When I woke up from surviving a massive stroke, I confused some of the information that was initial given to me. My brain was a little ‘mushy’ and I mistakenly processed some of the medical facts. I don’t know what the doctor said, what I heard in my stroke head was – my medical condition would be better with therapy within the year.
Often, we say God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. Well, this must be true because mentally all I could handle was the thought of a year long recovery. (I just looked it and the quote is actually not in the Bible. Often it is said, that because of God we can handle it. But I digress.) A year really helped my perspective on my recovery. Yes, I had a stroke. Yes, I had a huge recovery in front of me. But it I thought it was going to be short-lived. I faced it with my chin up, a smile on my face and a pep in my step (if I could take one).
I arrived at physical therapy, tapping my toes, singing to the music, giving it my all, and doing it all with a smile on my face. I knew that this was temporary and I was going to be fixed up within a year. I just needed to power through my therapy. I wanted it to be fun. So I wore my bright, tie-dyed shoes and fun T-shirts.
At the time, my adult children lived in different states. I was recovering at my parents house in a guest room, and thought this time was going to be short lived. After all – I only had a year until I was back on my feet. I thought I wouldn’t lean on my adult children much because the recovery would be so quick. In a way, I wanted to see them again and be myself, the ‘old’ me and then life would return to normal.
My cerebellar stroke severely impacted my balance, coordination, and sight. It also severely effected my walking. Not surprisingly, I left the hospital in a wheelchair. Not being able to get out of bed by myself, did not clue me in that my recovery was going to be longer than a year. I was still be bopping along, thinking I would be back to normal if I worked hard in physical therapy.
I work faithfully on everything but especially worked on my walking almost every day. I practiced my exercises. I took nightly walks with the walker. I worked on physical therapy and occupational therapy intensely. I’m still working hard to get back to the way I was before, the ‘old’ me. It is slowly sinking in that the ‘old’ me is just that, the ‘old’ me.
It has been eight years since my stroke and I am realizing that this recovery is going to take more than one year. I am coming to terms with the fact. Maybe it was my stroke brain or I was grossly misinformed, but I’m slowly realizing I will not be the ‘old’ me. My walking? I still ‘walk’ every day, but I have a walking aid – a walker. I want so much to be free of it and walk without it. I still do my exercises. I still go for my nightly walks.
What I do regret is one year turning into eight years and not using that time depending on my adult children. I really thought I could heal within a year and be back to normal. I started getting hard on myself at a year of recovery. I looked at the calendar watching the months add up and me not returning back to ‘normal’.
I also regret being so tough on myself about learning to walk again. If my body was not there, my body was not there. And that’s OK. It’s just taking me eight years to come to terms with this. For years I did not accept this and just kept pushing myself expecting better results.
I might hobble. I might sway. I might look disabled. That’s where I am. I need to give up the fight and accept where I am. Accepting doesn’t mean you are giving up or quitting. It means you’re looking around and admitting the circumstances in which you find yourself. I think we can all do with more love and self acceptance.
Many of us need self-love where we are, not where or who we could be given the right circumstances. Until you get there, love yourself. Love yourself in the stage that you find yourself. The broken you that you are working on probably needs more love than the fixed you.
My good friend always says to ‘keep your side of the street clean’. Life is a two-way street. Looking on the other side of the street, trying to clean up someone else’s lane causes problems. I regret not leaning more on my adult children through the recovery. I don’t need to look over the divider. I just need to focus on my side of the street.
There is much to be said for the saying, ‘You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.’ Once a person is touched by physical disability, it is very difficult to convey the plight to someone who hasn’t. All along the disabled individual is just trying to get back to where they came from, and in some cases an individual physically can’t. Empathy not sympathy is needed for those individuals. There really are two worlds – those with disability and those without.
I am not responsible for the whole street – just my side of the street. I need to let go of that regret and love myself whether I’m walking or hobbling. I take comfort in that I’ve tried hard and tried my best. Just ‘walking’ on my side of the street is my new goal. Instead of going over my mistakes, take my hand and guide me across the figurative or literal street while I try to walk.
