Today, I reflect back almost one year to the day. Last summer, the world had tentatively opened up just enough that we were able to fly to a sister's house and celebrate the 4th with family. But there were still massive policies in place (that we are still seeing a full year later). Masks inside. Masks on planes. Masks in Ubers. Masks in restaurants. I hadn't really gone anywhere before this plane ride to need to wear a mask, so a friend made some for us for our trip. As much as we didn't want to bow to government oppression we put our masks on to board the plane. (And we kept them on the duration of the flight like good little citizens so we didn't get kicked off.)
Today is my 15th stroke anniversary. 15 years ago, it was a Sunday, and instead of going to church, I went to the hospital. I have written rather extensively on that fateful day, so rather than reiterating any of it, you can read all about it yourself here.
Today, I reflect back almost one year to the day. Last summer, the world had tentatively opened up just enough that we were able to fly to a sister's house and celebrate the 4th with family. But there were still massive policies in place (that we are still seeing a full year later). Masks inside. Masks on planes. Masks in Ubers. Masks in restaurants. I hadn't really gone anywhere before this plane ride to need to wear a mask, so a friend made some for us for our trip. As much as we didn't want to bow to government oppression we put our masks on to board the plane. (And we kept them on the duration of the flight like good little citizens so we didn't get kicked off.)
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More art therapy! Before I get to that, though, I want to express my undying thanks to all who pray for me. The other day I posted about my spazzy hand and the difficulties it had given me all day. Not ten minutes after I posted asking for prayer for it to calm down, it did! My fingers relaxed and stayed that way the rest of the night! I had hesitated posting about it because I felt whiny, but I know you prayed and God answered almost immediately! So thank you.
This week at church is art camp, and yesterday was watercolor. Six years ago, I was in a fender bender that sent me to the hospital with stroke-like symptoms. It was then I learned I have an inoperable AVM. This week will be 15 years since my stroke (more on that on Friday!), so I painted this in commemoration of still being alive. The green butterfly is the symbol for AVM awareness, and the stroke ribbon is burgundy. This isn't a perfect butterfly, but I'm not perfect either! So I think we match pretty well. Praises: -God answers prayer! -I'm still alive and kicking after all these years Prayer requests: -a neurology opening soon -the nerve pain on my right hand and arm not to be so intense (imagine your worst enemy giving you a persistent Indian burn!) So much has happened in the last year. We moved, which is like, five blog posts in and of itself. And I found a second brain support group on facebook. Obviously, other things happened, also...but these were the two major things. I did write about our move, or rather the feelings of change, here. But the purpose of this post, 11 years post-rupture, is to expound on the wonderful things that have happened to me since finding that support group. (Read about my rupture here, and how I found out what caused it here.)
--I have learned that I will never be the same as I was before. --I have learned that that is okay! --Some people will never understand, but others genuinely want to, so I should never stop trying to share my story. --I am SO much healthier than others who have had the same thing--and I need to remember that when I feel like hosting a pity party. --Sometimes, I have to ask for help. --And that's okay, too! --Sometimes, when I ask for help, people will not want to give it. But I have to let it just roll off my back, because it just means they are closed-minded and selfish. Someone in my AVM support group shared a link, and I wanted to share it with my circle, but what I wanted to say got too long for a facebook status. So here's some thoughts I had after reading "9 things brain injury supporters should not say to a person with brain injury." It was written by someone who was diagnosed with dementia six years ago, so forgive the bad grammar and spelling. Personally, only the first 3 can be applied to me. I don't have "supporters," but I think these are good for people in general. 1 “I know exactly how you feel” Better than telling me you know how I feel, you could always just empathize. Most of the time, I don't need or want a solution, I just need to know I'm heard. 2 “I am your friend” It can be confusing for me when someone tells me they are my friend, and then when I struggle or they move away, they just aren't there anymore. I only have a limited amount of brain cells to devote to things. I don't want to waste them on people who will flake out. (I understand that people have their own issues. I'm not demanding 24/7 attention. I just like to know, if I put in time and energy, I'll get a little back. And I also know friendship is a two-way street, but sometimes I feel like I'm the only one ever making any sort of effort. And that's not okay, for "normal" people OR for brain-injured people.) 3 “Come on what’s my name, you should remember I have been with you a year now” Like I just said, I only have a limited amount of brain cells. Sometimes I will not remember your name. Or your kid's name, or your job, or anything else I know you've told me before! It's NOT that I don't care about you. It's that after you told me, I learned something else that I needed those brain cells for. Sometimes I forget less important things, and sometimes I forget that I need to prioritize so I don't forget the important things. Quietly remind me, and please don't take it personally. I DO care about you, but sometimes my brain just can't handle everything. Here's another wonderful "9 things NOT to say to someone with a brain injury." On that same website, here is a great "10 things people with a brain injury would like to hear." I think all three of these articles are great to share with your friends, whether you've been recovering for a month or for 10 years.
Nine years ago, almost to the day, I had a stroke. I was 7 weeks and 5 days postpartum and had no other risk factors for a stroke. So guess what the doctors said? My stroke had to have been caused by the delivery almost 8 weeks previous. They had never heard of a postpartum stroke happening 8 weeks later, but there seemed to be no other reason. And you know doctors and science. Everything has to have a reason. It made a little bit of sense. Even though 8 weeks was a long time, it wasn't like it was a year later. The neurologist (I think) wanted to cover all his bases, so he strongly advised me not to have more children, because I could have another stroke, and it could be worse, and I could not recover, and then I'd have a toddler and a baby that I couldn't take care of properly. So we prayed (obviously) and talked with people and decided he probably knew what he was talking about. It only made sense to us to use the common sense God gave us not to risk my life and health ON PURPOSE. So we decided to make it medically impossible for me to have more children. Now if God saw fit to bless us with more arrows for our quiver, He would either override science (hasn't He done that a lot?) or open the door to adoption. Either way, we would know we weren't forcing anything, and all our children would be true miracles.
I want to take a moment for a small disclaimer. If you think this post is going to expound the nerdy, technical jibberish about Microsoft Word, you are sadly mistaken. This is a stroke post and will explain how I have figured out how to recover words missing in my brain!
On this the seventh anniversary of my stroke, I sit and ponder the what ifs of life. Also, I think of the whys, but not in the way you're thinking. Most people, when they think "Why?" they think, "Why me, God?" I actually never really thought that. I realize that bad things happen to "good" people all the time, you know, raining on the just and the unjust and all that. My whys are more of the "why did I do that?" kind of whys.
Before I get started down a rabbit trail of all the "why did I do that"s that I ask (because on the random day I feel meloncholic, I try to peer back down memory lane and I'm appauled at all the stuff I did. And yes, I know I spelled that word wrong. It's just every time I hear it, I think apPAULed, as opposed to apPETERed. Weird, I know. Back to topic before I think of another sentence to put in these parentheses), let me expound on the one that I came here to expound upon. Clack, clack, clack, go the knitting needles. I look down at my hands and I'm amazed. Last week, I didn't know how to knit. This week, I've made three scarves and half a baby blanket with the twin needles. I rub the uber soft yarn against my cheek and smile. Some mama, who maybe didn't expect a baby and maybe didn't want a baby, but who decided that life was worth giving to her child, she will bring that baby home from the hospital and wrap him up in this blanket I'm making. I don't guess she or any baby would care if the blanket was crocheted or knitted. She would just be glad someone cared enough to make a soft blanket for her child. But as I look at my stitches, I think. And I wonder.
My first pregnancy. I am different from most people. When my son was born, I did not immediately fall in love with him. Okay...breathe...do not pass out. I had known that would happen, because I've never really liked babies. I mean, I knew how to change a diaper and hold a bottle to their mouths, but I didn't really like holding them just for the sake of holding them. I didn't pinch cheeks or kiss heads. That was my sister.
But I don't think I am a horrible person for it. My entire heart is full of love for my son now. But when he was first born, I did not know him. I mean, I had felt him kicking the last half of my pregnancy, but I didn't know him. I didn't really enjoy my pregnant days. Nothing really went wrong; my doctor said it was a textbook perfect pregnancy. No swollen ankles. No going to the bathroom every ten minutes. No gestational diabetes or high blood pressure. Really, I felt like everything was normal, except I was 50 pounds heavier. Those extra 50 pounds made me so miserable, though. Every time someone finds out I've had a stroke, they always ask two questions. The first one is, "Do the doctors know why?" The answer to that is no. My life, health-wise, was perfect until that fateful morning. The second question is, "Are you all better now?" Wow, I wish there were an easy answer to that.
Yes, I'm better. I can walk, talk, eat, and function on my own. If I fall, I can get up. If I am hungry, I can fix a meal and eat it. I can run, jump, and twirl with the best of them. But on the other hand, no, I am not better. There are times (usually brought on by stress or nerves) that my leg and hand go numb. I literally can't feel them. I can't walk. I can't hold anything. Sometimes my mouth will go numb also, and it's hard to talk. I have to just sit down and let it pass. When it does pass, normally two or three minutes, my leg and hand will shake. It feels like what Parkinson's looks like. Uncontrollable little shakes, like my muscles are miscommunicating with each other and they don't know which ones should relax and which ones should contract. And then there's the whole brain thing. |
Who am I, you ask?
In 2006 I had a stroke, and every day my husband encourages me to use my remaining brain cells to the best of my ability. I love to organize, make crafts, and go on adventures (safe ones). I hope that through my blog posts, you will be encouraged to accept and make the best of challenges God throws at your life. Categories
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