TBI Tuesday – Booze, weed, and a cuppa coffee

Three medical non-negotiables

About a year ago, I embarked on a grand experiment. I’m a trained scientist, you know, and what better subject to investigate than me and my brain?

I had a nasty Traumatic Brain Injury five years ago as part of a package deal with lots of other broken stuff. When I left Atlanta’s Shepherd Center to come home, they gave me a list of three non-negotiables for a year.

No booze…

“First,” my doctor said, raising his thumb and giving me  stern look, “no alcohol.”

I didn’t care. I drank a beer a month after mowing the lawn in the summer, and that jumped to a weekly beer during the fall watching Notre Dame football on TV.

No weed…

“Good,” he said. “That’s easy. It probably makes the second thing a simple decision, too, but you have got to stay away from drugs.”

“You don’t mean medication, right? You’re sending me home with a dozen prescriptions.”

He laughed. “No, take the prescriptions religiously until they’re gone.” He held his pinched thumb and forefinger to his lips. “I’m talking about weed. You will get A LOT of advice to smoke for any hiccup. Don’t do it. We want to give you a year to get back to semi-normal. Weed won’t help. Not your brain, anyway.”

“No problem,” I said. “I think I smoked a fat one back in 1976 and haven’t touched it since.”

The kicker: No caffeine…huh?

“Good. The third thing is caffeine.”

I made a face. “Ew. That’s a toughie. I drink coffee by the gallon.”

“Coffee’s fine,” he said. “Just get decaf. It’s the caffeine we worry about.”

So, I drank decaf for three years. Lots of it. I don’t taste any difference, but it’s hard sometimes to find in the brands I like. I could buy it online, but, being a cheap SOB, when I include shipping costs, my box of Peets runs fifteen bucks.

Then, I decided it was time to try caffeine. Doctores told me to stay off the juice for a year, and then it was up to me. If I wanted to, they said, try it and see how I felt. If I couldn’t sense a difference, fine, drink up, and I could cut back until I found my threshold. Sit there for at least six months and then try again.

So the next time I ran for coffee, I bought the good stuff. Peets, Gevalia, and Private Selection. I was ready for a party.

I started with a cup a day and felt no difference as I waded through my stash. For ten days, I felt fine. Then I noticed I was foggy, like my head was stuffed with cotton or sloshing with water. I pooh-poohed it, thinking it was ragweed or pollen or who knows what poison grows around here, but it didn’t go away. On the drive home, I admitted what I knew was true: I wasn’t ready. That night, I told my wife to drink the coffee or give it away or toss it, but I was going back to decaf. I went on a coffee fast for a few days and then tip-toed back to the decaf. It’s been six months now, and I have felt no coffee-related weirdness since.

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The take-home message

All that being said, I watched a show on PBS the other night about maintaining brain health. The gal on stage recommended a cup of coffee each day, just for the caffeine, so I decided  to give it a second try. I told my wife I’d start with only one cup on Monday mornings, and then, if I feel woozy, I’ll quit for good.

She grabbed the remote from my hand and turned off the TV.

“Let me tell you, Buster. What did the doctor tell you about your brain?”

“That it’s a…black box, and no one who knows what will work and what won’t.” You can guess we’ve had similar discussions.

“Right. And you know as well as I do that research is all about stats. No one is looking at your brain. They’re looking at a million brains and figuring out what works for most people.”

“And?”

“And this means that you’re different. This show – this thing on TV – is for me. It’s for any one of the millions of people running around who are getting older, living normal lives with normal brains. I hate to say it, but that’s not you.”

She’s right. And that’s the take-home message. If you’ve had a TBI, or a brain injury, or a stroke, then you aren’t the same as everyone else. In fact, no one – not even the best in the world at the Shepherd Center – can tell you how you are different or how things will affect you.

So, my strong advice is to be careful. Try changing one at a time. Once a week, for two months. If nothing weird happens, ramp up slowly. If you try it for the first time, and you feel odd, stop: you’ve discovered your threshold. It’s zero.

Selah

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