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.

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!

The Unexpected Therapist

As soon as a brain injury occurs, be it a closed head injury, concussion, stroke, etc..., the survivor is immediately inundated with therapists, physical, occupational, recreational and speech, these therapists are there to help the survivor learn how to live their live post injury.

For the month I was at the rehabilitation unit at Borgess hospital, I got very accustomed to what these therapists did, they helped me re-learn to speak, eat, dress myself and bathe.

When I was told I was being released from rehab, I was ecstatic, I thought that returning home would make everything seem normal again, after all, home is where routine lives, home is comfortable and normal, but what I discovered upon returning home was that life was anything but normal, returning home was when my real rehab began, it was when I had to start learning how to live in my new body, with my new mind in earnest. The only thing on my mind at the time was getting back to work at the Co-op, I started working again in May of 2012, I was working two hours a week, greeting customers, answering phones and occasionally ringing customers up, a job that been created to suit my needs and abilities at the time. After being elbow deep in practically every aspect of the co-op right before the stroke, doing this job was a hit to my pride, I was embarrassed to be standing there by the door, greeting customers, doing minimal work, now I understand, it was what I was capable of, but at the time, I felt like my life was crumbling apart in front of me, I was determined to find a place for myself at the co-op again.

Then the planets and universe shifted again. The Front End Manager(FEM) who had taken over for me when I had to step down decided to move out of state, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to reapply for the job when the posting went up , but I knew better, and I had my sights set on s different job that I was not ready for, I was nervous, wondering who would get the job, knowing whoever got the job would be instrumental in helping me get back into the swing of things, the universe always knows what it's doing and it swung in my favor this time because the new FEM was the former's Lead Cashier, Simon. I lept with joy when I found out, Simon was one of the last cashiers I  hired before the stoke, he showed great leadership and knowledge in his role as Lead Cashier, I knew my future at the co-op would be secure in his hands. Simon and I began sitting down and talking about my goals almost immediately after her took over as FEM, my goal, as always, I wanted to work more and become more comfortable cashiering. Soon, my hours started increasing and I started working more cashier shifts, mainly on the weekends, so I had to start relearning out Point of Sale System, soon Simon was working with me, re-training me on the POS, teaching me how to count down my drawers at the end of my shifts, a task that was not easy for me and my addled mind to accomplish calmly. As this process progressed, I was embarrassed every time he had to sit down with me and explain how to count down my drawer, after all, I had trained him to do the same thing he was teaching me to do in the not so distant past, it was an awkward position for us to be in, but Simon treated me with kindness, understanding and patience and he never made me feel stupid, which was how I felt, or like a special needs staff member, he treated me the way he would treat any new hire, with respect.

Now I work multiple times a week, this week I'm working a 20 hour week, Simon's loyalty, patience and faith in my abilities has pushed me in positive ways, just like any good therapist, he doesn't ask me to do anything he doesn't think I can do, I have re- found my niche at the co-op and I am pleased as punch to be a cashier there, any day you see me behind the register at the co-op is the best day of my life, because I am doing it, with the help of my most important therapist.

Round and Round

There is a carousel  at Silver beach in St. Joseph, MI.

We took Charlotte there last summer when she was still two, at the time, she wasn't sure whether this contraption was fun or not, BUT, since the middle of winter she' been talking about the carousel.


We found ourselves in St. Joe on Memorial day, I lightly mentioned Charlotte's obsession with the carousel to her great aunt and uncle, who we were visiting, and wouldn't you know it?

They had extra tokens for the carousel! So we made a quick trip to the cemetery to plant flowers for family members that are no longer with us, the weather was perfect, Charlotte took over the planting proceedings and got herself delightfully dirty and wet, once we finished planting, we determined that we had just enough time to sneak in a ride on the carousel.

When we entered the room where the carousel lives, Charlotte's little body tensed up with excitement, her face was solemn as she contemplated this contraption, deciding which creature to ride, she headed straight for the entrance, leaving us adults to decide who would go on with her.

Now, most stroke survivors struggle with vertigo, I am not an exception to this, so the last time she rode the carousel, I sat it out, a decision that I'v never been at ease with, as I want to be an active participant in her life.

This time, I decided to give it a try, I figured if I just stayed focused on Charlotte's face, the dreaded nausea and dizziness would be held at bay. We climbed onto the carousel, with her Grandpa, who was there as extra support for me, just in case Charlotte lost her grip on her horse. She selected a fancy horse named Magic, her excitement was palpable as we waited for the ride to start, I just looked into he giddy little face and told her to hold onto the brass bar tightly, like I was doing.

The the bell rang and the carousel began to move, Charlotte's face lit up with glee "whee!" She proclaimed!

My eyes welled up with tears of delight and thankfulness, because I was doing something I didn't think I could do and something I could have missed.

Even when my affected leg tensed up due to nerves, I ignored it and looked in my daughter's elated face and thanked the universe and a long list of gods for the chance to experience that moment

It's the little things, people.

all About The Angle

" I just want to be normal again."

Is a lament you would have heard fall out of my mouth if you visited me in rehab at least once.

Most of the time my visitor's response to this statement was, "what is normal?" Or I was told I would find a new normal, a concept I ignored because it seemed so impossible at the time, I felt so outside of myself, I wasn't the person I had been when I walked into the hospital that day, I couldn't function the way I had, couldn't go to the bathroom, shower, or get food for myself if I desired to do so.

Once I was released into the world, I was uncomfortable in public, I was sure everybody was staring at me everywhere I went, why wouldn't they? I walked and spoke funny, obviously I was a freak, so why wouldn't they stare? I did get stares, but why? Was it because of my funny walk or my slurred speech? No, Probably not. I  I got stared at because my discomfort with myself was so obvious to the outside world.

Then three years flew by.

Somehow, without noticing it happening, my new way of life started feeling "normal". Now today, I no longer get stared at in public and why would I? My walk is still not average, my slurred speech is unnoticeable, I think. But my comfort level with all of these things has increased.

Quick story, as I was ringing a customer up at work the other day, the question of what happened to my arm came up, as it often does, I answered honestly, as I always do, this customer started telling me about a new kind of therapy that stroke survivors use to reverse the effects of stroke, making the survivor "normal" again.

As I was listening to this information I would have been desperate for three years ago, all I could think about was the fact that I am "normal" and that this sounded like something I didn't need.

I don't get stared at anymore and  it's because I see myself as "normal" whatever that is, so, in the end it's all about perception, isn't it?