Can't

can't

/kant/

contraction

1. cannot.

Can't is an interesting word, over the last 8 years, I've developed an interesting relationship with this word.

Immediately following the stroke my whole world was about can't. I can't hold my baby, I can't walk or move my left arm, I can't go back to work, can't do this, can't do that.

In fact, I was convinced everything was a can't.

Then acceptance set in. After much thought and slowly working myself back into my job and slowly gaining confidence in my new abilities, I realized that word wasn't helping at all, that words are really powerful and I should be careful which ones I use. So I made a resolution to not use the above word anymore.

After that something magical happened, anytime I was faced with something I was unsure about, I took a deep breath, thought about it and dove right in and you know what? I was able to do the things I thought were a can't.

Now if I think something is a can't I look at it as something I have to try.

Give it a go, I dare you.

A Real Mom

"I just want to be a real mom."

If you were one of the people who visited me in neuro rehab around this time eight years ago, you would have heard that plaintive phrase fall out of my mouth. Most people responded responded with a sympathetic grin and the words, "But you are a real mom."

My response to this attempt at comfort was probably an eye roll followed with me thinking, what the fuck do you know about it.

First let me give some perspective here, by this point eight years ago, I'd been in rehab for about a week, I think(the timeline of everything is not clear to me as my brain wasn't functioning correctly) by this time in rehab, it was starting to dawn on me how severe the effects of the stroke was, I had a hard time talking, moving my half-paralyzed mouth and tongue around words was a struggle, I could barely hold a thought in my head for longer than a minute, I couldn't focus long enough to eat a meal and following the narrative on the simple shows Matt and I watched together before the stroke, like American Dad and Robot Chicken was impossible. I couldn't walk, go to the bathroom without assistance and worst of all, couldn't take care of my new baby. I had to watch other people do that.

My daydreams of softly singing to my baby girl while breastfeeding her had been crushed and I was fucking pissed.

At that point I really thought I was going to be confined to a wheelchair anytime I wanted to go anywhere, I imagined being wheeled into school programs and Charlotte getting made fun of because her mom was weird. I imagined Charlotte being confused about who her mom was because so many other people were caring for her, I even thought she'd hate me because I couldn't run around and play with her.

Well.

Let's fast forward to now. Suddenly, without me realizing it, that new normal everyone kept promising me I'd find showed up. It's eight years later and every weekday I get up at 6:20 am, get myself dressed( a HUGE accomplishment, when I began doing it myself), attempt to wake Charlotte up and drag what she wants for breakfast out of her, then I let the dog out, feed him and proceed to throw together breakfast for both Charlotte and I, once we're done eating the task of getting Charlotte ready for school commences, a difficult task, 'cuz staying home is way more interesting. Some days, hopefully, I've convinced Charlotte that she does have to go to school and I manage to get her on the bus on time. I have no idea how this happens some days.

Then I go about my day, cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, making dinner and generally enjoying being alive and in between all of those days I sometimes stop and think to myself.

Wow. I AM a real Mom.

It ain't me, babe

Lately I feel I've been getting an awful lot of credit for what I've accomplished thus far on my post-stroke journey, this makes me feel uncomfortable, so I want to clear some things up for the sake of my conscience.

First of all, pre-stroke Liz would have luxuriated in all of this praise and validation she gets on a regular basis, but this new, post-stroke Liz is verrry uncomfortable with all of that.

Why?

Well, let me tell you, I don't think I've done anything at all. All I've done is get out of bed in the morning, put one foot in front of the other and tried to be a better version of myself than I was the day before. The reason that I don't feel I've done anything to deserve any of this validation is because, in my opinion,it is all of the people who are around me all of the time that deserve the praise. Without Matt constantly pushing me to be better at, well, everything. I wouldn't even think to try to be good at everything. Without Charlotte's brilliant smile, kind heart and warm hugs, I wouldn't care about setting a good example for how a strong woman should behave when life deals you a shitty hand and, of course, without my co-op standing by ,me, believing in me and allowing me to find a place within the ranks of the workers all the while allowing me a safe place where I could find myself again, I would still be sitting on the couch playing the smallest violin in the world for myself.

So, what I'm saying, it's true what they say, it really takes a village, because without mine, I'd be sucking at life and, according to a lot of people, I'm not.

Even though hearing that makes me uncomfortable. So, thank you all, of you.

Reel Me In

Something happened today that left me reeling for the entire day; Our day started off as normal, Charlotte crawled into bed with us at 7am and promptly passed out on Matt, my alarm went off, I got dressed and Charlotte and I had breakfast, Charlotte got dressed and watched cartoons til it was time to leave to take me to work at the co-op. When we got to the co-op, Matt and Charlotte ran into the store ahead of me, as usual, I went straight to the back, attempted to find an empty locker to shove my giant coat and purse into, got my name tag and, clocked in and counted my cash drawer and began walking to the front of the store, as I was heading up front, Matt walked past me and said,
"your old therapist is here, I think she's looking for you." I immediately began going through my mental Rolodex of every therapist this could be and immediately settled on one option: Erica! Erica was my primary OT in rehab, the therapist I worked with most frequently. Erica was in charge of attempting to breathe life back back into my damn left arm, of teaching me how to live in a post stroke world and body. Erica spent many hours listening to me bemoan my existence and worry over whether Charlotte was going to like me or not. It was Erica who first told me I was not capable of returning to my position as Front End Manager at the co-op, a bitter pill to swallow.


It's been four years since I've seen her.

And seeing her after all that time really drove home how far I've come.

When I was working with her in rehab, I could hardly focus on a single simple task for longer than one minute. But, today I worked a cash register during a very busy lunch rush at work, I stayed focused on my tasks and even multi-tasked throughout the day, an impossible feat during my days in rehab; The last time I saw Erica, I felt that my life was crumbling apart in front of my eyes and that there was no way I could live my life this way. But today as the clear winter sunshine streamed through all of the co-op's windows I felt so happy to be alive and working, lucky to be having such a great day, one- armed or not.

So, I guess the point of all of this is, if anyone out there is reading this while in rehab or at the beginning of your post-stroke journey, I am here to assure you that, although it seems impossible right now, there is life after stroke and It does get better. Do not give up on life, or it will give up on you.

the big 4-0....Plus 2

Let me start simply, earlier this week I picked up a shift for a co-worker, no big deal, right?
Well, in doing this, I tuned my four day qwork week into a five day, but not a five day week like my last one, it was broken up into groups of days I had to work in a row, so I didn't think about it much.

as I was talllying up my hours for the week tonight at the end of my shift today, the number kept mounting. Until I finished.

I looked at the sheet after I had written my total hours for the week.
"holy shit." I whispered to myself.

42 hours.

I worked 42 hours and didn't even realize it.

I have been tired this week, but I attributed that to staying up too lat and having an almost four year old child who's really excited about getting up too early in the morning, you know, the same reason regular people get tired.

The more I thought about my work week all I could think about was this self-pitying and whiny post from three years ago and hoe different things are now.

Then it sunk in; I have officially taken my life back, the stroke hasn't taken anything from me .

And, in the words of my incomparable co-worker, Brett, I made this week my bitch.

boo-ya, stroke, take that!

How Could I khave Known: alove letter to the People's Food Co-op of Kalamazoo

My Dearest PFC,
How could I have known when I walked into your cramped storefront, holding my application to be your new Front End Manager how important that decision  was  or how you were to impact my life?
A long haired woman with flowing skirts accepted my filled out application, she called me "hon" after taking the application from me.

At the time, I thought I knew everything about everything. I was wrong. I didn't know anything, I didn't know anything about myself, family, community or faith,you have taught me about all of those things in the five years we have known each other.

In the days, weeks, months and years after the stroke, you have stood by me, patiently holding my hand as I discovered myself though tragedy. You accepted me at my worst, you made me feel like I fit in somewhere when I felt I fit nowhere, you made me feel normal and extraordinary when I never thought I would be either of those things ever again. As I delved into the darkest depths of my depression and came out on the other side knowing more about myself than I ever thought I would, you and your staff loved the new person who came out of that cocoon of darkness and despair, you accepted her when she needed someone to say, "it's ok, we like you, just as you are."

your workers we the first responders to my husband's late night call alerting you that Charlotte's birth had gone awry, your manager's were the first to see me in the hospital's ICU. My foggy memories of the ICU are filled with your laughter, reassurances and watching your staff members cradle my precious baby when I couldn't I felt your healing energy and the care you had for me, even though we had only just met.

Your staff constructed a system(the PFC loves systems!) to get me good food and good company three times a week while I was literally was trying to get back on my feet. These visits gave me something to look forward to when things looked their bleakest, when I was so desperate to return to your warm embrace.

You found new and creative ways to incorporate me back into your hustle and bustle when I could barely walk, you watched, waiting, patiently and faithfully, knowing I would eventually be able to work as I used to. You never gave up on me, even when I have wanted to give up on myself.

Even today, you are my safe haven, my safe space where I can just be the new me I have become.

As I've grown into this new version of me, I have built my new values, that look nothing like the values I had before, because of all of the time I have spent in your loving embrace.

You have never left me, and I will never leave you.

Thank you,
your most devoted,
Liz

The Big 4-0

For those of you following along, you are probably familiar with my love affair with The People's Food Co-op of Kalamazoo, this place has been essential and instrumental in my renewal process, not only has this place been a safe haven for me as I have gone through the process of becoming a new and better person, it is a place where I can be me in all my flawed glory and no one seems to mind.

the PFC has also been my therapy, challenging me to rebuild my cognitive and physical abilities; This week I have crossed another milestone with the help of this priceless place: I completed a five day, 40 hour work week, yes, I worked Mom-Friday, all eight hour shifts in a row, no breaks. Now, this may seem like it's not that big of a deal to most people, but let me put this in perspective for you, when I started back at the co-op post-stroke in 2012, I was working one two hour shift a week and that almost floored me, the effort it took to interact with people and stand for that amount of time was massive, but, as my brain started to come back online, my super-boss Simon and I started slowly but surely  increasing my hours, which took it's toll, rebuilding stamina is like building up any muscle, anytime I overdo it with my energy levels my body shuts itself down to the point where it's impossible for me to do anything but lay in a useless lump of misery, so jumping from 20 to 30 hours a week was a stretch, and, last week I was on the couch for four days straight after a 30 hour week and in preparation for this week.

When this week began, I was terrified that I would be miserable and sick by the end of the week, but, I realized that worrying about days ahead wasn't helping me enjoy the days that were happening and that I only needed to worry about that if it happened, so I started paying attention to how I felt at that moment, got enough rest at night and enjoyed myself at work all week long. Then today rolled around, the day I though I would for sure be a mess for, but I woke up bright eyed and excited to see what the day would bring, determined to kill it and to traverse this gauntlet Simon had thrown down for me. I felt great all day long, even when some sleepiness would sneak in, I would push it aside in favor of enjoying the company of my co-workers and the lovely environment I work in. Now that I've built up that muscle I can do it again and again and not doubt my ability to do so.

So, you see, my friends, in the end it's all about how you look at things, if you look at them in the right way there is nothing that you can't accomplish.

I made this week my bitch! Victory!