#107: My name is Michael Waterloo

My name is Michael Waterloo. My partner is Blayne Waterloo. I have a dog named Jillian, a cat named Rorschach, and I work at the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence.

touches each finger to my thumb

My name is Michael Waterloo. My partner is Blayne Waterloo. I have a dog named Jillian, a cat named Rorschach, and I work at the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence.

touches each finger to my thumb

This is what my day looks like sometimes. Not all of the time, but sometimes.

I was fully prepared to write about the five players who have the most to prove this upcoming WNBA season (stay tuned Monday for that), but life throws you curveballs sometimes.

There's no sign when it'll happen – it just happens.

I call it brain fog because it's the easiest way to explain what is going on.

But it's a symptom of my traumatic brain injury that I have.

My name is Michael Waterloo. My partner is Blayne Waterloo. I have a dog named Jillian, a cat named Rorschach, and I work at the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence.

It's hit me three times since I moved down to Georgia. It just decides when it wants to happen.

My brain freezes up to the point where I don't know what I'm doing, have to remind myself who I am, and have to stay calm.

It happened yesterday on my way home from the dentist.

I stopped by my favorite pet store to buy Jillian a couple of chews, and after that, my brain went numb.

It's scary no matter what – but it's especially scary when I'm driving home.

I was forgetting where I was going. I don't remember actually driving home. I just remember trying to ground myself.

My name is Michael Waterloo. My partner is Blayne Waterloo. I have a dog named Jillian, a cat named Rorschach, and I work at the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence.

I kept repeating it, because I was having trouble remembering who I was and what I did.

My brain wasn't able to tell the difference between real and fake.

I received a text that my only friend in Georgia was moving away, and despite reading it multiple times, I wasn't sure it was actually true.

I knew I had to get back to work, but I couldn't remember what I did.

I knew that I had to let my dog out to pee, but I wasn't sure of her name.

I was sure that I wrote an article for ESPN that was getting crushed.

I never wrote for ESPN in my life.

This is my reality sometimes.

Not all of the time, but sometimes.

I work in the dark because the brightness hurts me.

I have to protect my head all of the time, and I'm not sure if I can ride rollercoasters anymore.

I forget a lot of important things that happened in my life, and all I have are the memories that I've told myself over and over are real.

My vision goes away. I can't see anything.

Loud noises hurt my head.

The sounds that TV shows use to get us to get off of our phones and pay attention to the program with their high pitches set me back days.

I have to isolate myself in the dark in hopes that the brain fog goes away.

I have my dog, Jillian, who won't leave my side when my head flares up.

The first time it happened, we bought a car in Georgia.

I don't remember that day at all.

The second time it happened, it was just a random weekday.

This is the third time, and it felt like the worst one yet.

I was still having conversations, but it took everything that I had to do it.

I'm afraid of what the long-term impact will be.

It's been more than five years since it happened – my third concussion in my life and one that won't go away.

I'm afraid that I'm going to be speaking to a news outlet for my day job and say the wrong thing or forget what I am talking about.

I'm afraid that it'll shorten my life.

The good news is that once they happen, they go away. I'm exhausted the next day, but I know that I have at least a year until my next one – using the sample size of three, at least.

I've asked my doctors what they think.

Is it stress? No.

Anxiety? No.

Something I eat? No.

Lack of exercise? No.

Just how life is now? Yes.

And that's OK. I just have to pivot.

As long as I stay grounded and remind myself who I am, I'll be OK.

My name is Michael Waterloo. My partner is Blayne Waterloo. I have a dog named Jillian, a cat named Rorschach, and I work at the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence.

My name is Michael Waterloo. My partner is Blayne Waterloo. I have a dog named Jillian, a cat named Rorschach, and I work at the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence.

My name is Michael Waterloo.