Welcome to the Quantum Community Care Qld BlogSpot!

Our first post introduces our Founding Director, Christina, pictured with her husband Jeremy.

In 2016, Christina acquired a brain injury, resulting in a discreet physical disability and post-traumatic stress disorder. Despite these challenges, including two lower spine surgeries and recurring seizures, these experiences have shaped her perspective into being able to use her lived experience to provide support to other people living with a disability or disabilities.

Christina founded Quantum Community Care Qld after facing difficulties managing her symptoms in traditional employment. Her journey and understanding of psychosocial disabilities motivated her to create an organization that supports and advocates for others with similar challenges.

Her daily experience with disability gives her a unique insight into its effects. She navigates these challenges with remarkable resilience.

In addition to her lived-living experience, Christina uses her qualifications and 12 years of previous work experience in Aged Care, Community and Disability Services settings to guide her in providing a quality service.

Christina believes everyone deserves to thrive and reach their full potential. She is dedicated to providing the support needed to achieve this. Her goal is to empower people with disabilities to make their own choices, pursue aspirations, and live their best lives.

10/10/2025.

A couple of days ago, I heard something I'd never heard before, and it was a profound moment for me. I was watching a video on Facebook when a speaker said, "a person's disability is only one part of that person."

For the past nine years since my brain injury, I've often felt like people saw me as 'less than' who I was before. Hearing that simple phrase was a powerful reminder that my disability doesn't define me.

I hope everyone living with a disability can also find confidence in knowing that their disability is only one aspect of who they are.

Kind Regards

Christina.

18/10/2025.

For a while now, I’ve been considering what to write on the blog, so I’ve decided to start at the very beginning: detailing my lived experience and what I went through during and after my TBI/ABI (Traumatic/Acquired Brain Injury) and what I had to do just to start the healing process.

The Injury: A new Beginning.

I incurred a brain injury on the 19th October 2025 (9 years ago). The brain injury I incurred was the result of a fall. The blunt force trauma from my head hitting floor tiles after fainting and falling off of a chair caused an aneurysm to form in the posterior communicating artery and then rupture. This led to an extensive subarachnoid haemorrhage (brain bleed in the subarachnoid space) involving the bilateral frontal, temporal and parietal lobes and involving multiple cisterns.

I remember feeling faint that day and was about to call my daughter when everything went black and I collapsed from sitting on a dining chair and falling to the floor. When I regained consciousness, I remember my head was pounding, like it was splitting apart. I reached for my phone which was on the floor beside me and opened the call log and pressed any number. Thankfully someone answered it was a colleague of mine. I told her something was seriously wrong and asked her to call an ambulance. I remember crawling to unlock the front door and collapsed again in the hall way.

Sincerely,

Christina.

Written on the 19/10/2025

The Day Everything Changed

The 19th of October, 2025, began like any other day, but by the time the ambulance arrived, I was wrestling with a level of pain well beyond a '10.' I pride myself on being able to handle pain, so when I was genuinely suffering, I knew this was severe.

The paramedics who first assessed me saw the pain, checked my vitals, and initially concluded it was just a severe migraine. Their plan was simple: a dose of paracetamol and a quiet trip to bed.

Fortunately, fate—and a close friend and colleague—intervened. My friend arrived to check on me, and when the paramedics read my blood pressure, she immediately challenged them. She knew my normal blood pressure was low, and the reading they considered "normal" was, for me, dangerously high. Her persistence in that critical moment changed everything. Reluctantly, the paramedics agreed to transport me to Logan Hospital.

I remember walking toward the ambulance, the world starting to tilt and fade. Then, nothing.

The Void and the Awakenings

My next memory is waking up in a ward, though I was later told I had spent one to two days unconscious. The time between walking to the ambulance and that ward was a complete void. I had bypassed Logan Hospital, where an immediate CT scan had confirmed I needed advanced care, prompting a rapid transfer to the Princess Alexandra Hospital.

The gap in my memory is strange. While I remember nothing—no sight, no sound—family told me I had moments of fleeting consciousness where I’d say something brief and urgent, asking people to look after my family. It was a testament to where my mind was even when my body was failing.

A CT confirmed that there was a large volume acute Subarachnoid haemorrhage and that there was an aneurysm in the posterior communicating (PCOM) artery that had ruptured.

Somewhere in that initial, terrifying blur—either two or three days after I collapsed—the doctors performed a cerebral angiogram, the procedure that coiled the ruptured aneurysm.

Written on the 25/10/2025

The Power of Connection

During the initial days in hospital, an extraordinary phenomenon was taking place. My daughter recounted how incredible my friends were. While I lay unconscious and recovering, a huge entourage of family and friends descended upon the hospital, a few of them flying in from other states and overseas.

My friends weren't just waiting; they were operating as a single unit, coordinating flights, logistics, and providing support to my family by cooking meals for them so they were able to concentrate on maintaining their own wellbeing. I was told there were times when they would encourage each other to stay positive and believe that I would be able to overcome what I was going through. At the time statistics for surviving an aneurysm rupture have the odds that only 1 in 5 survive. The kindness and dedication shown by that network—my circle—was as crucial to my recovery as any medical intervention.

I may not recall the fear and the initial confusion of those first few days, but the support that was received, and the knowledge that I had so many people fighting for me, is the indelible part of this story. Many years later I am left with a profound sense of gratitude. Informal support systems are so needed in traumatic situations and as well as during the aftercare. Connection with others, especially people that are important to a person that has an injury or illness help the recovery and healing process.

Stabilization and Setbacks

While in the hospital, the most critical thing I could do was simply allow the specialists, doctors, and nurses to do their jobs. It took a couple of weeks before I was stable enough to even start making decisions for myself.

Unfortunately, I had a few setbacks before that happened. After the initial incident, I incurred a couple of cerebral vasospasms, which are a temporary narrowing of the arteries that supply blood to the brain, caused by the persistent contraction of blood vessel walls.

It’s difficult for people to understand, but after a major brain bleed, the brain literally needs time to recalibrate.

After the initial coiling of the brain aneurysm I was returned to the neurology ward. When the pain had started to subside enough for me to begin recovery, I vividly remember a nurse asking me to walk to the shower, and for the life of me, I didn’t know what she meant. She helped me sit up on the side of the bed and then got me to stand. Once my feet touched the floor, my memory finally kicked in, and I remembered what walking was and what showering was when I walked into the bathroom.

Tragically, while in the shower, I had a vasospasm and went unconscious again. I had to have another cerebral angiogram and ended up spending quite a few day days in the ICU. If i remember right, i think it happened once more while I was in ICU.

Eventually, I was stable enough to be moved back to the high dependency neurology ward. Bed 33. The initial crisis was over, and I was finally ready to face recovery. On the ward, I remember getting my phone and started reading and researching medical literature as much as I could about ruptured aneurysms, brain bleeds and brain injuries. I know… weird right? I think that was instinct because of my inquisitive nature? Whatever it was, researching and learning about my condition helped me to know what I was up against.

Written on the 01/11/2025

My Experience with Post-Traumatic Amnesia

When I was finally allowed visitors, the hardest part wasn't feeling unwell; it was simply trying to remember who everyone was.

There were times I honestly couldn't grasp people's names or even figure out how I knew them. I remembered the people closest to me right away—my immediate family, of course. But if I hadn't seen certain people for a couple of weeks before the injury, I had a hard time figuring out who they were. I basically had to wait until they introduced themselves or until other visitors said their names out loud.

The Loss of Filter

Other behaviours that came with the post-traumatic amnesia included confusion, agitation, and frustration. When I was frustrated, my verbal filter usually dropped out, and there were times I'd swear out of the blue.

I remember a nurse forgetting my medication and I became furious when she told me she had already administered it and I must have forgotten. (Literally one of The worst thing to say to a brain injury survivor.) So I asked to speak to another RN, and after checking my chart, she realised the medication had been missed. I apologized for the language I used, but the RN caring for me said it was quite "normal" for people to lose their filter after surviving such a traumatic brain injury.

The PTA carried on after I left the hospital, though it wasn't as extreme, and only surfaced when I was overwhelmed by external stimulation: noise, crowded places, or when I was experiencing chronic fatigue.

Supporting Recovery: Post-Traumatic Amnesia (PTA)

The Healing Environment

The goal is to provide a safe and calm environment.

  • Secure the Space: Ensure the person feels safe and comfortable in their immediate environment.

  • Reduce Stimulation: Keep noise levels to a minimum and reduce lighting. A quiet, subdued calm space helps prevent confusion and agitation.

  • Routine is important, right from the beginning. Meals, medication bathing, toileting might seem basic needs that we all do on auto pilot but for a person with a TBI these repetitive tasks are the beginning to create and re-ignite strong neural pathways in the basil ganglia which makes the behaviours become autonomous.

🗣️ Simple Communication Tips for Visitors

Keep interactions brief, gentle, and focused on comfort.

  • Be Clear and Calm: Use short, clear sentences and speak slowly and calmly.

  • Limit Questions: Avoid asking too many questions at once.

  • Patience is Vital: If you do ask a question, don't expect an immediate answer, and never answer for the patient.

  • Less is More: Kind words and gentle gestures are often more effective than lengthy conversation.

  • Manage Numbers: Keep visitor numbers small. Too many people can easily overstimulate and worsen confusion.

  • Focus on present tense conversation.

  • Expect the unexpected and refrain from correcting and chastising a person if they use expletive (swear) language.

  • Understand that confusion can mean the person is tired or overstimulated.

🧸 Family Connection and Reassurance

Familiar items can provide a grounding link to reality.

  • Bring Comfort Items: Introduce small, personal items such as:

    • Family photos

    • A favourite blanket

    • A treasured keepsake

  • Offer Positive Support: Consistently offer reassurance and positive reinforcement. Encourage them to take the necessary time to recover, reminding them that rushing the process is not helpful for long-term healing.

Written 02/11/2025

Recovery and rehabilitation

begins in hospital.

The importance of routine cannot be overstated. My days were a blur of essential activities: waking, taking medication, toileting, breakfast, bathing, followed by constant neurological tests, observations, and scans. This regimen was designed to closely monitor my functional progress. Day by day, the constant pain began to lessen, my cognitive function improved and I started to feel more like myself.

With my strength returning, I was able to manage my own bathing and start exercising by taking short walks around the ward and then I extended my walks around the hospital corridors. Since I had always enjoyed walking as a great form of low-impact exercise before the injury, getting back on my feet was a significant moment in my recovery. I did notice though that I had a slight gait and that my left stride wasn’t as strong as my right side. I also noticed that there were times where I would favour my left arm at times by cradling it in my lap. I would find out later on what was causing this.

Medications

The medical process involved continually trialing and altering medications. Some worked well; others proved unsuccessful. I was initially prescribed an anti-epilepsy drug as a preventative measure, a rationale I accepted for a time. Yet, a growing feeling of agitation prompted me to do my own research, where I discovered that aggressiveness was a reported side effect. After requesting a change, the doctor prescribed an alternative, and the aggression rapidly subsided. This experience underscored the great benefit of having open, direct discussions with my specialist about the medications I was taking.

It is important to emphasize that pharmaceutical medications are critical after the body undergoes extreme trauma. We must trust the medical profession, knowing they are working to ensure our survival following serious surgeries and medical incidents. In my case, without the aneurysm coiling surgery, I would not have lived. Without the essential support of anesthesia and effective pain relief, the life-saving procedure could not have been performed. Therefore, it is paramount to always maintain an open discussion about any medication concerns with your doctors and specialists.