Rising Stars: Meet Deb Brandon

Today we’d like to introduce you to Deb Brandon

Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
I am a nomad at heart. Growing up, I lived in three countries. I’m a university brat—my father worked in academia most of his adult life, and we moved around, as he traveled for his career. I was born in Cambridge, England. When I was three, we moved to Geneva, Switzerland. And when I was six, we moved to Haifa, Israel, where my father spent the rest of his career as a professor at the Technion (Israel Institute of Technology). Growing up in Israel made for some interesting childhood memories. My first war occurred a year after we arrived in the country—the Six Day War. Next came the War of Attrition, and then the Yom Kippur War. After I graduated from high school, I served in the army like most of my peers. The 1982 Lebanon War took place three years into my life as a civilian. And two years later, I earned my B.Sc. in Aeronautical Engineering at the Technion and moved to the States to study for my Ph.D. in Mathematics at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Upon completion of my Ph.D., I spent three years postdocing, first at the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, and then at Virginia Tech, in Blacksburg, Virginia. Finally, I returned to Carnegie Mellon as a full time faculty member.
Along the way, I got married and had two children. When they were twelve and fourteen, I was diagnosed with a hereditary rare disease—cavernous angioma. I.e. I have clusters of malformed blood vessels (referred to as cavernous angiomas, cavernomas, or CCMs—Cerebral Cavernous Malformations), scattered throughout my brain. Thin walled, they can bleed into the brain. Two of mine bled. After the first bleeds, the symptoms (neuropathy, dizziness, and loss of balance) only lasted a couple of days. Unfortunately, once cavernomas hemorrhage, the risk of additional bleeds increases, and a year later, I experienced two more bleeds, which wreaked havoc on my life and family.
Those two bleeds caused a variety of symptoms, including seizures, debilitating headaches, tremors, brain fog, disorientation, confusion, loss of balance, and vertigo. Unlike my first bleeds, these symptoms were not fleeting.
Crippled by my symptoms, my life became a mere existence. I could no longer work or drive, and I could not be the mother I wanted to be for my teenage children. After several months spent in denial, I realized that I had to give myself the chance to reclaim my life. I wanted to reclaim my independence. I wanted to regain my parenting skills and return to the classroom. The only known treatment to prevent future bleeds is to remove the culprits surgically. I underwent three brain surgeries in as many weeks. Though the consequences were dire, I now held hope that I could recover sufficiently to lead a more independent life and regain my identity as a mother, a mathematician, and a textile artist.
When I returned home from hospital, I felt lost. I knew that I had a long way to go before I would feel like myself again. I knew that I had a lot of hard work ahead of me. But I had no clue where to start and in which direction to go. I felt as if I’d been abandoned in an alien landscape with no guide. I didn’t know how to go about my recovery.
At the time, there were few resources available to help in recovery from brain injury. I needed help, but as far as I knew, there was little help to be had. I decided to journal about my journey—I hoped that it would help me as I bumbled along, following my nose. As my project developed, I realized that such a manuscript could help other brain injury survivors on their own journeys. I also came to understand that the general public might benefit from such a narrative. I hired a writing coach who transformed me from an “eh” journal writer to an award winning author.

Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
Much of my journey through recovery was tortuous, filled with ups and downs, as well as prolonged plateaus. In addition to physiological and cognitive deficits, I also suffered from severe depression. I experienced several bouts of suicide ideation.
When I returned home from hospital, I felt lost. I knew that I had a long way to go before I would feel like myself again. I knew that I had a lot of hard work ahead of me. But I had no clue where to start. I felt as if I’d been abandoned in an alien landscape with no guide. I had no idea where to start and in which direction to go. I didn’t know how to go about my recovery.
At the time, there were few resources available to help in recovery from brain injury. I needed help, but as far as I knew, there was little help to be had. I decided to journal about my journey—I hoped that it would help me as I bumbled along, following my nose. As my project developed, I realized that such a manuscript could help other brain injury survivors on their own journeys. I also came to understand that the general public might benefit from such a narrative. I hired a writing coach who transformed me from an “eh” journal writer to an award-winning author.
Suffering from a variety of cognitive deficits (including ADD-type symptoms, short-term memory loss, neuro-fatigue, damage to my sequential thinking skills, and a decrease in my processing speed, I was only able to return to the classroom a year after my surgeries. the
In order to prepare myself for my return, I had to relearn mathematics. But first I needed to relearn how to read. I still remembered the mechanics of reading. But between my difficulties with short term memory and the attention span of a gnat, I couldn’t make sense of what I was reading. I couldn’t string individual words into sentences.
Within a few weeks, my reading skills improved sufficiently, that I could now focus on regaining my mathematical skills. But before I headed there, I had to learn how to compensate and work around my sequential thinking, so crucial for mathematics. At my neuro-psychologist suggested, I played the Simon Game and then graduated to brain games on my son’s Nintendo DS. A few months later, I felt ready to delve into the material I needed to return to the classroom, I had to recall arithmetic skills. In particular, I had to relearn the multiplication tables—I still have trouble with 7×8. I also had to remind myself how to add fractions—common denominators were gone from my vocabulary.
Once I felt comfortable with basic mathematical operations, I moved on to college algebra. I worked my way through every example and exercise in the book “Just in Time Algebra and Trigonometry for Calculus.” At first, before I tried to work the examples, I pored over the relevant chapter, but as I progressed, I gained confidence and tackled the examples and exercises, only going back to read about the concepts explained in the book, when I needed a nudge.
When I finished that book, I moved on to the calculus book we used for calculus classes at Carnegie Mellon. Once again, I began by poring over the theory before I worked on examples and exercises. I quickly moved on to working the problems only perusing the theory when I couldn’t remember how to proceed with the solution.
The whole process was slow and frustrating, often disrupted by debilitating headaches neuro-fatigue. Unlike “normal” fatigue, neuro-fatigue requires immediate attention—if too tired, my brain still shuts down and is a total blank. But I stubbornly persevered, and a couple of months before the next academic year started, I felt ready to enter the classroom to teach calculus.
Feelings of self-doubt are very common among brain injury survivors. I too had many issues with self-doubt. I suffered from imposter-syndrome. I was afraid of being found out, of my colleagues realizing that I didn’t deserve the title “mathematician.” I asked to teach the lowest level math class taught at Carnegie Mellon—Calculus for humanities majors.
I was too afraid to touch research. I didn’t want to know just how damaged I was. My work consisted of teaching lower level classes.
During my first year back in the classroom, I only taught parttime. Neuro-fatigue and headaches kept me from teaching full time. Fortunately, by the following academic year, I’d healed sufficiently that I was able to go fulltime. But the ongoing exhaustion and headaches continue to plague me. Finally, twelve years after I returned to teaching, I had to call it quits—I retired early.

Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I continued to teach calculus for humanities majors for most of my remaining career. At first, because I was too afraid to teach more advanced courses, but within two years, I discovered that I was now better suited to teach the lowest level classes. Not only was I better suited to it, but I was happier teaching humanities majors.
My brain injury caused many losses, but also brought about many gains, especially when it came to teaching. The struggles I experienced as I relearned the material, helped me empathize with students who weren’t fluid in mathematical thinking and made me better able to address their difficulties.
In addition, along my road to repair my damaged sequential processing skills, my brain rewired, and I became able to think in a variety of styles. In particular, my visual processing skills improved. Now, better able to appreciate different learning styles, I became better able to address them.
Also, I still suffer from difficulties processing large volumes of sensory input. Sensory data flood my brain with equal value. I have trouble filing them into my inner filing system. When experiencing a particularly serious bout of overload, I have problems differentiating colors and sounds. I had to stay away from crowds—no sporting events, no parties. At the same time, I found that I was now more aware of subtle details, details that I wouldn’t have noticed in my previous life. Where before I was socially inept, I now was able to read the subtlest of social cues. In addition, having to learn to ask for help, which involved placing my trust in people, where before I was a painfully shy introvert, I now became an eager extrovert. I became better at interacting with my students. the teaching and learning environment in my lectures were much improved.
Not only did I become a much better teacher, but I came to be passionate about my teaching and formed closer ties with my students. My high teaching evaluations attest to the improvements as a teacher of mathematics. Several of my students whom I encountered years later, thanked for teaching them more than math. I came to understands that I had become a teacher, not just a teacher of mathematics.
After my first year back to teaching, it occurred to me that if I spoke to my students of my brain injury and explained some of my symptoms, they’d b e more inclined to be quiet in lecture. I was surprised when the students showed genuine interest in my story. They asked about my condition. Some, after they learned of my depression, came to my office to speak of their own issues with mental health.
No. I didn’t try to save the world and help them through their mental health difficulties, but I did lend them a shoulder and a pair of ears. To this day, some of my past students are still in touch with me.
I am proud of my students and their achievements through the years and I thankful and proud of the role I played in their growth.

Is there any advice you’d like to share with our readers who might just be starting out?
First and foremost, I tell brain injury survivors I meet, that it does get better. I am emphatic about that. Next, I advise them to take it easy and to rest as much as possible. I tell them to give themselves a break. Full recovery from a severe brain injury is not possible. They will never be the same person they used to be. There’s a reason why people refer to an event such as a brain injury as a life changing experienced.
Denial is part of the brain injury package, as is grief. Wallowing at times is fine. In fact, it is part of the healing process. These are not signs of weakness. Depression is a common affliction among brain injury survivors. It took me three months to understand that my depression was severe and that I needed to go on antidepressants. The stigma associated with clinical depression and the need for meds got in my way. I am grateful that I finally went to see a psychiatrist–my therapist was not enough. My depression now is very well managed, though it was a bumpy road.
I am one of the lucky ones, who am happy with where I am now. I have recovered to a point that I am able to accept. My life as a survivor is harder but much fuller more fulfilling than it probably would have been otherwise. I am a better person, a more authentic version of myself. I am more comfortable in my own skin. I am well on my way towards acceptance. It takes time and effort and stubbornness (a.k.a perseverance) to navigate the world of brain injury.
The road through recovery is strewn with obstacles, hardship, but also triumphs. It is filled with grief for their losses and frustration with the hardships and with memories of the person they used to be. But it holds joy.
I shied away from support groups until I was well into my second-year post injury. Joining a group seemed too overwhelming. Eventually I went online to learn more about my condition and found a community. After my book “But My Brain Had Other Ideas” was published, people reached out to me, and my community grew.
I strongly encourage all survivors to find others who are traveling a similar road. It helps no end. Feeling isolated and alone is very common among survivors. Finding support doesn’t have to be through an “official” support group. It can be stranger who becomes a friend, often to become a close friend. It also takes a village.
Most survivors hope to reclaim their identity. Many hope to return to work. Unfortunately, that isn’t always possible. But those should try not to despair—a new identity is waiting to be found. They should try to be flexible and keep an eye out for new opportunities. Some survivors find that they can continue with their original career but part time. Others find volunteer opportunities in their original field of interest, but at a more manageable level. Support groups can help manage such obstacles, either with suggestions, new opportunities, or, in the worst-case scenarios, with much needed empathy.
At one point, I didn’t know whether I’d be able to return to teaching. After I had a good cry, I looked elsewhere. For most of my adult life, I have been deeply interested in textile traditions around the world. I am a member of an international networking organization named WARP (an acronym for Weave A Real Peace). WARP consists of members who are interested in improving the quality of life among textile artisans who live in poverty through their textile traditions. I decided that if I couldn’t teach, I’d work in some capacity towards helping textile artisans. I even attended a workshop to take guide me in that direction. I actually got excited about it. But I was grateful that I was able to return to the classroom. As I said, I was one of the lucky ones.
Brain injury survivors need to be aware that the brain injury community is a close one. Most of us are eager to help other in the same boat. If you find yourself reading this and you are a struggling brain injury survivor, feel free to get in touch with me.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://debbrandon.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/deb_brandon1/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/deb.brandon.author/
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@debbrandon2833

Image Credits
Charlee Brodsky
Sarah Hrusa
Cindy Lair
Brendan Wyant