EVERY morning when he wakes up, Robert Kerrigan spends several minutes trying to remember what day it is.

Then he reaches for his notebook and starts to read.

This notebook, which never leaves his side, tells him what he did yesterday, what he did last week and what he is supposed to be doing today.

Without it, Kerrigan would be lost. Because since the 31year-old from Blanchardstown, Dublin was in a car accident eight years ago, he suffers from both longterm and shortterm memory loss.

He can't remember what happened yesterday or last year.

At the same time, he has no memories of his childhood and doesn't recognise old friends.

"Writing it all down is the most important thing because it reminds me of everything that has happened, " he told the Sunday Tribune. "I always write down the day's news headlines as well, so I know what's going on in the world. I often sit down and read back over the books to find out what I was doing in, say, 2002. But it's a bit like reading about someone else because I can't remember any of it."

Kerrigan is just one of an estimated 30,000 people around the country who suffer from acquired brain injury (ABI). Every year, between 9,000 and 11,000 people suffer brain injury through traumas such as an assault or car crash, through brain haemorrhage or stroke, or through viral infections.

The effects of a brain injury vary broadly from person to person but only a fraction of sufferers are getting the support they need, according to Headway, the national association for ABI.

"We have estimated that only about 500 people are receiving support from us and similar organisations after they have suffered a brain injury, " said Kieran Loughran, CEO of Headway. "People are leaving hospital with their scars healed but with no further support available - and the effects of a brain injury can be devastating on both sufferers and their families.

It's a shocking situation."

For the Kerrigans, 19 September 1998 was the day their lives were turned upside down. Kerrigan, then a 24year-old printer, was in the back seat of his friend's car on the way home from a night out when a collision occurred and he was thrown through the back window.

"At first, the doctors only gave him a one-percent chance of survival, " recalled Kerrigan's mother, Anne. "The ring on his finger was the only way I could identify him and for a long time we didn't know if he'd live or die. We knew he had brain injuries, but we didn't know how bad it was until he opened his eyes."

Kerrigan recognised no one.

He didn't know who he was or what had happened to him.

He didn't know how to feed himself or how to read and write. Everything he had ever known had to be re-learned.

"It was heartbreaking, " said Anne. "I'll never forget the day I came into him and he said, 'Where's my mam?' I told him, 'I'm your mam, ' but he didn't believe me. It was terrible."

Even now, Anne could walk by Robert in the street and he mightn't recognise her. "But when he hears my voice he knows who I am, " she said.

"He remembers the voices of those closest to him better than their faces, although he still wouldn't know his cousins from the country or many of his old friends."

Robert doesn't recognise himself in old family photos and has no memory of his childhood. "My sister is always telling me stories about what I used to be up to, " he said.

"But I can't actually remember any of it. Often if I'm sitting in the pub with my uncle, someone will come along and say, 'Hi Bob, how are things.' It'll turn out I used to know them but I don't recognise them anymore."

Suffering a brain injury is like a bereavement for both the victim and their family, according to senior clinical neuro-psychologist Salvatore Giangrasso.

"For the family, the person they know is no longer there and that can be incredibly hard, " he said. "And the sufferers themselves are also aware that on some level they have lost the person they used to be. They have to go through a long process before they can realise that they did die and have been reborn as someone else. And they need a huge amount of support to come to terms with it."

One of the biggest problems for ABI sufferers in Ireland is that, despite repeated calls, the HSE has not conducted a study on the exact number of people affected by brain injury in Ireland. Instead, Headway can only estimate the numbers through the European average.

"The situation is, quite frankly, ridiculous, " said Giangrasso. "If we don't know how many people are suffering, how can we get the services to help them? And if we don't know the main causes of brain injury, we can't put money into prevention. It is vital that this study is carried out."

For Kerrigan, the last eight years have seen him make tremendous strides. From not being able to leave the house in case he got lost, he now gets a bus to Finglas four days a week to attend classes with Headway. He also works in Dunnes Stores every Wednesday afternoon and is taking part in a theatre performance.

"I have made a lot of friends there and it's great to meet people who have been through the same thing as me, " he said.

Although his voice changed after the accident, and is now much softer, his personality hasn't changed at all, according to his mother.

"He's still the same lad, always making jokes, always jolly, " she said. "I'm thankful for that and I'm so pleased with how much progress he's made. Five years ago, I thought there was no light at the end of the tunnel. I've often asked why this happened to us, but not Robert. In all these years he has never got frustrated. He never even said, 'Why me?'" A petition for more services for people with brain injuries will be launched tomorrow at Dublin City Council offices by Headway as part of International Brain Awareness Week. For more information log on to www. headway. ie or call the helpline on 1890 200 278