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.

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.

Hurry up and Wait

I am not a patient person. I never have been, then, I became a patient in a neuro rehabilitation facility. As it began to dawn on me what kind of situation I was in ,I was anything but patient, I wanted my hand back YESTERDAY I wanted to go back to work NOW.

Over the course of my life instant gratification has always been my bread and butter, I want what I want now and I would force my way towards whatever end goal I was after, but, the more I think about it, I 've realized that forcing things before it was time for them to happen has never worked out well for me or anyone else involved in my scheming. When I went back to work at the co-op, I was desperate to be back in a position that seemed "important", so, I tried applying for an HR job that I was in no way ready to perform, when I didn't get the job, I was crushed, as the job I applied for was one I held before the stroke.

But, I was determined to stay at the co-op, I knew there was a place for me there, and I decided I would dig my heels in and wait to see what that place would be. And I have, I am now working more frequently than before and have, once again become quite an adept cashier.

Self identity was the one thing I was desperate to find in my post-stroke world, hence the many different names I gave myself: Liz 2.0, New Liz, etc....but, I hung in there and I am happy to say that I have a better sense of self than I ever have and I am really awesome, new weird nickname needed, now, I'm just Liz, that's all.

So, what's my point, you may be asking yourself; here it is: That obnoxious saying, good things come to those who wait is, in fact true, because I have become a professional waiter, and, I've found that instead of forcing things to happen before it is time, that letting them happen naturally has a much more satisfying result.

Word play

If there is one thing I've learned over the last three years, it's this:

Language is of utmost importance, the words that come out of your mouth and the one's that live in your thoughts can impact your life in a big way.

My new year's resolution for 2014 was to eliminate the word "can't" from my vocabulary, because, it's a negative word and , really there isn't anything I can't do, unless I say I can't do it.

I recently read this article in Stroke Smart Magazine

reading it just reminded me hoe incredibly important words are, so, rather than use the word recovery, which implies that everything will be as it once was before the stroke (which is never going to happen, my body, mind and spirit has been too  irreversibly altered by this experience for everything to go back the way it was.

I have traded in the word recovery for renewal, this is a far more positive word, as it indicates, I am moving on with my life and accepting the circumstances of my life with open arms.

I have also made a concerted effort to not complain, outwardly or in my head, because, I have NOTHING to complain about, and it feels better not to, complaining changes nothing. You know what happened when I stopped complaining?

Things started looking extremely sunny, in-spite of the gloomy Michigan winter we've been through, once I realized nothing was worth complaining about and I put a cork in my mouth any time anything negative wanted to vomit out, life started looking pretty damn good, despite the challenges.


Try it, I dare you.

The Game Changer

There is a box in my house. It's a smallish, slightly beat up, square cardboard box, but what this box holds is truly amazing; This box holds hope, wisdom, inspiration and mostly this box holds love.

Let me start at the beginning.

Right after I found out I was pregnant in the spring of 2011, I started scouring the internet for mommy stuff. I stumbled upon a blog that I quickly became obsessed with the blogger's strength of message and the empowerment she found in motherhood captured my imagination, I had discovered The Feminist Breeder. I read her blog daily , looking for snippets of inspiration and information from an empowered mommy, just like I wanted to be.

Then, the unimaginable happened.
During an induced labor by brain sprung a large leak, causing a clot which forced my brain to one side of myskull, paralysing my left side and making this fast talker and thinker slowed down in both departments, luckily, that baby I had been learning to take care of through this blogger whom I admired so much came through the ordeal unscathed, but, I was left unable to breast feed as much as I wanted to (due to my many medications) and I was unable to care for this new life as fully as I had anticipated.

Knowing I was going to heartbroken by this unexpected turn of events, my good friend, and soul sister, Sheila, knowing how obsessed I was with TFB(The Feminist Breeder) got in touch with her, hoping she might contact me to give me some encouragement. Then my dream came true, GinaTFB contacted ME on Facebook, wanting to know how she could help, she and I came up with a plan, her idea, really; A greeting card campaign. She put up a post about ME asking her readers to send me words of encouragement, well, I didn't know what to expect out of this venture, but the cards, letters and even a CD or two came flooding in, I got over 90 pieces of mail from women all over the world, these women told me stories about relatives who had been touched by stroke, their own personal stories about difficult pregnancies, they told me how lucky Charlotte was to have me in her life, how important I was, regardless of how much I was able to do.

But, mostly these women sent messages of love.

All of those cards are in that magical box, which I busted open today. I was touched, at the time these cards came in, I felt hopeless and useless, they came at the darkest point of this journey, the point where I felt my entire life was falling away through my fingers, the point where if I had given up, that was when I was going to.

BUT
I got letters from The Netherlands, New Zelaand, England etc..from all over.

How could I give up when all of these people were rooting for me and believed that I was fully capable of doing this? I couldn't. So, I didn't. The contents of that box truly changed the game for me, words of kindness from complete strangers, reminding me that life is worth hanging on for.


I'm glad I listened

Bravery

Bravery: noun \ˈbrāv-rē, ˈbrā-və-\

: the quality that allows someone to do things that are dangerous or frightening : the quality or state of being brave.

I've had three years to think about this word and what it means, in general and to me; After the initial shock of the stroke wore off and I was in a more stable state of mind, I signed onto Facebook, what I found there was completely unexpected; So many messages of hope, support and motivation with lots of words in them like inspiring, brave and strong.

What?! Now, let me be clear, while I was in rehab, I still couldn't turn over in bed on my own, I had to call someone in to do that for me, I had to have someone help me get out of bed into my wheel chair, roll me into the bathroom and help me out of the chair onto the toilet and to top things off, I could't wipe myself when I was done in there. So, brave, strong and inspiring were not words that I would have used for myself, in fact, scared shitless, lost, confused, defeated and over-anxious would have been the perfect words for me at the time.

So what does brave mean? At the time, when I thought about it, brave was something people label someone as when they are facing something the general public wouldn't want to face.

I have waged many a battle with my bravery over the course of three years, the world can be a scary place when your body suddenly doesn't work the way it used to, staircases, curbs,and bathtubs were fearsome things for me for a long time, then I thought I had those fears beat...until about two weeks ago. Due to a couple of falls, one of which happened while I was holding Charlotte, my worst fear realized, the other due to me not paying attention where my stupid left foot was, my old anxieties crept up again, at least I think the falls are what sparked a relapse of Stair Fear, as I call it, suddenly, after a year of doing the stairs in my home confidently, dealing with them and knowing I was safe and knew what I was doing, this old, stupid terror crept back into my life, practically paralyzing me yet again.( not to mention pissing me off). I've been battling this fear for a good two weeks now, but I dug deep and found that bravery everyone kept saying I had and barreled through as best I could, now the stairs, whatever, they're not going to bite me. I know how my body works now and I can handle any weird obstacle that comes my way. It is only through this journey that I have discovered my bravery, and what being brave actually means.

Plan Change

Yes. This is another post about the Co-op, I would stop writing about it, but it continues to amaze me with it's awesomeness:


Like many expecting and working first time moms, I had a plan:

While I was incubating my precious cargo, I was working a 45 hour a week job that I loved, at The People's Food Co-op of Kalamazoo, for those not in the loop, I was the Front End Manager/HR Coordinator during the co-op's expansion into a new, shiny and bigger space, while busy with making a person, I was 100% consumed with ushering the Front End staff, new and old alike into the new space as smoothly as possible. Suddenly, I found my voice as a manager and I was hella good at it, I loved what I was doing, it was important, it mattered, what I was doing made a difference to people, more so than all of the jobs I had worked slinging over-priced coffee drinks at people who barely noticed I existed. So, my plan was this: I was going to take a paltry five weeks off after Charlotte's birth and then jump right back into my 45 hour work week and Matt was going to be a stay at home dad. Yeeeaaaahhh......the Universe slapped that plan right out of my hands, big time. I loved my job so much, I was begging to be let out of the ICU for an All-Staff Meeting.So, when I learned I was FINALLY going to be released from rehab, I immediately began planning my triumphant return to work . Until my OT, Erica sat down and gave me the reality check I needed; No. I couldn't do that job anymore, absolutely not.

Well, in my muddled brain, nothing had changed, there was no reason I couldn't jump back in (I believe this was my denial stage of grieving), until Matt came through with his usual dose of much needed tough love:
"Liz, you can't even go to the bathroom by yourself, how are you supposed to do that job?" Shit.

Three years later, I can safely say there is NO. Way I could have done that job at that point but,  I was devastated. Later that day, my boss came to the hospital and I stepped down from my position, hoping that some day I'd return to the co-op, somehow. So Chris, my GM and I made a point of getting together a few months after my release to discuss a possible return, he essentially made up a new job for me, that wouldn't be too taxing on my feeble stamina and limited physical ability; I was essentially a greeter, I answered phones and rang up customers when needed. Going back to work was hard, it was physically taxing, exhausting and, at times, overwhelming. I had to relearn EVERYTHING from scratch and the hardest part of that was hat I was being retrained by people I had hired and trained, this rubbed my pride the wrong way, I was often embarrassed as the current Front End Manager,Simon,  helped me fix any mistakes I had made as I was relearning to count drawers, but, even though I was embarrassed, he NEVER treated me like I was stupid for having to learn all of this again and I was treated as a new trainee and a respected member of the Front End team. Once I finally came to terms with the fact that I had to learn how to be a cashier from the beginning, I began to get over myself, started seeing Simon as my boss, not that kid I hired all that time ago, my pride stopped being an issue and everything suddenly began falling into place

Currently, I cashier at least twice a week and as we approach the holiday season, I'm hoping I can work more.

I may not be a manager anymore, but I am grateful work at a place that embraces me for who I am now ,that did not toss me out with the trash when I wasn't able to perform at the same level as I had before stroke touched my life. And working as a cashier gives time to spend with my daughter who delights and amazes me everyday, plus cashiering fun! It is, I promise.

Working has not only increased my physical stamina and ability, but I believe working a register has improved my cognition greatly, every shift I work challenges my focus, improves my confidence and makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because as I work, I am amazed at the strides I have made since that life shattering discussion with Erica.

Thank you Universe.

Dark Night

Man years ago, I went to breakfast at a Denny's in Connecticut after my apartment warming party and sat with a girl who would eventually be one of my closest friends there, we sat for hours, smoking cigarettes,drinking coffee and talking, is there anything else to do at a Denny's?

She was a religious girl so our conversation turned to an intense discusion about the crisis of faith I experienced at 15 when my grandmother passed away.

After decades of devoted service to the church and a deep faith in God and Jesus, losing my grandmother, my soul mate, was too much, so, I basically told God to fuck off, stopped going to chuch and started practicing Wicca, with a hint of Norse practice tossed in for good measure.

My new friend and I talked about the dark night of the soul that day, I had never heard of this phenomenom, so when she told me about the poem, it made perfect sense yes I had gone through a dark night, and reached a higher concsiouness as a result a more sure and secure sense of faith be cause of it.

As the "apocyalypse" fast approaches, there is a lot of talk about wat it means, for a long time, I have thought it portents a large social shift, but I am finding myself in the midst of a dark night again. Lately I've ben experiencing some pretty negative emotions and lots od delf-doubt and a general discomfort with myself, I feel uncomfortable in my skin and I'm not sure how to act. I want to resuurrect this Old Liz person my husband seems to miss so much, because we're not so crazy about Liz 2.0. So, this past week has been tough, I've been plunged into a dark place of awkwardness andin security, but all I want is to present a strong face to my child, I want her to have a strong example of womanhood, and that's what she's going to get, damnit. So, am I in the midst of a dark night? I was reading some new age websites on the subject and apparently travelling through a dark night can result in a higher level od cocsiousness, so, wil that be MY apocyalypse? is the apocalypse somply a shift in consciouness? Or is the social order going to change? I dunno, but I'm excited to come out on the other side od this tunnel of sad I'm in and see where it lands me.

The One Where I Attend the Church of the White Way of Delight

I've been following this blog for a long time, I stumbled across it during a time that was really tough for Matt and I Obviously, I've been using many of the tips Gretchen Rubin suggests, especially imitating my spiritual master, Anne Shirley. The Anne books have captivated me since I discovered them as a young girl, Anne's dreamy way of looking at the wolr has always spoken to me and I use one of her most famous quotes at the end of a bad day, when I have one;"Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it." So when I'm getting ready for bed at the end of a bad day, a day when I make a lot of mistakes due to not paying enough attention to what I'm doing or a day when I let my fear get the best of me, I look at myself in the mirror and repeat this phrase to myself and simply tell myself, "Tomorrow will be better." Ifind these little nudges I give myself help a lot, I worry l and fixateless on what I would normally view as failures, but take them as lessons to take into the next day of what not to do and what to pay attention to, behavior to change, and that's the best anyone can do with any day.

So is it posible my approach to processing bad day has improved? Gee, maybe this stroke thing isn't the tragedy I thought it was!

What a difference a Year Makes!

One year ago, at this time: 2am, I would have been drifting off (crashing into) sleep while Matt watched Adult swim on our TV in our room at rehab. My nurse for the night, Rory or Angela, or , if I was lucky, Joni, would have just popped their head in to check my blood pressure and to see if I had to pee, which I probably did, or if I needed water. I would have undergine the ful battery of therapies furing the day: speech, Recreational, Occupational, and Physical and I would have struggled to stay awake for all of them, just waiting til I had a few spare minutes to fit in a power nap, which is all I ever had time for during my busy days in rehab I probably would have cried at some point in the day, asked Matt, "Why did this happen?"I would have struggled to walk 90 feet in PT. I probably would have only held Charlotte once during the day.

Today, Ispent the whole day hanging out with Charlotte, weplayed with some of her new toys, read a book, and walked around the living room together, a task that was not as difficult as it was a year ago, in fact, a year ago, I had no idea whether I'd ever walk without a cane again. I did not cry today or bemoan my situation, in fact, I've been spending most of my days fighting through the constant haze tof exhaustion that is my permanent companion, so as to fully participate in my life. A year ago, I would describe myself as brain dead. I was soooo tiredand so unables to process any information that I could barely carry on a simple conversation, let alone try to be prsent in my life.

Today I did grab a power nap. I also held Charlotte a lot and changed her diaper and got her food, things I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to do  year ago, so, today, I spent most of the day amazed at how far I've come in a year after such a devastating event, so please, trust and know that things can and will always get better. No matter how dark anf hopeless it seems.

And one To Grow On!

We live near one of the amazing ntyre trails my lovely cir\ty sports. So when I asked my Brother-In-Law, John to go walking with me once a week, it wasn't a stretch. We've been going about twice a week for a month now and every time we go we try to go a little farther in the trail than we did before, just to challenge me and build my endurance, the exercise part is probably good too. The trail is lined with benches, so we always aim to stop at a certain bench, then we see how I feel once we get there and I decide wether I want to keep going or not, well, yesterday, I must have been feeling adventurous, because I didn't want to stop everytime we got to a stop point, I would just keep going until we came to the point where the trail crosses over our road, probably about a half mile from where we started!And then, we walked back to the trail head, on these walks I like toexperiment with my pace and I attempt a brisk pace which I struggle to maintain as long as possible, practice makes perfect, right?The last 20 feet or so of the walk were tough, my legs were burning, my feet aching and my determination wavering, could I make it back to the car without holding onto anything? I didn't know, and no I didn't. by the time we got into the car, John had deduced that we had walked about a mile! quite an accomplishment for me, next time we're planning on going farther!

The Breakfast Blues

While we were still in rehab, Matt would quite often wake from his slumber on his fold out chair bed too find me weeping over my breakfast tray.

It quickly became a running joke that the breakfast food was so abysmal that it brought me to tears. The mornings in rehab were the toughest time for me:

I know I've mentioned this before, recovering from a brain injury is exhausting business, so I would sleep deep and hard every night. At 6am a nurse would come to take my vitals and give me my medications, now, I was srtill completely exhausted when the nurse would come to shove pills in my face and quite often, I couldn't summon the energy to sit up, grab my cup of water and attempt to swallow all four of the pills that were being shoved in my face, so I'd just end up staring blankly at the little paper cup that held the pills, usually resulting in some bitchy comment coming from the nurse who was not too patiently waiting for me to talk myself into sitting up to take the damn things, so I'd get really pissed at the complete lack of insensitivity coming from whichever nurse it was, theen came the phlebotomist, so I'm laying in bed, staring at my therapy schedule and planning out when I'll be able to sneak a nap in later in the day and here comes someone else to keep me from sleeping, and they wanted blood, quite frequently I did not score a gifted phlebotomist, so my arm would be stinging once they were done with me, bacause they kept stcking me in the same place over and over again. Once I completed the worst wake-up call known to man, I would gulp those damn pills down that the pissed off nurse left for me, mumbling something about, just take them later. Promise?Once I got the pills down, I would lay back down and pass out again for a few more precious moments, knowing I'd have to conquer my breakfast before my first therapy at 8:10.

Onc I woke up, I woud stare at my breakfast and by that point all of those pills would have kicked in and every. single. pill I was on caused drowsiness, so on top of my brain injury exhaustion, I also had to battle drug induced exhaustion. So I'd stare at my food giving myself a pep talk all the while, "you can do this, just pick up thr fork, eat the bagel first, that's the easiest.

Now, mealtimes were particularly diffucult for me, there were always multiple containers of food to eat from and I had neither the attention span or concentraion to know which to eat first, causing me to become overwhelmed, plus eating was REALLY hard! My mouth didn't open all of the way , and I couldn't swallow well, either plusand I had to use my right hand, which, up til then was remarkably out of shape, so I made giant messes when I ate.

My OT, Erica would come bopping into the room at 8:10, right on achedule, I knew it, I never wanted to disappoint her so I always wanted to be ready to go when she stuck her head in, so as I stared at that tray of food, I knew I was limited as far as how much time I could take to eat, so I'd start crying, out of pure exhaustion and over stimulation, normally I'd categorze myself as a morning person, I could bop out of bed at 6am, no problem, throw myself in the shower to wake myself up, but that was not an option here, I had to wait for an OT or nurse o clean me. So I was fustrated that I could no longer be a grown up snd take care of myself in the morning.

I don't know what the point of this one is, just an anecdote, I suppose.

Motherhood...resumed

Usually when Charlotte gets up at five in the morning, which doesn't happen too frequently anymore, Matt gets up to feed her and change her, I have to strap on way too many accutrements to be stable enough to carry her and at five A.M that takes awhile, so we decided it'd be better for Matt to take care of it. As a result I'm not too keyed into her crying, I usually sleep through it, which makes me feel guilty the next morning, but this morning I heard it and thought I should go ahead and take care of my baby, so I strapped myself into my leg brace, took off the splint I wear on Larry at night and headed into the kitchen to prep a bottle, one problem, Matt tightens the lids on sooo tight! I have to clasp bottles between my legs and open  lids that way what with Larry being out of commision, I was really struggling this morning and didn't want to wake Matt up. Luckily my Brother-In-Law, John, woke up and saved the day, he opened and washed a couple of bottles for me, so we went up o Charlotte's room, changed her and fed her then I went back to bed, as did she. When she woke up again at 9 I was once again on top of it, I prepped another bottle and changed her verrry poppy diaper, when I was done instead of going back to bed, I stayed up, did my exercises and showered from that point on, I was with Charlotte all day, feeding and changing like a pro!She even took her afternoon nap on my chest for an hour. Ahhhh,,fnally, mommyhood. I feel very accomplished after the day I've had, like a real mommy. Msybr soon Matt will be able to leave us alone for awhle!

On My Own

Another chapter in my story ended today; I had my last session of PT, it wasn't a graduation, health insurance was not going to pay for anymore and I think the therapy center was ready to move on as I'm no longer making huge leaps and bounds in my recovery. But I will not be derailed, no siree, I will continue doing my exercises and making up my own, and my brother-In- Law and I have been walking on some of the local nature trails a few times a week, somthing which I know will not only help me become stronger and faster, plus walking gives me a sense of peace and going on walks used to be one of my favorit activites. 8 months ago when I walked ( well, not walked, Matt wheeled) into therapy fresh out of rehab,
I was unable to stand or walk unassisted, but was still complrtrly dependent on my cane and wheelchair. my attention was still so bad that I couldn't wheel myself in the chair, I would just run into walls all of the time and wheel away from Matt and get lost.

Today, I walked out of therapy with only my leg brace for assistance, I got into the car no problem and I took a nicr, btrisk walk with my BIL, John, I am moving much better than I was and that is thanks to the army of PT's I worked with in outpatient rehab.

This by no means is the end of my story, I am now responsible for my own rehab, complacency is unacceptable at this point. I can only go up from here!

Apathy

Apathy -noun, plural ap·a·thies.

1.

absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement.

2.

lack of interest in or concern for things that others find moving or exciting.

 

yyyeeeyyyeeaahh, that was me the first fe weeks at home.

 

Just coming to the realization that I completewly shut off for that time, I think has helped me to be a more active participant in my life lately. I really was letting it pass me by. I noe understand why Matt was so frustrated with me.

 

I have always been fiercely independent, "let me doit myself!" Is a frequent phrase that falls out of my mouth so the sudden lsck of intrest in doing things for myself, must have been quite a shock on top of all of the thing that were different.

 

But why? You ask? I just couldn't summon the will, energy or confidence to attempt to do things myself, I just assumed I couldn't do anything right, so I didn't try to make bottles for Charlotte, I was hesitant to change her, because I was sure I'd mess it up somehow, but noe that things have become more mnormal, I do as much as I can in a day. Do I make mistakes? Yes, all of the time! But I'm trying, that's what matters. In life the worst thing we can do is give up on anything, on ourselves, I'm glad I learned that lesson before I did give up! So, my advice is to never become complacent, never give up!

My Easter Thursday

"Disappear Your fear, resurrect your audacity." Is a quote that found it's way to me by way of a free will astrology horoscope. about a year ago. I was at a job that I was not particularly skilled at, sales, so I was having a hard time. I wrote the phrase down on a little piece of paper so I would always remember it, it seemed like a phrase that would come in handy some day, I can't tell you how often I've repeated that phrase to myself since this has happened to me and finally, it happened!. On Thursday, due to a large quantity of caffiene and a good anniversary dinner the night before, I finally came back from the land of the walking brain dead.

When we first came home from the hospital Matt and I had numerous arguments caused mainly by frustration on both our parts because I could barely do anything on my own. Matt would accuse me of no trying, which just upset me because I felt that getting out of bed was giving it my best, now that I've managed to wake up a bit, I've been thinking about that a bit and yesterday I realized Matt was right, damnit, as usual.

I was so depressed and unaware of what was going on around me, I barely tried to pay attention to anything long enough to figure out how to do it on my own, like taking my meds or putting my leg brace on. or getting dressed. I really didn't try, because now that I am trying to be present I can feel the difference and it feels good! I no longer leave giant messes behind me everywhere I go because I make sure I pick up after myself these days, it's not that I didn't care, I did. I  was so depressed I became apathetic, which goes very against my headstrong, independent nature. I am thrilled that I am now attentive enough that I can now lock myself in the bathroom without Matt having to worry about me falling and him not being able to get to me. It's a level of independence that I took for granted. Not only do I feel that my  personality is now normalizing back to what it actually is, I feel I am now acting like a grown up, after doing thing the way a three year old would do them for months, that feels great. do tryluy feel resurrected.

To be or not

I've been thinking a lot about acceptance lately, I've been reading a fantastic book:"Don't Leave me this Way Or: When I Get Back on My Feet You'll be sorry."by Julia Fox Garrison. She is hilarious and describes the aftermath of a stroke in ways I could never articulate, so it's great to have a book that I can hand people and say, "Read that part! That's what it's like!"

The only thing I'm having an issue with is her attitude towards her condition. From the sound of it, she was worse off than I was, they told her sh'd never walk again and I continually get words of reassurance that I will bounce back from this...someday. Garrison talks about her determination to be the person she was before the stroke, well, I wish for the same thing, but my question about that is, how can you ever be the same after a life-changing event? Like a medical catastrophe, birth or marriage? She so desperately wants to go back to "normal" she refuses to accept herself as is and kind of looks down on those that acept their post-stroke selves, Like I do, so am I wrong? There is something to be said for stubborn dtermination, but I think I'm healthier and doing better than I was when I was stuck wiahing and longing for Old Liz, because that person still inhabits this broken body. She is also far too concerned with how she looks to other people. Me? I don't give a shit, let them stare, ask and avoid eye contact and smile at me pityingly, I'm doin' my thang, being my bad self and raising a wonderful girl, in a post-stroke body that I will love and care for til the day I die, and I'll love everyday of my post-stroke life and that's a promise!

Gap Toothed motivation

Today as I was walking, attempting to speed my gait up a bit so I can keep up with my long legged, fspeed-walking husband, I started thinking about Charlotte and the possible fallout of all of this. I deeply hope that she  never ever feels like any of this was her fault, which is why I am leaving so much documentation of it, so one day she can read my words and thoughts and know that her prescence in my life at this juncture is essential and the best motivation and has forced me to deal with all of this in a much more adult manner than I'm accostumed to.; Whenever I feel a meltdown coming on, I look over at her beautiful face, see her gap-toothed smile and I think, "how do I want her to see me react to this situation? How would I want her to handle this kind of thing? These thoughts force me to reconsider melting down and if a meltdown is actually warranted, usually I've just dug myself a hole of self-pity to crawl into and that's not productive, I refuse to left her see me like that. I want her mother to be a strong, powerful, joyful woman, who is fun to be around, someday, I hope she reads this and knows she helped me become a better person!

Confidence

I've noticed something: When I become suddenly irrationally afraid of something I've been doing for months without a problem, like the war I had with the stairs a few months back,It is because I suddenly stmble upon a problem when accomplishing the task, and as a result, I lose confidence in myself. I've never been over flowing with confidence, I'm more of a fake it til you make it type girl. So when I suddenley start having some balance issues when climbing the stairs, my confidence falters and I start worse-case scenario-ing, which just makes me more afraid and more shaky and nervous when I'm trying to accomplish whaever it is that's scaring me. The other night I was in the process of not facing a common fear, going into the bathroom, now our bathroom that is upstairs is the one I use at night. The doorway is right at the top of the steps and I have to turn lrft to get into that now turning left is not my forte, so I always end up getting my arm  stuck on the door and because I get freaked out my  left leg muscles get spastic so I can't bend it and I end up fumbling around in the doorway terrified of losing my balance and falling down the stairs, so I turned around back to my bedroom, to put my leg brace back on, I always feel much more secure and stable with my brace on. But I dtopped myself, I said, "You're never going to get over this if you don't at least try, you don't want to have to put yor brace on everytime you go to the bathroom. So I did it, I faced my fear and got into the bathroom with no problem and I hav every night since. I always give myself a little patt on the back after I perform a perfect bsthroom entry and I give myself a little pep talk on my to the bathroom and I tslk myself through the procedure. Si I figue if I can keep believing in myself and facing my fears, there ain't notin' I can't do.