Wednesday, April 17, 2013

And the BS continues...

 
I'm pretty sure my neurons fire in pink now.
It’s been 6 months since my right pontine (brainstem) ischemic stroke—BS for short (and for obvious reasons). Unless you’re a neurologist, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell I had a stroke just by looking at me, which has taught me an important lesson: ALWAYS be gentle and compassionate with EVERYONE. No matter how enlightened and insightful you think you are, you can’t see on the outside just how fractured a person might be on the inside. Here are some examples of the weird stuff that might be going on inside...

Example #1: My physical therapist (whom I adore) recently said that stroke recovery hits a plateau at around 6 months. This is standard, old-school stroke-talk. I know she means well, in a face-the-realities sort of way, but that’s like saying, “You’re as good as you’re ever gonna get.” Is this the way to encourage folks to push on? Nosiree. Does this give folks permission to stop trying? Ya, you betcha. So I gave my therapist a copy of Jill Bolte Taylor’s book, My Stroke of Insight, and told her that the book’s author, a neurobiologist, had a massive hemorrhagic stroke and took 8 years to recover. Eight YEARS.

Example #2: Every time someone asks me, “How are you doing? Are you feeling better?” I want to gouge out their eyes with a plastic spork. Yes, this is irrational and perhaps a wee bit extreme. Thankfully, the urge quickly passes. Some part of my brain’s filtering system is still intact enough to think, “No, me…you can’t do that. Just smile and say ‘great.’”

I know people love and care about me and want me to be all better. I know they aren’t sure what else to say. I love and care about them, too. Bless their hearts. That’s why I gag my inner Wendy Whiner, who wants to scream, “This isn’t the flu! I’m not going to ‘get over it!’ I have body & brain damage, some of which may be freaking permanent!” (We all know “’bless your heart’ always precedes something nasty. As in: “Bless her heart. She thinks those leggings fit her.”)

Example #3: I’ve been working since I was 14. So when I walked in the office of our Little Town U disability services person to try and figure out a plan for next fall, I immediately started weeping. Blubbering like a school girl. (Wait! I AM a school girl!) I couldn’t ask any of my questions. I could barely listen as she told me which forms to fill out. I was heaving. I might have hyperventilated...I'm not sure.

“Emotional lability,” the inability to control sometimes inappropriate laughing or crying, is another lingering after-effect of BS and fairly common after strokes. I’m sure the poor woman thought I was swan-diving right off the edge, as she nervously shoved Kleenex in my direction. But really, I was just mad at having to be there at all, and once that hairline crack in the armor got started, the floodgates busted wide open.

How stroke recovery sometimes feels from the INSIDE.
So here we are, 6 months after BS. The most aggravating deficits I still have are constant dizziness, balance problems that make me careen into walls or hang onto things for dear life, throat/vocal cord issues (I STILL CAN'T SING, DAMMIT!), occasional problems with memory and word recall, and near-constant fatigue. But I look pretty darned normal, and I manage just peachy if I can stop and rest or nap when things get exceptionally clunky or hazy. And by gum, I still believe things will continue to improve. I have to remind myself that a few months ago, I couldn’t imagine walking up the stairs to my office, and now I’m walking (slowly, carefully) around campus. Walk. Rest. Walk. Lean on a tree. Nap. Nap.

But students don’t take kindly to an intentionally narcoleptic teacher. I’ve used up my sick leave, and I can’t go back to my full-time schedule in the fall, so after 15 years of classroom teaching, I’m thinking about a career change. In spite of a couple of charred spots, my brain’s ability to put a sentence together is still A-OK and sometimes even clever, so I’m toying with the idea of on-line teaching, writing, or editing, with a flexible, nap-conducive schedule. Or maybe a wealthy benefactor so I can finish my best-selling novel. We’ll see what the Universe sends my way.

In the meantime, I’m plugging away and profoundly grateful for my exceptional blessings: another South Dakota spring (ignore the current April snow), three new family babies on the horizon, surviving another Semester’s attempt to kick me to the curb, a fresh new greasy pound of French Roast coffee beans, and so much more...

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