Introduction: A Turning Point
Life can be split into two parts: before and after pivotal moments. For me, the dividing line was an ordinary summer afternoon at 18 years old.
I’m now writing this from a hospital in Bangkok, far from home, living with vascular dementia caused by a traumatic brain injury. The steady hum of machines and quiet conversations in Thai have become my routine. This is my story—a reminder of how quickly life can change and the unexpected strength we find when it does.
The Calm Before Everything Went Wrong
It was an easygoing summer day at my mom’s house in suburban Canada. The kind of day where time drifts at a leisurely pace.
Scott, my best friend, was with me. He’s the kind of person everyone needs in their corner—big, kind, and dependable. At 6’4″, he looked intimidating but had a softer heart than most.
Then there was my older brother, Bob—though he prefers Robert now. We were close in age but worlds apart in personality. Bob had a knack for making things tense or uncomfortable, often without trying.
One instance still stings: when he emptied my piggy bank without asking. Or the time he took off with my new mountain bike as if it were his own. Small injustices that, at the time, felt like betrayals.
Looking back, I see a lot of Bob’s or (Robert as he now goes by)actions came from frustration and his struggles to fit in. Maybe he resented me for having people like Scott in my life when he felt alone.
When Everything Changed
A loud crash from the front room shattered the peace. My heart raced as adrenaline surged. Bob had climbed in through a second-story window—a chaotic and uninvited arrival. His girlfriend stood below, encouraging him.
But the Bob we saw that day wasn’t my brother. Wild-eyed and enraged, he seemed like a stranger.
Chaos on the staircase
Scott and I hesitated at first, unsure if we should intervene. The sounds of breaking furniture and shattering glass grew louder. Scott, always protective, stepped forward despite my fears.
Then we saw it—Bob, gripping my old baseball bat. His fury was overpowering, fueled by what we later learned was a drug-induced haze.
The next moments felt endless yet blurred. Scott, despite his size and strength, couldn’t stop Bob. The bat came down over and over, leaving a trail of pain and destruction. It was over within minutes, but the aftermath would echo for the rest of my life.
The Days Immediately After
The human body has a way of surviving even when the odds are stacked against it. Bruised and bandaged, I tried to navigate the days following the attack. But the physical injuries weren’t the full story.
Two days after that nightmare, I was scheduled to meet with Canadian and Indian counterparts and my and host families for a youth exchange program. I had hoped this would be the start of an exciting chapter. But instead of arriving with enthusiasm, I showed up looking like I’d been through a war—because I had, black and blue would be an understatement.
The Hidden Damage
Not long after, the headaches began. They weren’t normal headaches but crushing waves of pain. At first, I dismissed them, assuming they were just part of the healing process. But as the months passed, the pain worsened.
Nine months after the attack, I underwent extensive medical testing. A CAT scan confirmed my fears—my brain had suffered serious trauma that day.
Three Decades of Challenges
Now, at 50, I look back at the 18-year-old I used to be. I could never have imagined how one violent moment would shape the next 32 years.
The brain injury eventually turned into vascular dementia—a progressive condition that worsens over time. I’ve undergone two surgeries, but instead of improvement, my symptoms have continued to escalate.
Living with Disappearing Memories
For more than three decades, I’ve faced symptoms that come and go unpredictably. Memory loss has been one of the hardest parts. It’s not just forgetting where I put my keys—it’s entire memories vanishing.
I’ve stood in rooms, unsure why I entered. I’ve forgotten important events, meetings, and even parts of my children’s lives. It’s like trying to navigate a house where doors are constantly disappearing.
The symptoms have included:
- Debilitating headaches that last for days
- Brain fog, making simple tasks feel impossible
- Sudden moments of confusion
- Frustration from needing reminders about conversations or details
Seeking Treatment Far from Home
I’m currently in Bangkok after being diagnosed with vascular dementia, a condition linked to the brain injury I suffered during the attack. Accessing medical care here that wasn’t available in Canada has been my only option. Leaving my family behind was heartbreaking. The separation means missing out on birthdays, school events, and bedtime routines—precious moments I can never get back.
The financial toll has been overwhelming, reaching over $700,000. This isn’t just a figure—it’s a constant strain, affecting everything from postponed dreams to a heavy financial load that could impact my children’s future.
Moving Forward
Each day here is both a challenge and an opportunity. While I don’t expect a cure, the treatments offer hope for a better quality of life. The doctors here focus on treating both the physical and emotional toll of this condition.
I want my children to learn something from this—that running from problems doesn’t make them go away. Facing life’s difficulties, even when they seem unbearable, is where true strength lies.
Closing Thoughts
This story isn’t just about trauma or family conflict. It’s about survival, resilience, and finding purpose in the face of hardship.
To anyone going through their battles—you’re not alone. Your struggles matter, and even in the darkest moments, there’s hope.
For media inquiries or more information, please contact samburland@gmail.com.
Note: This account is based on true events. Some details have been adjusted, and names may have been changed due to ongoing legal matters.
