Steve’s story

The year 2007 was like a rollercoaster for my family. We celebrated New Years with friends and family in Punta Cana, DR. There was fantastic entertainment, fireworks, and the mood was joyful, happy, and full of celebration. Being with my family and closest friends made this the trip of a lifetime. I knew 2007 was going to be a year I would never forget.

The next few months for us passed quickly. My son David was fifteen and was progressing through his first year in high school. He also started his first paying job working at McDonalds. My daughter Patricia was eighteen. She was just wrapping up her last year in high school. She was keeping herself busy with studying and being actively involved with the school rowing team, all the while selecting a university at which to continue her studies. She was still deciding what she wanted to take, but she had it narrowed down to English and Communications.

And yet, people still don’t wear proper protection and are too careless! In the early 70s to the early 90s I had three jobs. I worked at the Department of Defence, I was a RN and RPN, was a caregiver to my mom and I also did work as an administrative assistant for Thalidomide Association in London, ON.

Our home was located in a quiet residential area in West St. Catharines. I worked as the Director of Information and Communication Technologies at Mount Sinai Hospital in downtown Toronto. I had a staff of approximately 75 members. I commuted by bus to Toronto on a daily basis, which had me at my desk enjoying a coffee each morning by 7 a.m. Coming home, I would arrive by 7 p.m., which made for a long day. The morning of June 6, 2007, I woke up and went through my morning ritual of getting ready. I woke my wife, Susan, for my ride to the bus terminal. I took our family pet, Buddy, a beautiful yellow lab, out for a quick morning walk. Buddy was one of my best friends, when I was home we were inseparable. He could run free in the front yard and I didn’t need to worry about him running off. We headed off to the bus terminal making our routine stop at Tim Hortons for a coffee and Buddy’s timbit; he had the staff wrapped around his paw! I arrived at the bus terminal, went to board the bus and realized I had forgotten my wallet at home. The bus driver knew me and that I had a monthly pass so let me on the bus anyway.

This day was not unlike any other day at work. I was in meetings from the time I arrived at work until the time I left that day. I walked out the front door with a good friend and colleague, Mike. We had some outstanding business left from those meetings and were chatting about our plans for the next day. We walked up University Avenue and split up at Edward Street where I turned, said “see you later”, and continued walking down Edward Street. At Chestnut Street a bus made a left hand turn hitting me while I was crossing the street at the crosswalk. The bus continued moving, running over the lower part of my body and didn’t stop until a witness caught his attention. When he finally stopped, the driver stepped off the bus, chatted with the witness and according to the police report, looked back at me and said, “Oh I better move the bus.” His rear tire was parked on top of me. I have no recollection of these events, or those of the next several weeks which I spent drifting in and out of consciousness.

Not having a wallet caused a couple of problems for me when I arrived at St. Michaels Hospital. I still had my Mount Sinai name badge on, so they knew my name and looked up Steve Noyes in their computer. They found a Steve Noyes, so they registered me under that name; however, they found the wrong Steve Noyes, I was registered as a sixty-eight year old man; I was only forty three. Not knowing how to reach my next of kin, the hospital called Mount Sinai and reached a close colleague who was able to get the information needed to contact my wife. Back at home, my wife received a call from the Toronto Police advising her that I had received a bump on the head and she should come to the hospital. My son was working and my daughter was still at school so my wife quickly headed off to Toronto to pick me up. When she arrived at the hospital, she was greeted by Officer Orchard who immediately apologized for being so unclear on the phone. He told her he didn’t want her to drive while upset, and possibly get into an accident on the way there. The doctors met with my wife to fill her in and told her how serious my injuries were. They told her that they would be surprised if I made it to the weekend. That first evening, my friend Mike, my boss and the President and CEO of Mount Sinai all came to the hospital to see me and support Susan. Once Susan knew the extent of my injuries, she called some close friends who notified our children.

It was the end of June before I next remembered anything, I call this my wakeup time. I guess I had been awake before this, but I was not myself. I was doing some really strange things, like calling my mother names and telling her to leave. I am very close with my mother, so this was very out of character for me. The first thing I remember after this wake up is wondering if I had missed my daughter’s wedding. One of my most vivid thoughts during the initial few weeks of my injuries was that I had to get better so I would be around to walk my daughter down the aisle. I had not missed her wedding, she wasn’t even engaged but I did miss her high school graduation. It was hard for me to learn I had missed such an important event in her life. I spent another few months at St. Michaels recovering and waiting for a bed in rehab. In September, I was transferred to the Chedoke in-patient unit for rehab. The staff were amazing, and never let me make excuses. Instead, I was always doing something to rehabilitate my mind and body. I was at Chedoke for three months before I went home, with the added support of outpatient therapy. When I arrived home that first day, I was greeted at the door by Buddy, who did something he had never done before; he jumped up on me, put his paws on my shoulders and licked me on the face. Almost as if to say, “Daddy where have you been, I’ve missed you.”

After a few months at home, my wife, family and friends started to notice behaviour traits that just weren’t typical of the old Steve. These included severe depression, excessive spending and mood swings. I was readmitted to inpatient psychiatric care for behavioural and medication assessment. After a few months of evaluation they had a good handle on my medications and sent me back home to the care of my wife and my outpatient team. There was also a new member added to my team, my neuropsychologist, Dr. Sherrie Bieman- Copland, aka Dr. B-C. As I was learning to live and cope with these major life changes, so was my family. My wife was learning to live as care-giver, my daughter had to learn to behave more like a parent than a daughter, always having to correct me or point me in the right direction, and my son was just lost. We knew he was struggling but had no idea how badly. One day my wife and I were at an appointment at McMaster and I received a text message from my son that said, “I love you”. That’s all it said. I received no responses to any of my follow up queries. Alarmed, my wife and I headed home to discover that David had been taken to hospital after taking a bottle of my sleeping pills. Fortunately, he had called friends after taking them and I will always be grateful to those friends and paramedics who acted quickly and saved his life.

This was the lowest point for me. Until then I was focused on how brain injury had caused so many changes in my life, but now I was seeing how it had affected everyone around me. The thing about change is that it is up to the person to decide how to respond to it. I was depressed, angry and doing lots of things that I thought would get me back in control of my life, but weren’t working. I needed to work with my injury rather than fight against it. Besides the severe head and brain injuries I had sustained, the most compelling long term injury I faced was severe vision loss. About a year after I came home my Buddy died suddenly. I didn’t think I’d ever get another dog, but Dr. B-C helped me as I applied and received a service dog named Tonka. Tonka is my best friend and gets me safely from point A to point B.

With Tonka, my life at home has changed. I’ve found independence, I have gained some much needed socialization skills as everyone wants to stop and talk to me and Tonka when we are out. Lots of good things were happening, but I was still bored. My injury hugely affected my initiation, when it was just me and Tonka nothing happened. I shocked Dr. B-C when I was actually asking for rehab support again. It was around this time she helped me bring on a Personal Assistant to work with me. Kimberly is the kick in the butt that I needed. People say old habits are hard to break, not with Kimberly around they are not! Boredom? What boredom!

The most important change for me that has allowed me to use and test a great number of my skills which I relied on during my time at Mount Sinai, was and continues to be, my volunteer position at OBIA. I serve as “Steve, the computer guy” in the office. I am there a few days a week and have recently upgraded all of the computers in the office, 11 to be exact, to new technology running the latest Microsoft software. I provide daily maintenance and regular troubleshooting for the staff in the office.

I haven’t given up on my dream of being able to work again. Getting back to work was all I wanted for the first couple of years after my injury. Imagine, I even tried to flag a cab in my hospital gown to go back to work at Mount Sinai while I was still an inpatient at St. Michael’s hospital. My work at OBIA has given me something meaningful to do with my skills and my new found free time, and who knows what might be next for me. It is under the care of my wonderful psychologist Dr. B-C that my life has turned around and is heading towards the old normal. I can never thank her enough for the significant changes she has made in me, and more importantly, in the lives of our entire family, in helping us cope with the results of these injuries. I look forward to meeting with her each week for my “attitude adjustment” as she calls it.

I am so thankful for my family for never giving up on me, for my wife who is my best friend and has stood by me even through the most difficult times. I am thankful for my son, who has grown to be an amazing young man and is currently studying to be a Paramedic, so he can “pay it forward” for the help he received. Finally, I am thankful not only for my daughter’s support through these past few years, but I am most thankful that I am here and looking forward to walking her down the aisle at her wedding next summer! 

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by Annie Malipaard

(Member of the Brain Injury Association of Chatham-Kent (BIACK))

I hope to encourage others who have been through an aquired brain injury. Brain injuries can be the result of a all, a motor vehicle accident, a stroke, a heart attack or instances of trauma or lack of oxygen to the brain.

And yet, people still don’t wear proper protection and are too careless! In the early 70s to the early 90s I had three jobs. I worked at the Department of Defence, I was a RN and RPN, was a caregiver to my mom and I also did work as an administrative assistant for Thalidomide Association in London, ON.

I returned home after working a night shift to the telephone ringing. I should have ignored it. It was the hospital calling me in for an all-day shift because someone else had called in sick.

I had a shower and a cup of coffee before leaving for the hospital. When I tried to leave the house, my car refused to start, so I called a taxi. The driver was in a hurry and smashed into a London Transit bus that was parked in a bus bay. I still don’t understand how he did not see it.

I had my seatbelt on, but it did not hold me. I had so many injuries, I don’t even want to tell you about all of them - suffice it to say that I went through the windshield. The cab driver was not injured. I sued for damages because I was no longer able to work. Then, in 2004, I ran into a cement truck and received my second brain injury. Prior to my injuries, I took care of a gentleman who was in a coma and looked after tracheotomy patients at Parkwood Hospital, so I know you can have your life taken away in seconds.

I have so much support from the BIACK, the VON, Bayshore Home Health, OBIA, my friends and my family, as well as my friend Al, who had a brain injury himself, years ago. He was in a coma for six months and I helped care for him and his 2 year old son for a full year. I also have support through my church and my faith, as well as my dedicated brother and my cat, Millennium.

We fought hard and it is not easy at all, but if you work hard, it can be done. I find post-traumatic stress the most difficult to deal with but I’ve done my best to master ways of controlling it. I’ve had many surgeries since my injuries and will soon face the largest challenge of my life; doctors at Sunnybrook Hospital in Toronto are going to remove my tubes and colostomy bag so that my quality of life improves. I will finally be able to go swimming and play golf, which is my passion! I also enjoy volunteering and feel like a useful member of my community.

I am still young at heart, you know!

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By Jen Norquay, Editor OBIA Review

It was the end of October when Dianne Radunsky and I sat down with Terrance Brown to talk to him about his life after brain injury. Terrance is no stranger to OBIA, having been a regular caller on the Support Line for over 10 years.

These are the highlights of Terrance’s story.

Having been asked to do a number of presentations on brain injury and addiction over the last few months, the topic has been strongly on my mind. I have great empathy for those who struggle with addictions. Prior to working in the brain injury field, I was the Executive Director of a long term residential drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility. In retrospect, I worked with a number of clients who had an addiction issue and had also sustained a brain injury.

It was September 15, 1975 when ten year old Terrance was hit by a van while on his bike. He was thrown 150 feet, landing on his head. He was unconscious for eight weeks and in hospital for several months. He underwent a number of surgeries, including one to release intracranial pressure, which his young parents were told was not effective. He was released from hospital in spring of 1976 and sent home without having any rehabilitation. Terrance missed a whole year of school and when he returned to his grade five class with his head shaved, he was made fun of by his classmates. Academically, he was working at a C-D level and just barely got by. When he was old enough for high school, it was recommended that he go to General Brock High School in Burlington for vocational training. He took classes in chef training, baking, restaurant management, woodworking and printing. It was during this time that his parents split up and he went to live with his mother.

In 1979, tragedy struck again when, at the age of fourteen, Terrance was involved in another accident. He was hit by a car, breaking both legs and his pelvis. Terrance spent numerous months in traction and a body cast, and still feels the physical effects of these injuries to this day. To combat the pain, he takes Cesamet (medicinal THC) and smokes doctor-prescribed marijuana. Following high school graduation, Terrance worked as a mechanic for a popular tire store and was subsequently fired for not taking out the garbage. He then went for six months of training to become a healthcare aid. One night, after his shift, Terrance got into a bar fight at the local pub. It was only following this incident that he was finally diagnosed as having a brain injury. Following his diagnosis, a local brain injury support group helped him apply for CPP and ODSP but by no means was this the end of his troubles.

Navigating the ODSP system has proven to be very difficult and has understandably become yet another added stressor in Terrance’s life. Terrance initially received funding for a special dietary allowance which was essential for his physical well being. However, this allowance was taken away from Terrance when the legislation changed, leaving him scrabbling to try to eat properly on a now even further reduced income.

Terrance is also frustrated with ODSP as they refuse to pay for his medical marijuana, even though it is doctor-prescribed and government approved. The reason for this is that there is no drug identification number (DIN) and therefore medical marijuana is not covered by provincial health care. The absence of a DIN number not only affects Terrance but also many others who are in the same situation. Terrance spends much of his time being an advocate for medical marijuana users and wants to try to fix what he sees as a major injustice. He is not shy in contacting anyone who he thinks will help him, from his MPP right up to the PM’s office. However, in his advocacy he sometimes can be perceived as being disruptive.

“Had his brain injury been diagnosed at the time of injury, services and rehabilitation would have been made available to him and his life would be much different than it is now.”

At times, when Terrance gets frustrated, his demeanor may change and his voice elevates. Therefore, those people who do not understand that this change is related to his brain injury have felt threatened and, on occasion, the police have been called. In 2010 it was suggested that Terrance go for an emergency psychiatric assessment. This assessment showed the changes in his behaviour was due to his brain injury and not a mental health issue. It was also noted that had his brain injury been diagnosed at the time of injury, services and rehabilitation would have been made available to him and his life would be much different than it is now.

Prior to beginning our interview, Terrance brought out a copy of the last issue of the OBIA Review and pointed to the cover picture. On it was a picture of a person looking over a radiant field of flowers. He said that in his opinion, this represents someone with a brain injury, but rather than a field of flowers, he sees a wall blocking their way. He recited the words from the song “Hey You” from Pink Floyd’s album The Wall, which he said describes his difficulties following his brain injury.

“Hey you, out there beyond the wall, breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me? Hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all, together we stand, divided we fall.” He calls OBIA on a regular basis asking for help in getting legislation set that would help people with brain injury. He sees himself as a facilitator, not a survivor. He has many legitimate issues with what he sees as a situation where people with brain injury are taken advantage of and it is his hope to teach people how to live with a brain injury. Terrance shared his method of coping: breathe in, breathe out, live life to the fullest and most importantly, take one day at a time.

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