knew this was not something either of us could guarantee.

Getting to know my wife has brought me great joy, with or without the brain injury that we both now live with.  I could not compare Angela1 to Angela2 as I did not know her.  I just find joy in learning who she is, as she is now.