I'm pretty sure my neurons fire in pink now. |
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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